Chapter 22
We ride for several hours before Hunter leads us into a small clearing a short distance away from the road.
He jumps down from his mare, then turns to me with his hand outstretched, presumably to help me down from the saddle.
The Wolf whaps his hand out of the way before jumping down himself.
Then he grabs me by the waist and swings me to the ground.
The two share a look that makes me roll my eyes.
Hunter stomps back to his mare, where she nibbles on a grassy patch.
He whispers into her ear and pats her neck.
She snorts in pleasure. My heart clenches when I remember she nearly died because of me.
Because I forced her back into the fray of foxhounds.
My heart breaks all over again for Nell, the loyal horse who died at the jaws of a corpse wolf.
“What’s her name?” I ask.
Both Hunter and the mare look at me. I nod toward the horse. “The mare.”
“Oh,” Hunter rubs her nose. “Marigold.” He turns toward the black horse. “And that’s Honor.”
I walk up to Marigold and run my hands along her neck. She whinnies in pleasure. “Thank you, Marigold.” I whisper into her ear. “You are a brave horse. I won’t forget that.”
Hunter unties the saddlebags from her sides then crouches to dig through the provisions he packed. Copper glints in the sun as he sets his gauntlets on the ground next to him, like he’s lying a baby down to rest.
“Why did you keep the gauntlets?” I ask.
Hunter spreads his cloak on the ground, gesturing for me to sit on it. “Because people in the villages will ask fewer questions if you travel with one of the king’s men. Even without the full set of armor, these are proof that I’m from Caerwen. Copper demands respect.”
Behind us, the Wolf scoffs.
Hunter ignores him. “And we’re less likely to be attacked by thieves on the road.”
“Or,” Tristan suggests, “it might make us more of a target.”
Hunter lowers his eyes at him, a wheel of wax-covered cheese in his hand. “Only a criminal would think that way.”
Tristan shrugs and sits down on a grassy patch of earth, resting his back against the trunk of a tall tree.
I’m not convinced. “Aren’t you afraid we’ll be recognizable? If Father sent word about our escape …” I let the implications hang in the air, unsaid.
Hunter continues pulling out provisions: strings of dried sausages, fruit, a squished loaf of bread. “News travels slowly outside of Caerwen. As long as we keep moving, we can stay ahead of the warnings.” He turns and hands me an apple.
I reach out to take it, but Hunter grabs my hand. He gives me a meaningful look.
“I hope you know what you’re doing,” he whispers. He nods toward Tristan. At the fear etched around his eyes, I soften.
“I do,” I tell him, even though I’m not entirely sure it’s true.
He bends down to pull a knife out of his boot, then slices chunks of cheese from the wheel. I watch with curiosity as he sets the cheese on a plate and removes a small jar of jam from the saddlebag.
“So, what is your plan?” I ask. “Will we wander the forests and valleys of our kingdom, waiting for my new little brother to fall out of favor?”
For the first time since our breakup, Hunter’s smile returns.
“Oh, I don’t know.” He shrugs. “I thought maybe we could become peasants for a little while. Play man and wife—or even just friends—in a land far away from here. No one to make threats or demands upon us anymore.” He sighs, like he’s imagined this fantasy for a long time.
“That sounds like a beautiful dream.”
He nods. “Maybe someday, when we’re old and gray, you’ll learn to love me again.”
My heart clenches in my chest.
He grins, teasing. “I don’t want to be off with some other woman with a dozen grandchildren on my knee when that day comes.”
“I don’t see why not. That sounds like a lovely life.” I take a bite of the apple in my hands.
He grows quiet. “Not without you, it doesn’t.”
Over by the tree, Tristan chuckles.
Hunter glowers in his direction, then leans closer to me so the Wolf can’t hear. “How far is it to the borderlands again?”
I give him a chiding look, but smile. Something about the Wolf gets Hunter all out of sorts in a way that I find mildly funny. Usually nothing rattles Hunter like this.
“If we ride quickly and head straight north, we could probably be there in a couple of weeks.”
Hunter nods, thinking. “Then we’ll need to eat something.” He rips off a chunk of bread and uses his knife to spread blackberry jam over it. Then he hands me the first piece.
I’m positively salivating. I shove the entire chunk into my mouth. Hunter passes me a waterskin to wash it down, a worried look in his eyes.
“Better?” he asks.
I nod, then grab more.
“What, nothing for me?” Tristan calls out from where he’s dozing in the shade.
Hunter raises an eyebrow. “I thought you were some master hunter who could fend for himself?”
“I am.” Tristan crosses his arms over his chest and slumps further against the tree. “I’m just not feeling up to it at the moment.”
The look on Hunter’s face is enough to make me full belly laugh, in spite of everything.
After I catch my breath again, I take a moment to close my eyes.
I drink in the waning sunshine as it trickles through the bare branches on the trees.
There’s a strong chance that, without Hunter, I’d still be in that cold, damp cell far beneath the palace where no one would ever find me.
My heart fills with gratitude alongside a new sense of fear.
This ongoing battle between my father and I isn’t just a petty family squabble anymore.
It’s life or death. He absolutely would have left me to die.
When I finally stand, Hunter cleans up the remains of our meager meal. I stoop to grab another apple and throw it to Tristan with a wink. He grins wickedly at Hunter, who chooses to ignore it.
Reluctantly, I walk back toward the horses, but Hunter guides me to the gray mare this time. He helps me up, grumbling. “There’s no way in hell I’m letting him ride with you again.”
Tristan swings up onto Honor’s back, then takes a giant, obnoxious bite of his apple. Juice drips down his jaw as he grins.
