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 tostop–”
“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 achild. 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.
