8. Chapter 7
Chapter 7
T he chestnut mare went lame after my second day on my own. I didn’t know enough about horses to determine if it was due to a stone in her shoe or something more serious. Perhaps she was simply fed up with my rambling conversation and inexperienced riding. I removed her tack, keeping the bridle for trade and the blanket for warmth, then sent her west, hoping to confuse Sainte and his men.
By my fourth day, I had traded the bridle for a hunk of musty cheese and hard bread. It was a poor exchange, but I didn’t have many options. Most folk just eyed me warily and crossed the street. I ended up taking another road east, hoping if I followed it, I might get close enough to Landing’s End to know my location.
My current predicament found me with a gnawing ache in my belly, a stark reminder of my unmet hunger, running from the man I tried to rob in the dead of night. I sprinted through the darkness—a tiptoeing, prancing gait, but running nonetheless. It was the best I could manage in the utter black. The sky was veiled in dark clouds, obscuring even the faintest glimmer of moonlight that tried to filter through the dense canopy overhead.
As I sped through the forest, my foot caught on an exposed root, sending me sprawling. My palms slammed against the damp earth, and I shoved myself up, leaves rustling under my frantic movements. I knew my pursuer couldn’t see me, but my clumsy escape was a symphony of noise, betraying my position.
Low-hanging branches and thorn-covered brambles slashed at my arms and legs as I fled. If I’d only triple-checked the man was asleep, I wouldn’t be in this situation. I had hoped to secure something to fill my belly, but instead, my efforts led to stumbling through the woods in a hunger-induced haze .
Footsteps crashed behind me, closing in fast, and I mustered energy from somewhere, forcing myself to move faster.
Ahead in the darkness, it looked as if the trees thinned into a clearing. Were my chances better in the open? I might outpace him on even terrain. Mind made up, I propelled forward. I burst through that treeline, taking a glorious bush-free step–
Right into a ditch.
I fell flat on my face, nose smarting as my head smacked into the dirt.
“Got you!”
I rolled onto my back as his tall shadow detached from the woods, looming over me.
“See now, I didn’t mean any harm.” I scrambled backward. “I only–”
“El?”
I froze, then flopped to my belly, squinting down the road. Two figures sat atop bedrolls not fifteen paces off.
One with a bow drawn.
“Ethyan? Lyana?”
“Off with you then, you big oaf!” Lyana cried, pushing to stand. She stalked over with all the confidence of a port guard, swagger in her step and all.
“She’s a thief!” The man jabbed an accusing finger my way. “Tried to rob me in my sleep!”
I pulled myself onto the road, limbs shaking from exertion, though he made no effort to retrieve me.
“We’ll deal with her,” Ethyan called, his aim steady.
“I expect you will,” he hissed, “or you’ll be missing bits when you wake.”
“‘Tis our risk to take.”
Lyana rushed to my side, offering a hand. I gladly took it, and she grunted as she helped me up. The traveler grumbled a few curses, spat in our direction, then disappeared among the trees.
“Fancy seeing you here.”
I wrapped my arms around her and squeezed so tight she fought to get a breath. Tears pricked my eyes as a surge of relief washed over me like a warm tide. These were my people, allies who had my back. No longer would I have to scheme for escape or flee.
They were the family I chose.
“Robbing a man in the dead of night? Alone?” Ethyan asked. “You must be hungry.”
I loosened my grip and peered through the darkness as he rummaged through his things.
“There’s only a few scraps left from our hare,” he said, “but it’s better than nothing. ”
I ran to their blankets and plopped beside him, picking at the thin carcass. “I can’t believe you followed.”
Lyana dropped next to me, a lopsided smile on her cheeks. “Well, we didn’t really follow. Gods above—we don’t know anything about tracking across miles of countryside. But we had a general idea of direction.”
“But look at you, girl! You got away on your own,” Ethyan mused, rubbing at his arm. It had to be sore from the length of the draw he held on the man. He lacked the strength to sustain a draw for long, but he was a fantastic shot when he loosed arrows in quick succession.
I smirked, shaking my head at how easy my escape was. Sainte either trusted me to stay put or Grimm played a furious game, keeping Urien distracted. Now I only had to evade them until my twenty-first birthday, which was closing in fast.
We conversed well into the night as I recounted the experience of my near-drowning and the witch with her ominous knowledge of me. Lyana narrowed her eyes at the mention of Sainte, and I averted my gaze, worried she might notice my guilt.