We ride well into the night, through forests and past farms with empty fields. The air is cold and an autumn wind rustles the leaves from their branches. Soon, I’m shivering again. I’m so exhausted it’s becoming difficult to stay astride my horse, even with Hunter’s arms tight around me.
“There’s a town up ahead,” Tristan calls back to us from atop his horse. “We should stop for the night.” He tips his head in my direction.
“I already know that,” Hunter says, grumbling.
Tristan lets the attitude slide and leads us toward a wooden bridge that crosses a narrow but deep river.
On the other side, there’s a small village of thatched roof houses and leaning two-story buildings.
Most of the windows are dark for the night, but at the center of the town, a small tavern is still alight with customers.
We lead our horses toward a tiny stable and tie them to a hitching post inside the shelter.
When Hunter helps me down from the saddle, my knees buckle beneath me and I struggle to steady myself. I can feel Hunter’s eyes as he scans me anxiously. A few paces away, I catch Tristan’s glance too, but I don’t know him well enough to read his moods.
After we care for the horses, we head toward the tavern.
Tristan holds the tavern door open for us as we pass.
Inside, there are several long tables with customers who appear to be well into their cups.
Their clumsy movements make me suspect they’ve been drinking for several hours at this point in the night.
At the other end of the room, there’s a roaring fire in the hearth.
I instinctively lean toward it, eager for warmth.
“We’d like a room for the night,” Hunter says to the barkeep, who’s wiping chipped mugs with a ratty towel.
The barkeep raises an eyebrow at the three of us.
Hunter quickly adds, “Two. Two rooms please.” His eyes narrow toward Tristan, no doubt imagining an evening sleeping next to a Wolf. “Three, if you have them.”
The man studies us, taking in Hunter’s copper gauntlets and my red cloak. Tristan leans against a nearby post, seemingly unconcerned with sharing a room. I wonder if he’d be perfectly happy curling up next to the fireplace like a household pet.
“Can’t do that,” the barkeep says. Beneath his bushy moustache, his teeth are brown and rotted. “Only got the one.”
Hunter visibly cringes. “Alright, she can have it. We’ll sleep down here at the tables.”
The bartender shakes his head. “Not allowed. It’s either the room or the stables with the horses and pigs.”
Hunter sputters.
Tristan rolls his eyes and walks forward to join us. “We’ll take the room.”
Hunter moves to protest, but Tristan holds up a hand. “The lady will be even safer with two of us there to protect her virtue. Don’t start on your moral nonsense.”
The barkeep shrugs. “I care nothing for morals myself.” He holds out a hand.
Before Hunter can dig money from his bag, Tristan drops more than enough coins into the barkeep’s hands. “For your discretion,” he says, raising an eyebrow.
The barkeep’s eyes dart back to Hunter’s gauntlets. He nods. “I’s always discrete, but I’ll not turn down an extra coin or two.”
“In that case,” Tristan says lightly, “I’ll take a mug of your finest ale as well.”
Hunter gives Tristan a withering look.
The barkeep joyfully delivers the ale, then points us to a nearby staircase. As we walk up to the room, Hunter leans forward to whisper to Tristan.
“And where did you manage to find so many coins after being imprisoned at the palace for weeks?”
Tristan takes a sip of froth from the top of his mug with noisy relish. “A rich man never divulges his secrets.”
“‘Rich man’?” Hunter’s voice is edged with disgust. “More like ‘thief.’”
Tristan takes a large gulp of ale, then shrugs. “Would you like to sleep in the stable with the pigs?”
Hunter glares at Tristan but says nothing.
I sigh. “Could we all just be nice, please?”
The men appraise each other, but quit their bickering.
When Tristan unlocks the door to the room, we all stop and stare. The tiny space has a single, lopsided bed with a ratty pillow and a stained blanket … and nothing else. Dust covers the narrow sliver of floor in front of the door.
“Is it too late to opt for the pigs?” Tristan asks.
“Not for you,” Hunter mumbles.
“I don’t care which of you gets the other side of the bed, just don’t kick me in the night.
” I drop onto it and a cloud of dust billows up.
I move to cover myself with the blanket, then think better of it.
I kick the musty-smelling thing off the bed along with the questionable pillow.
Then I pull my cloak over my face to sleep.
From beneath the cover of my cloak, I hear the men wrestle over the pillow and blanket. They argue in hushed tones.
“You’re taking the floor,” Hunter says.
“Nice try. I think I’ve slept on enough floors these past weeks to last a lifetime.”
“If you don’t commit crimes like spying and attempted murder, then you won’t have that problem.”
I can almost hear the shrug in Tristan’s voice. “I’d expect a southerner to understand the necessity of subterfuge and killing one’s enemies.”
“Stooop!” I groan.
They tussle a little more, but eventually someone jumps onto the mattress next to me.
I poke my head out from under my cloak. It’s Tristan, smiling ruefully at Hunter, who’s clearly contemplating murder from his spot on the floor.
He unstraps his bronze sword and lays it lovingly in a corner.
Then he uses the filthy blanket to polish the day’s grime from his copper-plated gauntlets.
“He’s high-maintenance, that one,” Tristan mumbles next to me. “Can’t even just lie down like a normal person with all that glitter on.”
“Swords and armor aren’t exactly comfortable to sleep in.”
“Then why wear it in the first place?” the Wolf scoffs. “He looks like a prized turkey, chest all puffed out and feathers shining.”
“Can’t say I’ve ever seen a prized turkey in armor before.”
“No?” Tristan gives me a wicked grin. “And here I thought we just escaped at least a dozen of them.”
I swat his arm and Hunter scowls in our direction. He lies down on the ground, bunching the pillow under his head.
“Goodnight,” I say into the darkness.