Chapter 8 #2
any such thing.”
She laughed despite herself as she slid the
dagger down the inside of her boot. “I suppose you expect me to
swear not to use your blade on you,” she said.
“I do.”
“Then I swear,” she said solemnly, and then
grinned wickedly. “Remember, I still have my own blade to use at my
discretion.”
“I well remember your blade, my tigress,” he
said, cupping his stones and wagging his brows at her, “and
your—discretion.”
“Ahem.”
They both looked to Munir, who lifted his
chin toward where the king sat astride Storm Chaser, the flag with
his family’s crest flapping in the chill autumn wind.
“The rules of the race are simple,” the king
called out as the crowd went quiet.
“The course is marked by flags and manned by
my guards, who will keep a tally of the riders who pass the
checkpoints and when. They will provide you with aide if you need
it, but then you are out of the race. You may ride from first light
to last, but not at night. This is for your horse’s safety, not
yours. You will follow these rules on your oath and honor.” He
paused for emphasis. “Any rider found breaking these rules will be
disqualified from this and any future race.” He glanced out across
the line of riders. “Do you so swear to abide by these rules?”
A chorus of male voices, and one lone female,
answered. “I so swear.”
The king held his flag high. “On your marks,”
he called out.
She tightened her grip on Lasair’s reins.
“Set.”
She shifted higher on her saddle.
“Go.”
The king slashed the flag down and she gave
Lasair a quick squeeze of her knees. Though the race would cover
one hundred leagues and taking the lead this early would mean
nothing in the end, she knew how much it signified to the
spectators now, especially to those who had wagered on certain
riders and their horses, and she was determined not to disappoint
any and all who had been brave, or mad enough, to wager on her, the
only woman in a field of ten and seven male riders.
Lasair leapt forward and within ten paces she
was in the lead, with Zolotoy and Kedar flanking her on either
side. The crowd lined the road to the city’s borders, cheering the
riders on and yelling out encouragement and instructions to their
favorites until the road turned onto a path and then open field,
where the riders let their mounts slow to an easier pace. For the
next eighty or so leagues the race would be all about keeping a
sure and steady pace and not getting injured. If a horse and rider
made it that far, the last twenty leagues would require every last
reserve of speed and endurance they had.
Right now, they were coming up on the first
of many river crossings.
Sahar slowed her breathing as her mother had
taught her to do when confronted by difficult situations, and
called on her courage, as her father had taught her. Gripping
Lasair’s reins and a hunk of her mane in both hands, she urged the
mare into the water, her breathing speeding up to match the rapid
beat of her heart despite her best efforts.
“You plunged right in this time,” Aleksandr
said loudly, his voice carrying over the yells of men and the
splashing of horses as he maneuvered Zolotoy to Lasair’s downriver
side. “Well done.”
She nodded, unable to unlock her clenched jaw
to answer. She glanced over to her other side as Kedar’s bobbing
head came even to Lasair’s and gave Munir a weak grin. Then she
concentrated on the far shore, breathing a little easier with each
stroke closer. At last, Lasair’s feet hit the river bottom and she
breathed a heavy sigh of relief as they emerged onto dry ground.
Lasair shook the water from her coat and Sahar pried her frozen
fingers from the mare’s mane, drug a ragged breath in and let it
out in a whoosh. Aleksandr and Munir were both watching her
closely.
“Are you two going to flank me every water
crossing of this race?” she said, welcoming the more familiar
warming flash of anger.
“It depends,” Aleksandr said.
“On what?”
“On how far the last crossing is from the
finish line.”
By unspoken agreement, Aleksi laid his
bedroll out on one side of Sahar’s and Munir laid his out on the
other. Aleksi set his short sword between his bedroll and Sahar’s
as Munir tucked his under each side of his bedroll.
“Are you certain you want your sword where I
can reach it?” she asked pointedly as she pulled the saddle bag
with her provisions into her cross-legged lap.
Aleksi lowered himself into the same
position, groaning a little as his hips popped and the tight
muscles of his lower back released. “You should know by now that
everything I do is for a reason,” he told her.
“What is your reason for acting like my
guard-dog this race?”
Aleksi glared out over several small
campfires along the creek’s shore to where Yago, Taweel, and the
Jackal had set up for the night. “You know why.”
“I know why Munir is,” she said, shooting the
king’s man a quick look over her shoulder as he stood and strolled
over to a copse of trees. “My father ordered him to.” The gold
specks in her eyes glowed in the fire’s light as she pinned Aleksi
with her gaze. “Why are you?”