When all was said, we curled up together on the side of the road, and I slept peacefully for the first time in weeks.
I chuckled as Lyana danced atop the table, her feet prancing along with the bard’s tune. Patrons cheered and moved their mugs to make room as she twirled. Meanwhile, Ethyan lingered in the corner, engaged in a game of knife-throwing with some locals, winning us each a savory hand pie and a refreshing mug of water.
After three days of traveling, I found myself cherishing their company more than ever. Our time apart gave me a newfound appreciation for their presence. Lyana was the friend I never had growing up, ready to listen whenever I needed to talk. And Ethyan embodied the protective brother figure I always wished I had. His caring nature often masked his playful, sometimes obnoxious, demeanor.
I hummed along with the bard as he worked his fiddle, patrons drumming against the tables in time. Lyana, breaths heaving, danced with increased vigor, leaping from table to table as cheers erupted around us. Her energy was infectious, filling the tavern with a sense of celebration. Amidst the laughter and music, I couldn’t help but smile, knowing that despite the chilly night ahead, our bellies would be full and our spirits high .
A sour thought wormed into my mind about a certain man searching for me out in the cold. I frowned, squashing the image before it consumed me with guilt.
I hadn’t told Lyana how I felt about anything yet, but by the looks she gave me whenever Sainte came up, she knew.
Swirling the water in my mug, I peered into it, contemplating my situation. I didn’t regret running for my freedom. Everyone should have the right to choose their path in life, free from coercion. I considered myself lucky to have escaped a royal upbringing that would have forced me into a role I despised. Instead, I was instilled with the belief that I belonged among the common folk, regardless of my bloodline, and I was fine with that.
My childhood dreams were a far cry from the typical fantasies of little girls. They imagined themselves as forgotten princesses from distant realms that would someday be summoned back to a life of luxury and adoration.
All while I suffered nightmares of my brother killing me if I ever returned.
For that, I was quite content with my commoner’s status. However, my rebellious spirit prevented me from pursuing a conventional trade. In cities like Port Siren, opportunities for women were limited—mainly regulated to the paths of a whore or a wife.
Still, I was happy with my friends and our bell tower. Sainte’s distant presence brought a sense of security, knowing he was out there, but far enough away that I could harbor my bitterness.
Why did he have to stir all this up?
“El!” Lyana struggled over, shoving through the crowded tavern.
I sucked in a startled breath, my gaze snapping toward the open door. There, the setting sun cast a silhouette against several familiar figures.
Urien, with Grimm and the others a pace behind.
“Gorseth’s blue balls!” I cursed.
My chair toppled as I leapt from my seat, darting for the rear of the tavern. I shoved people aside, and a maid’s tray toppled, splattering my back with hot soup. The sting had me biting my tongue, but I didn’t slow. I squeezed between two burly figures, a clamor of crashing objects echoing in my wake.
The innkeeper cupped his mouth, pointing toward the exit. “That way, girl!”
With a nod of thanks, I rushed in the direction he gestured. Before I sped through the kitchens, I glanced over my shoulder to see Lyana jumping onto Urien’s back, while Ethyan charged, blade in hand.
I practically fell down the few slick steps outside, then took off down the alley at a run. When I found the main road, it was eerily quiet, which should have been my first warning… but I ignored it.
I rushed for the shops, hoping to slip into a barn or shed until the men moved on. Hoofbeats pounded against the hard-packed earth, closing in fast. I urged my legs to move faster, then turned, darting down the nearest alley. Breath heaving, I whirled, spotting a familiar white stallion, Sainte hauling back on the reins.
“No, no, no!” I ran, blood rushing to my ears.
Hooves slammed against the cobblestones. Curse the beast’s agility!
I burst from the end of the shops, frustration gnawing at me as I faced the woods, legs still pumping. With nowhere to hide—even in the forest, I couldn’t outpace him. Shifting tactics, I pivoted on my heel and staggered back, raising my hands in surrender.
“Look, I’m sure we can talk about this—oof!”
Sainte didn’t stop. Gods, I don’t think he slowed as he snared my wrist, pulling me through the air. The momentum jerked me off my feet. I screamed, clawing for purchase to pull myself away from the horse’s pounding hooves. He grunted and yanked the reins left, hauling me up at the same time.
