Chapter 23
In the morning, the tavern keeper’s wife serves us each a bowl of mushy porridge before we head back out onto the road. Hunter insists I ride with him on Marigold again, which I don’t mind.
After a night of lying awake beside Tristan, I need distance. We never touched, but that didn’t stop my mind from wandering. Now I can’t stop thinking about the rise and fall of his broad chest as he slept beside me. Or the scent of cedar and salt that he left on the bedsheets.
Sunlight makes dappled patterns along the frost-covered forest floor.
Everything looks like magic in this light.
Our breath mingles, caught in the chill air.
The dewy trees drip, and the horses’ hooves crunch along the leaf-covered ground.
I could almost believe we’re just three normal travelers, out on a morning ride.
I pull my heavy red cloak tighter around my shoulders, grateful for its warmth.
It’s a good thing we escaped Caerwen before the start of winter.
Even now, in mid-autumn, the wind is bitter and the night temperatures drop dangerously.
But as long as the sun holds out during the day and we keep moving, we should make it to the border before the weather changes for the worse.
Behind me, Hunter sighs. “I’m ready for this whole blasted thing to be over. To find safe harbor somewhere people aren’t constantly trying to kill us.”
“Or bow to us,” I offer.
He nods, thinking. “Maybe a port town along the western coast would be nice. That sounds far enough from Caerwen.”
“Maybe.” My voice doesn’t sound convincing. There’s no corner of the realm far enough to escape the Fox King’s toxic reach.
His voice is lighthearted again, optimistic. “I could be a fisherman, I think.”
“Have you ever fished a day in your life?” I tease.
“Nah,” he waves concern away. “But I’ll find a friendly old man to teach me. He’ll appreciate that I’m so eager to learn. Old people love that.”
I smile. I’m glad to see a hint of the old Hunter again.
The past few days have been exceptionally difficult.
Between breaking off our engagement, rescuing me from certain death, fleeing with the Wolf, and being attacked by a hoard of murderous foxhounds …
I don’t blame him for being so grumpy. But I hope the old Hunter is here to stay.
Hunter laughs. “Remember when we were kids and Elena taught us to pick the cellar locks?”
I snort. “Which we then used to steal wine from the cellars.”
“See? Old people love to teach young kids new tricks.”
“Elena’s only one year older than us.”
“The rule still applies.”
I elbow him in the ribs.
“Gah!” he laughs. “I guess I deserved that.”
It’s a sweet memory, but the mention of Elena brings back thoughts of Caerwen. Of the damp, rat-infested dungeon and my father’s attempt to kill me. My mood sours instantly.
“Why do you think she helped save me?” I ask.
Hunter’s tone is more contemplative now. “Because we grew up together. She wouldn’t let you die, even if she has become …” He struggles to find the right word.
“The enemy?” I offer.
“I wouldn’t call her that.”
“My father’s mistress? The future queen of Llwyn? The mother of the new heir?” Behind me, I feel him cringe. But something still doesn’t feel right about the whole thing. I can’t just chalk it up to our childhood friendship. She wears a silver moth ring. That can’t be a coincidence.
“Hunter, there’s something you should know about Elena.”
Behind me, I can feel his arms stiffen. “Alright. What?”
“I overheard her talking with your father in secret. The baby, the new heir, he’s illegitimate.”
Hunter is quiet for a long time as Marigold clomps over the leaf-strewn road, snorting happily. “I suspected,” he says eventually. “I think most of the nobles do too. But I don’t think anyone would dare contradict the Fox King.”
I nod. He’s right. No one would. “And there’s another thing.”
He groans. “I’m almost afraid to ask.”
“She wears a silver moth ring.”
His voice is filled with genuine surprise. “Are you sure?”
“I saw it. When she helped us escape.”
“Huh.” I can practically hear his mind whirring as it runs through connections and possibilities. None of which we can verify now.
On the horse behind us, Tristan hums a lighthearted tune. A full night’s sleep and hot food in his belly made him a little more chipper this morning. Maybe the rest of this trip will be significantly better than the first day.
One can always hope, anyway.
Ahead of us, a man steps casually out of the forest and into the middle of the road. He pauses there, his hands clasped behind his back. The man rocks on his heels and smiles pleasantly as we approach. We pull on our horses’ reins a few yards away.
Hunter calls out to the man. “Hello, friend, we don’t want any trouble.”
