Chapter 21
Constantine rode through Thurston Hold’s open portcullis, the second mount tied behind him, in less than an hour. He wasted no time in urging the horse into a run after clearing the bridge, hoping to be past the keep once more by the time the sun had truly risen. In moments, he reined to a stop by the boulder, behind which Dori rose from where she’d been crouched.
Her expression was one of disbelief as she took in the pair of mounts and the equal number of bags across the saddles. “How did you manage this without being seen?” she asked as Constantine swung down from his horse and moved toward her.
“I didn’t.” He took her hand and guided her to the side of the horse and helped her into the saddle, mindful of her injured leg. He loosened the reins and placed them in her hands. “I was counting on Felsteppe’s arrogance and lack of leadership. The men left behind at Thurston Hold had no clear orders about their duties. I told them I’d been sent to fetch extra mounts for the lord’s return journey from London and the entire stable was mine for the taking.”
“And so now we know for certain where he is,” Dori realized as he swung onto his own saddle.
Constantine gave her a grin as he turned his horse. “Now we know for certain. No one should stop us, but if they do, don’t say a word. We’ll ride hard until dawn and then rest a bit. I plan to reach London by nightfall. It will be best if we can meet with the king after most have gone on to their evening pursuits.”
He paused and met her eyes, looking for signs of doubt or fear; any indication that she was not completely committed to the path they would take, both literally and figuratively.
“Well? What are we waiting for?” she demanded.
Constantine kicked at his horse’s sides. “Hah!”
He led them swiftly as the sun rose in the sky, their speed making conversation impossible, even if either of them had been wont to speak. Constantine knew that seeking the king before killing Felsteppe might be suicide for him.
But he also knew it was the best option he had of securing Dori and her child’s safety. Once the king saw that she lived and heard her tale, there could be no doubt in Henry’s mind of Felsteppe’s inherent evil.
What the king would choose to do about it—if anything—Constantine could not say.
They stopped to rest the horses and themselves once the sun was bright and fully in the sky, eating what food they had beneath the shade of a beech tree. Their backs were against the wide trunk, their shoulders nearly touching.
“You’re worried, aren’t you?” Dori asked, glancing at him as she pulled a piece of bread from the hunk in her hands. The breeze caused the upturned ends of her hair to dance and shadows of the leaves overhead to flutter over her gamine face in such a way that Constantine felt he was in the presence of fae royalty despite her peasant attire.
He wouldn’t lie to her. “There’s no telling Henry’s mind after so many years. He’s been against me for many of them, believing in the tower of lies Felsteppe has constructed. I can’t say how he will react to our arrival.”
She huffed a breath of laughter. “I should think two dead people appearing suddenly at his court and begging an audience will at least gain his attention.”
Constantine’s mouth curved while he chewed and swallowed. “I was once party to a woman pretending to be a corpse in order to escape detection. A pattern, perhaps?”
Dori’s face turned toward him, her fine, arched brows raised. “Did it work?”
He shrugged and looked away to take a drink from the skin. “I don’t know. I left before they could return.” The silence settled around them for several moments.
“I’m worried.”
He turned to look at her, but her gaze was for the bright yellow fields glowing in the sun beyond the perimeter of their shady, breezy retreat.
“He won’t know who I am.”
Constantine frowned. “The king?”
“My son.” She looked at him. “I’ve never held him; never fed him. I don’t know anything about caring for an infant.”
“It’s largely instinct, isn’t it?” Constantine offered, returning things to his satchel.
“Hmm. I suppose.”
When he was finished, he looked back at Dori, who hadn’t moved from her contemplative pose, and he was surprised to see tracks of tears on her cheeks.
“What if we’re already too late?” she asked, her easy tone belying the glistening trails of sorrow on her face.
“Then that will forever be a burden across my own shoulders, not yours,” Constantine said, turning her face toward him. “Theodora, you’ve done everything you could on your own.”
“Do you mourn Chastellet?” she asked suddenly.
