My shoulders tense. I’ll keep the damn necklace tucked into my shirt. No one will know.
And I’ll figure out what game Cecil’s really playing. I’ve got years of working for him under my belt now. I’m not as green as I once was; I know how he operates, and my eyes are wide open going into this.
A flash of memory cuts across my mind, quick as a blink.
That highborn man. Cecil’s rival. His house, dark and shadowed, his body lying sprawled on the floor. My knuckles aching, the smell of blood ripe and putrid on the air.
“Anything else?” I face the land ahead of me.
“Remember to send your updates in code,” Cecil tells me. The way he always wrote to me in Southwark so no one else could read it. “Report anything you hear about plots against the queen or fae weapons.”
My hands fist around my horse’s reins, but before I can urge it into motion again, Cecil makes a grunt of negation.
“Ah-ah. You continue on foot from here. There’s a town straight on the other side of the border. You can hire a ride to Stirling.”
I blink at him. “The border itself is four miles deep.”
“You remembered,” Cecil notes, and the tensing in his jaw says he isn’t happy about that. What else have I remembered that he was hoping I’d forget?
I scowl at him, but he doesn’t budge.
“Dismount,” he says. “Taking a horse is a quick way to get Border Reivers set on you. You don’t want that, do you?”
Border Reivers—roving mercenaries who take advantage of the border’s instability to raid and pillage their hearts out. Part of the reason crossing’s so dangerous; it’s not necessarily any wars you gotta watch out for. It’s the vultures who pick through the remains left behind.
I eye the land ahead of me. It’s growing more and more threatening with every passing moment, and the sun’s setting, heading fast to night. No way I’ll make it across before it sets, which means I’ll be stuck sleeping on a bedroll in the elements without risking a fire in unclaimed territory, which is likely Cecil’s intention. He could’ve timed us getting here earlier.
Prickles start in my fingertips. They rise up my arms, and my breathing ramps faster, heart thudding relentlessly against my ribs. A wash of anger starts to set in, dropping over me quicker than it has in a while.
Palms sweating, back straining, I fight down the anger. Push it deep, deep inside me, like I always do.
He isn’t worth attacking. Not until he breaks this curse.
I dismount and shoulder my supplies: a bag with my Latimer paperwork, another one full of travel gear. I’ve got a knife too, but it feels woefully small compared to whatever might be waiting ahead.
I start off without another word.
When I get a good bit away, I allow myself to look over my shoulder.
Cecil and his two guards are right where I left them, watching me from a copse of trees. It doesn’t matter much what he wants out of this, what he expects of me. I’m gonna survive this. I’m gonna find the item that cursed me, and I’m gonna befree.
I turn my back on my father and walk north.
***
Night sets in, but I don’t stop to camp. I can easily make it across by morning if I push.
All this wild, free air suddenly feelstoowild,toofree, and I find myself missing the cramped quarters of London. There at least you could wedge yourself in tight spaces and know no one could see you; here, eyes can be anywhere.
There are noises too. Noises like the hooting of birds that reminds me with a pang of Oskar, Hal, and the others in Southwark and how they’d communicate with birdcalls. But there are other sounds too. The clang of metal far off. A bray that might be a scream. A wolf—no, not a wolf, just a trick of mist and shadow. At one point, I spot the glow of a campfire in the distance, and I veer away to put more space between it and me, though it might be too late.
The Border Reivers aren’t out in droves since there’s no blood in the water to draw ’em, so I keep picking my way north, actually grateful Cecil had me leave the horse behind. He wouldn’t want me to die thisearly anyway; I’d draw attention with the clatter-clop of hooves. Even though I’m sweating through my undershirt and doublet and cloak, even though I’m bloody knackered from the prior days of travel, I press on, a shadow in shadows.
The going’s slower thanks to the terrain in the dark. I have to feel my way down hills and around stone outcroppings, taking each step carefully to avoid snapping an ankle or toppling down an incline. The later it gets, the more exhaustion tugs at me, but I shake it off and keep my focus.
The sky starts getting pink against the gray snow clouds, and my eyes trail the land behind me, keeping watch—
A person stands between two trees back the way I’ve come.