“Wonderful!” The man claps his hands and rubs them together. “I don’t either.”
We stare at the man for a long moment, waiting for him to step aside, but he doesn’t.
Tristan clears his throat. “Move.”
Hunter shoots him a disapproving glare. Hunter has never been one for rudeness.
The man continues smiling pleasantly. “I don’t think so.”
Tristan sighs, leaning forward on his horse. “We have places to go. Tell us what you want and let’s get this over with.”
“Ah,” the man says, his smile brightening. “I’m glad you asked.”
On either side of the road, several more men step out from behind trees and bushes. They’re all dressed in the threadbare clothes of farmers and peasants. They carry pitchforks, kitchen knives, and shovels. One even has a large stick.
Hunter groans. “You can’t be serious.”
“Oh, but we are,” the pleasant man says. “But don’t worry, no one need get hurt.” He looks pointedly at me. My hackles raise at the insinuation that I need protecting.
“Just hand over your coins and that spectacular pair of gauntlets. Then we’ll permit you safe passage.”
“How generous of you,” Tristan says flatly.
The man points toward me. “And we’ll take that fine red cloak too, if you don’t mind.”
I shoot him my most venomous glare. “I do mind.”
“You seem to have plenty of blankets in your packs. You won’t be chilly for long.”
“No.”
Hunter interjects. “How did you know where to find us? Or do you harass everyone on this road?”
The man chuckles. “The boarding man sends you his thanks.”
Hunter’s eyes grow wide. “That scoundrel! We paid for his silence.”
The man nods as if he understands our predicament. “A pretty penny too, I’d wager.”
Tristan shakes his head. “And his ale was halfway decent too.”
The man raises an eyebrow. “Then you’ve been drinking some real shit ale, my friend.”
Tristan shrugs, agreeing.
“We’re not giving you anything,” Hunter says, sitting tall in our saddle. “I am a member of the King’s Guard, and I demand you let us through.”
All around us, the local men shoot each other nervous glances, but the smiling man is not perturbed. “And here I assumed you were a common thief.”
“Like you?” Tristan asks, but the man ignores the comment.
He purses his lips, thinking. “If you’re a member of the King’s Guard, then where is the rest of your famous copper armor?”
Hunter shoots Tristan a murderous glare. “That is irrelevant.”
The smiling man just shrugs and gestures toward my cloak. “No matter. We’ll take our payment now.”
I bristle. “Over my dead body.”
“Hold on a minute.” Tristan raises his hands placatingly. “How do you know we’re even the same customers your overrated bartender mentioned? For all you know, we’re a tribe of penniless performers.” He points to Hunter. “There you have the hopeless hero and his ingenue.”
The man grins. “If they’re the main characters, then who, pray tell, are you?”
Tristan grins wickedly. “I’m the villain, of course.” His canines are slightly more pointed than seems natural.
For the first time, the man’s smile falters. “Hand over your money,” he says, all good humor gone. “And that red cloak, sweetheart. Those gauntlets, too. We’ll be taking them.”
Hunter jumps down from the mare and draws his sword, preventing the men from getting any nearer to me, but I don’t need his protection. I jump down from the mare.
“Sienna, no,” Hunter says.
I ignore him and fumble under my skirts. Someone whistles. Another farmer makes a lewd gesture, but his face changes when I draw my knife out from the scabbard strapped to my thigh. Maybe it’s time I find a more convenient place to keep my weapon.
The jokester lunges first, reaching for my cloak.
I sidestep and slash out with my knife, catching his arm.
He yelps and stumbles back, clutching his bleeding wound.
Hunter takes that moment to charge at another thief, his gauntlet connecting with the man’s jaw with a satisfying crunch.
The thief drops to the ground, unconscious from a single punch.
Behind us, Tristan intercepts a third thief who’s trying to circle around me. He grabs the man’s arm and twists, forcing him to drop his pitchfork, while his other fist sends the thief sprawling.
Several more men jump out from hiding spots in the forest, farm tools in hand. None look terribly confident about fighting us, but they want our money more than they fear a whipping.
“Come here, girl.” A ruddy man with a great orange beard swipes at me, but I’m faster. I twist out of his grasp just in time.
Unfortunately, I don’t notice the tree branch his friend is swinging toward me from the other direction.
It catches me in the gut with a dull thump and I fall, sprawled out on the ground.