Aleksi had never lied to her—well, except for
when he’d told her they were nothing to each other. He didn’t want
to lie to her now. But he’d sworn to the king that he would not
betray their bargain, and he meant to keep that vow as much for the
king’s sake as his own. He knew in his marrow that she would never
forgive him for taking payment from her father to protect her.
Though he couldn’t say what they actually were to each other,
whether they were friendly strangers, two people physically drawn
to each other despite their positions in life, or simply
well-matched competitors, he knew bone-deep that they weren’t
nothing to each other.
“I guard you because I do not trust the
Wolf,” he said, which was true enough. “Also, I know it rubs his
oily fur the wrong way.”
“That is the only reason, to anger Yago?”
“No. I also keep close to you because you and
Lasair are the horse and rider to beat,” he said, which was also a
version of the truth.
She gave a small smile and sat a little
taller.
“Your father and brother have both won and
placed in this race. I figure they have shared their wisdom and
strategy with you.”
Her smile flattened. “How practical of
you.”
“I came here to win. I’ve never pretended
otherwise.”
“To win enough coin to return home with a
string of broodmares and an easy-tempered wife. Yes, I
remember.”
“And you, what do you race for?”
Her smile was slow and purposeful and did not
reach her eyes. “I ride to prove that not all of us princesses are
soft, spoilt, and useless, and that women are more than broodmares
to be bought and used by men. That we have our own worth in this
world.”
Aleksi felt the sting of his own words thrown
back at him, words that had pricked her pride he’d once thought
nothing more than royal vanity like he’d seen in his father’s wife
and half-sisters. With Sahar, he had learned pride could be an
honorably inherent trait.
“Still angry at me then?” he asked by way of
apology.
“No.” She shook her head and shrugged. “Why
would I be angry with you, we are—”
“Don’t say we’re nothing to each other.”
“Why not? You did.”
Aleksi had already apologized to her for his
cruel words. What more could he say?
“You were right,” she added.
“What?”
“You were right,” she said. “At the end of
all this, we will both go back to our lives. Me, to being Princess
Sahar, safe, spoilt, and secure in the folds of my royal family,
and you”—her voice cracked, and she took a deep breath and blew it
out—“you will return to your homeland half a moon’s journey away,
where you will show your royal kin that a bastard son is a man of
his own making whose stables will rival any king’s, and whose
sturdy, easy-tempered wife will give him many sons.” She smiled,
and the tips of her luscious lips quivered. “Whatever it is we are
now will be nothing but a fleeting memory.”
Sahar unfolded the saddle blanket, laid it
over Lasair’s back, and tied it snugly under her belly to stave off
the autumn chill.
“You kept a good pace today, girl,” she said,
patting the mare’s neck. “Second day of the race and you made those
boys keep up with you.” She mixed a handful of oats from her bag
with a glob of goat fat and coaxed the mare into eating it. “I know
it is not your favorite meal,” she sympathized, “but it will give
you energy when we head up into the foothills tomorrow.”
The course had been set to ensure plenty of
grazing and water for the horses, but any rider worth their salt
knew how important it was to supplement their horse’s feed on such
a long and arduous trek. Sahar glanced over at Aleksandr, who was
feeding his stallion a similar concoction, and then quickly looked
away when he caught her watching him.
Unfurling her bedroll onto the cold, hard
ground, she added her soft, plush bed to the list of comforts she
would never take for granted again. That list included the sight of
Aleksandr’s broad bare chest as he returned from the stream to lay
his bedroll next to hers, his damp hair slicked back and his wet
torso glistening in the fire’s light.
She flopped down onto her bedroll. It was bad
enough Aleksandr had invaded her thoughts day and night. Now his
voice was embedded in her head as well. Purposely turning her
attention away from Aleksandr’s hard chest and tight nipples
puckering in the cold night air, she rummaged through her sack of
food and decided on a piece of cheese and flatbread with a handful
of dates for her supper. While she ate in silence, Munir set his
bedroll up alongside hers so that he and Aleksandr flanked her, the
two of them eating and talking companionably about the leagues they
had covered that day, and what they might expect tomorrow as they
rode up into the foothills of mountains whose peaks would be dusted
with their first snowfall within a moon’s time.
Sahar remained quiet, content to listen to
them talk as she sipped out a measured cup of wine, her tight
muscles relaxing as the drink’s warmth spread from her belly to her