Then he threw me over the front of the saddle as if I were a sack of grain.
I cursed with each stride, the hard leather digging into my ribs. I twisted, ready to demand he let me up, but the words died on my lips.
Rage seeped through his glare and I didn’t think there was a curse strong enough to express the anger in his eyes. As the stallion galloped out of town, I could only try to keep myself still, and pray I didn’t break a rib in this position.
Gods knew Sainte didn’t seem to care.
We rode in silence throughout the night. Horse sweat drenched my tunic and trousers. I winced with each step of its trotting gait, but was fairly confident I hadn’t broken anything. My feet and hands felt as if a thousand bees were stinging them, and no amount of wiggling or shaking relieved it. My head throbbed, a relentless pulse behind my eyes. Every muscle ached, protesting each jostle and bump of the journey. Despite the discomfort, I didn’t dare ask for a break or a chance to sit upright. Even my bladder’s urgent demands went ignored.
Sainte’s current state was unlike anything I’d witnessed before. He’d been angry or disappointed with me in the past, but this level of ire was unprecedented. Normally, he took my well-being into account, albeit in a bull-headed manner. This new carelessness cut deeper than his anger ever could.
We stopped once in the early morning, when he dismounted to relieve himself. I attempted to shift and straighten to share the saddle, but an icy glare over his shoulder killed my effort. After fixing his trousers, he pivoted toward the horse and mounted .
“Care to allow me the same relief?” I asked with a nervous grin.
He ignored me without so much as a glance as he shoved me forward, almost on the horse’s neck. It snorted and stamped its foot as Sainte gathered the reins, then urged the beast back into motion.
We rode through the day with no breaks, and as the sun began its descent, nausea set in. The swaying gait combined with my awkward position, the meager food in my belly, and the day’s thirst, resulted in me spewing all contents from my stomach. The horse shied to the side, snorting as I wiped my mouth.
At least I didn’t puke on anything valuable.
Sainte pulled to a halt and dismounted without a word. At my feet, he shoved one of my legs upward. I obliged him, moaning as I shifted my body to sit in the saddle and lean against the horse’s neck. He refused to look at me, his jaw clenched tight as he strode forward guiding the horse with a firm grip on the reins. I was too ill to find any sense of accomplishment or pleasure in my small victory.
He walked through the night, pressing on until morning. When the stallion faltered beneath my weight, he stopped, assessing the animal’s weary legs. With a sigh, he guided the beast to a nearby tree, securing it before slipping the bit from its mouth. Without a word, he reached below to loosen the saddle’s girth. I scrambled to dismount before he stranded me up there. My attempt resulted in a less-than-graceful fall on my arse, leaving me to gaze up at Sainte beneath the horse’s white belly. The muscle in his jaw flicked as he looked away, continuing his task.
I tried to stand, struggling with my balance on legs that felt as if they weren’t my own. After a few curses, I got myself upright with the help of a low branch, then limped from tree to tree, deeper into the woods. I swear I heard the first curse grace Sainte’s lips before he stomped after me.
With a hand on my hip, I spun, giving him the deadliest glare I could muster. “Look, I’ve been holding my piss for over a day, Sainte! If you can’t leave me in peace, prepare for a show!”
He stopped five paces from me and crossed his arms over his armor, returning my glower, though his was far more frightening. Muttering every curse I knew about stubborn men, I stepped behind a tree that I hoped was big enough for decency’s sake and relieved myself. He at least stayed on the other side, allowing me a semblance of privacy.
Once I finished, I returned to him, arms spread wide in good humor. “Look, I didn’t run!”
He snatched my arm, leading me back to the horse.
“Sainte, really?” I stumbled, struggling to keep pace. “Stop—please.”
“Stop?!”
Throw me in a pigsty—that was apparently the wrong thing to say .
“ Stop , Elspeth?!”
I flinched at his tone and attempted to pull away as he yanked me closer to his chest. Blue sparks flew from his glare, and a vein pulsed at his temple.
“We have seven days to make it to Wynterborne, and you want me to stop –”
“Yes!” I jerked my arm, but his grip held. “I don’t want to go! Just–”
“You’ve made that clear,” he spat. “Yet, here we are. You’re going regardless.”
“Gods above, Sainte! What happens when we get there and I say, ‘No, actually I don’t mind at all if you are crowned, brother.’ and slip away?”
“Slip away? He’ll kill you.”