My necklace slips out from its hiding spot beneath my bodice.
The ruddy man’s eyes grow wide when he sees the silver moth.
“Pretty,” he says, grinning at me with brown teeth. “The missus will love that.” He reaches for it, but I roll away, swiping my knife at his hand as I go.
“Damn you to the deathless!” he shouts as he clutches his bleeding fingers. Blood drips down his forearm, trickling off his elbow into the dirt.
The thin man holds up his hands. “This ain’t worth it.” He turns and runs back into the forest.
“Evil wench,” the ruddy man yells as he follows him.
Behind me, Hunter and Tristan had similar success with their farmers, most of whom have fled.
When the leader realizes he’s the only one remaining, he curses and draws a blade that looks more like a kitchen knife than a dagger.
He makes a wild swing at me, but I parry, deflecting his attack.
I duck under his next swipe and kick out, catching him in the knee.
He goes down with a grunt, and I point my knife at his throat.
“Run while you still can,” I hiss. My necklace dangles inches above his nose.
The leader glares up at me, but when I press the knife into the thin skin of his neck, he reconsiders.
“Fine!” he chokes.
I remove my knee and get off him, but I keep my knife pointed at his throat. He scrambles backward, jumps to his feet, then follows his men back into the forest.
My red cloak catches in a breeze as I watch them retreat.
When I turn around, Tristan is staring at the silver moth on my necklace. He notices I’m watching and points to it. “You’d better put that away, Red. Before anyone else sees.”
Something in the way he’s looking at it gives me pause. “Why? Because you know this moth?”
He stomps past me to the unconscious thief in the road. “Because the last thing we need is to tempt more thieves with pretty trinkets on display.”
I glower at him, but tuck it back inside my bodice anyway.
Hunter nudges the unconscious man with his boot, making sure he’s out cold. He crosses his arms in front of his chest, then turns to Tristan.
“Why didn’t you use that shadow power of yours?” he asks.
Tristan shrugs, then kneels on the ground. “We had it under control.”
I lean in toward Hunter. “The Wolf Code.”
“Wolf Code? What the hell is that?”
Tristan looks peeved. “It’s not called the ‘Wolf Code’. We simply have morals. Honor. Something you southerners could learn a thing or two about.”
I roll my eyes. “Let’s not start.”
Hunter takes the bait. “I don’t see anything immoral about saving our asses.”
Tristan turns to Hunter. “And would you doom an impoverished family to a life of slow starvation? Because that’s what you would’ve done if I’d killed those men.
Poor people do foolish things when their families are suffering.
” His eyes grow hard. “That’s something Annwyn people understand.
That’s why we don’t kill others unless absolutely necessary. ”
Hunter scoffs, indignant. “Couldn’t you just bring him back to life, anyway?”
Tristan whirls around, his face furious. “We do not reanimate people.”
Hunter pushes back. “No? What about your Dead Queen?”
Tristan shakes his head slowly. “She is exactly why we don’t do it.”
“Only one northerner is allowed immortality then?” Hunter asks. “Sounds selfish to me.”
In a flash, Tristan pushes Hunter’s back into a nearby tree. For a moment, I fear they’re going to fight. But just as quickly, Tristan releases him.
“When we reanimate, the soul is still lost.” He says this with an ache in his voice, like he knows from experience what it’s like to lose someone he loves.
“The creature—or human—is never the same as they were before death claimed them. You can’t call people back.
Not really. It always causes more pain.”
He turns and grabs the unconscious thief by the ankles, then drags him out of the middle of the road. The man’s face is a bloody mess, but he’ll survive. Though I don’t envy the headache he’ll have when he wakes.
Tristan takes a coin from the waist of his trousers, then tucks it into the unconscious man’s hand before standing to face us.
He adds, “When you have the power to reanimate, you learn to respect the sanctity of life. Real life. The sort that has a soul and free thought.” He turns from us and walks toward his horse.
Next to me, Hunter digs the toe of his boot into the dirt, appearing somewhat chagrined.
It seems, despite his rough exterior and murderous abilities, Tristan might not be so different from Hunter after all. Both live by a code of honor—the knight sworn to protect the royal family, and the Wolf bound to respect the sanctity of life.
If I’m not mistaken, the look Hunter gives him is a little less hateful. One might even call it “begrudging respect”.