“It pays to take out powerful people.” He tightened his brenni’s girth as it snorted. “Shall we?”
He gave her a leg up, and she swung onto the saddle. The brenni shifted, straining at the bit, but then stilled under her touch. It wasn’t quite like a horse, but it felt solid. Sturdy.
Yassen mounted easily and nudged his brenni forward. When they reached the forest road, he twisted in his saddle and looked at her.
“I need you to make me a promise,” he said. He took off his visor, his eyes intent on hers. “You have to give me your word that you will do everything I say. If I tell you to hide, you hide. If I tell you to run, you run—even if you have a clear shot. There will be no time to argue. This land may not be as rough as Ravence, but it has its harsh edges, and I know them better than you.”
“And what if I have to leave you behind?”
“Then you’ll leave me behind,” he said, and his words fell like stones.
It saddened her. Yassen was all that she had left of Ravence.
“You took the oath, Yassen Knight. For better or for worse, you’re stuck with me.” She smiled and spurred her brenni on.
CHAPTER 38
YASSEN
Everything points north, even death.
—a Ravani proverb
Yassen remembered the amethyst pine with the ivory trunk. It hunkered on the edge of the mountainside like a tottering drunk—a sordidly welcoming sight.
“We’re almost there,” he called out to Elena.
They were already three hours into their journey. Yassen had unbuttoned his coat as they ventured up the mountain, but now, as they wandered deeper into the forest, he wished he had taken it off. A suffocating heat crept through the pines. His brenni shifted nervously, but he patted its neck gently and steered it beyond the tree.
“Why is it so damn hot?” Elena wiped her brow, her face flushed. He tried not to stare as she peeled off her coat. Sweat ringed the neck of her blouse and when she caught his gaze, he quickly looked away.
“There’ve been warm summers here, but I’ve never seen one like this,” Yassen said as she drew closer.
“You really think there’ve been wildfires out here?”
“I don’t doubt it,” he responded.
Yassen hadn’t been in the mountain for many suns, yet the path to his father’s cabin remained ingrained in his memory. There was the tall sapling with its blue needles; there, the cliffside that resembled the aging face of a king. Yassen nudged his brenni, and it hopped over a fallen log covered with dry leaves and dust from the mines above.
If what the merchant said was true, the Jantari soldiers would be here soon to collect their precious ore. They would most likely go straight to the mines without searching the mountain; after all, they were deep within their own territory. They had little reason to suspect danger. Yassen still made sure to cover their tracks when he could. He guided their brenni over pine roots and weaved them past dry creek beds, where it would be harder to find evidence of their passing.
A spot of blue fluttered above them, and Yassen looked up to see a mountain lark.
“Stay still,” he said, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw Elena rein her mount to a stop.
He slid from his saddle and landed on a carpet of pine needles, avoiding the naked black neverwood branches that clawed out from beneath the underbrush. The mountain lark sang. Three soft notes.
“You hear that?” he said to Elena. “Three notes mean no danger.”
“What about one note?”
“It means you run.”
He stepped in the pockets between roots and came to stand before a long retherin pine. It was an old master of the forest; its velvet blue trunk was wider than three grown men, and its tawny leaves were thick and heavy despite the summer heat.
Slowly, Yassen sank down to study its roots. They spanned the forest floor, a vast network that led to the very base of the mountain. His father had taught him that the roots of a tree were a map that linked the land together—from its valleys to its summits—and that to understand it, he need only to observe.
Yassen traced one that led to the trunk. The bark felt soft, supple even. He followed it diagonally until he found a knot, the pear-shaped bulge that his father had pointed out to him so long ago, and he pressed it.