“And that will be your fault for dragging me there!”
“Guilting me over your death before you even arrive? Try harder,” he snarled, shoving me off.
“You’re petty and selfish,” he growled, removing the saddle.
“What can I say? It’s how I was raised.”
“You were raised better than that.”
“How would you know? You were barely ever there!”
“Thrice-curse it all, Elspeth! Do you not remember when we talked about Wynterborne? When I told you the horrors your people lived through?”
“Of course not. I was a child . Nothing sticks.”
He tore a brush from his pack and set to brushing the horse with harsh strokes. “I was preparing you for your return, as the salvation–”
“How exactly do you expect a child to process horror stories of her homeland? Stories of people starving, locked away in isolation?”
“You do remember.” He ducked under the horse’s neck to tilt his head in an ‘I told you so’ fashion.
“No, actually, I don’t! I tuned out all those awful things, choosing to focus on the fact that the one person I believed truly cared about me was there!” I shouted. The horse nickered, pushing Sainte with its shoulder. “Come to find out, he didn’t care! I was just a tool, a pawn he could slip into place for his own agenda. Someone he could control!”
“You were never a tool to me.” The brush strokes faded as he stilled. “You were only ever Elspeth.”
The remorse in his tone sapped the anger from my bones, if not the rebellion.
“Sainte–”
I sighed and walked around the stallion to face him. He refused to meet my gaze, staring at the sweat-soaked horsehair.
“If I was not a tool then, why am I now?”
My heart twisted and ached in my chest as he took a deep shuddering breath, then braced himself against the horse, studying me.
“Who am I?”
“What?” I shook my head, confused .
He closed his eyes, forcing his patience, and repeated his question. “Who am I?”
“Sainte…?”
“Aye, now what am I?”
“A soldier?”
“A Wynterborne soldier,” he corrected. The dark circles under his pained, tired gaze conveyed just how hard he pushed himself on this journey. “A Wynterborne citizen sworn to uphold and honor the people. I serve the crowned, and uncrowned—the protector of both. Does that make me only a tool?”
A scowl scrunched my features. “Well, I guess you’re a pawn too, then,” I huffed. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”
He pushed off the horse and held his arms out in supplication. “Am I not still Sainte? The man who rode hard for weeks to greet a girl once a year? Tell me, Elspeth, am I just a tool for your birthday mischief?”
I dropped my gaze and scuffed the dirt with the toe of my boot. He couldn’t fathom his significance in my life. To express the depth of my feelings, the extent of how deeply I cared, seemed impossible. He wasn’t a tool or a pawn—not to me. I considered him a friend, a loyal companion, even if only for one day.
I sniffed and ignored his question, choosing to go sit by the saddle. He let me sulk as he tended his horse. His only words were soft murmurings as he felt the beast’s legs. As the sun sank near the horizon, I curled into myself. Exhaustion weighed heavily on me, both physical and mental. Inner conflict ran rampant—a desire to please Sainte, to do as he asked, clashed against the urge to flee.
I was scared.
I wasn’t afraid to voice my thoughts—I was terrified. Not because of my brother. I hadn’t seen Adastrus in years. He was nothing more than a terrible story, a bad dream. With Sainte at my side, I feared no man.
I was afraid of letting people down.
I was a street rat. A commoner. I was Elspeth of Landing’s End, not a princess. I didn’t know the first thing about high court or politics. What about the dances and proper etiquette? Not only would I make a fool of myself, but I would embarrass all those who hoped I was something more. I stuck out like a sore thumb in Port Siren’s noble district. How much worse would I fare when thrown into a palace and paraded about as royalty?
Sainte’s groan echoed in the dimming light as he settled beside me. The sudden widening of my eyes betrayed my surprise as he took hold of my hands, winding a rope around my wrists. A sharp sting of betrayal cut deeper as each knot tightened. Tension sparked, palpable and all-consuming, as he looped the rope about his waist, securing our bond .
“You are Princess Elspeth of Wynterborne, a tool to be used wisely , by yourself and others.” He pushed out an exasperated sigh, leaning against the saddle. “But you are also a person. You won’t lose yourself.”
I deflated, and the emotion clogging my throat seeped through my chest, straight to my heart.
The rough rope dug into the soft skin on my wrists as I fought to hold the flood of hopeless tears at bay.
“I wouldn’t let you,” he muttered.