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Before she could even flinch, he drew a dagger and cut at his own palm, using the hand to smear a line of blood across the white sheets.
Only when he stepped back, putting a full six feet between them, did he raise his eyes. His palm healed before her eyes, the flesh knitting back together as he wiped the blood away. He scrubbed his other hand through his hair, setting it at ends like her own. Erida glared at him with all the rage and indignation she could muster, her anger volcanic. A tinge of pink spotted high on his cheeks, the only change in his stoic face.
“I’ll send word when Ronin gets his bearings,” Taristan said, bending into a short, stiff bow. It was the only awkward thing about him, like watching a lion try to joust.
“That’s too much blood,” Erida said dryly, glaring at the mussed blankets, feeling hot all over.How dare you,she thought, running a hand through her ruined hair. She wanted to strangle him.
“Enough to satisfy any stupid lords who dare to ask after our bedsheets.”
“There will still be talk,” she said through clenched teeth.If you shrug again, I will kill you, and find someone less infuriating to marry.
Taristan tossed his doublet away with a curling sneer, leaving only his undershirt tucked into his breeches. He seemed more himself without the trappings of royalty, and he rolled his shoulders, the white veins moving with his muscles.
“Let them talk, Your Majesty,” he replied, turning on his heel. It was the closest thing to a farewell he gave, another Spindle already on his mind.
In his wake, the Queen burned.Not like this,she thought, playing the words over and over in her mind. It was a puzzle she didn’t know how to solve.
21
EYES OPENED
Sorasa
Fleeing on horseback was not the means of escape Sorasa would have chosen. The farmlands of the Great Lion’s fertile valley rolled with gentle hills and patchwork fields, offering poor cover in daylight. Their mounts were little more than pack horses, even the strange gray mare the Jydi witch had somehow summoned. There would be no mad gallop for the border.Not on these stumbling nags,Sorasa thought, despairing of the stolen horse beneath her. It was no sand mare, a shadow of the horses of her homeland, who moved like wind made flesh.
She led the way again, with Andry on her left. The squire was sharp-eyed, at least, always watching the horizon behind them. He named castles as they loomed, silhouetted on the hills, pointing out the feudal holdings of some lord or lady. Information of little use, mostly, but at least Corayne drank it in, asking questions as the hours passed.
The Cor girl was like a rag in water, soaking up whatever she could of the lands around them. She wore a stolen shawl over her shoulders to hide the Spindleblade on her back. And she had a hat ready, should they pass an errant patrol. Not that Sorasa—or Dom, for that matter—would give a country patrol the opportunity to see Corayne’s face. The assassin would sooner kill ten watchmen than risk one breathing a hint of their whereabouts. Her focus strayed from the road to Corayne more often than not. Dom was the same, his eyes never leaving Corayne’s shoulders, as if his stare alone could shield her from the dangers of the world.
Valtik didn’t seem to notice any of them at all. The witch let her horse meander, keeping pace but weaving away from their track to pick through broken hedges and saddle-high fields of wheat. She sang under her breath, in Jydi and in another language no one could place. Of course the words rhymed. Sorasa shut the song out.
It’s difficult enough minding the squire, the Elder, and the apparent hope for the realm. I refuse to waste time or energy minding the witch too.
The farm lanes branched, trailing between hills and streams. Peasant farmers paid them little notice. No one patrolled the lanes, but they were winding, doubling back on themselves. As the hours wore on, the farms grew more sparse, separated by brush and woodlands instead of hedges. The horses slowed, picking their way on tentative legs.
“Our only advantage is speed,” Andry said, sitting up in the saddle as they broke through another stand of undergrowth. He urged his horse alongside Sorasa’s. “If we get on the Cor road west, we can give the horses rein and make better time.”
Sorasa grimaced when Corayne mirrored Andry’s motions, maneuvering her horse to her other side. The assassin did not enjoy being hemmed in by anything, let alone teenagers.
“I’ve always wanted to see a Cor road,” Corayne said. She even heaved a wistful sigh.
“I met you on a Cor road, you scheming imp,” Sorasa bit back, and Corayne’s face fell. “If the Queen of Galland has any sense, she’s sent her fastest scouts along the roads in every direction, with orders to look out for a beanpole squire, an immortal troll, and a cloaked girl with a stolen sword and too many questions.” Sorasa twitched her heels and her horse jolted out ahead. “If you want to take the roads, fine, but we’ll be riding into an easy trap.”
Dom’s voice was deep behind her. “Certainly you have a plan for whatever enemies we do run into, Sarn,” he said dryly.
“Most of them involve throwing you at them,” Sorasa shot back. He grumbled in reply.
“No roads, Corayne,” she added finally. The girl sank in the saddle, scowling. Sorasa could see a hundred replies fighting up her throat. “Farm lanes and deer paths won’t get us to Adira quickly, but they’ll get us to Adira alive.”
“And once we’re there?” Andry reined alongside her again, undeterred. He looked older on horseback, at ease and in control. “You going to sell us to a northern slaver or bet our lives in a game of dice?”
Sorasa wanted to ignore him. Silence was a stone wall few could climb. And the squire’s fear of Adira was inconsequential, if not idiotic. But she had a feeling he would pester her all the way to the city gates if need be. She offered a flash of teeth barely cousin to a smile.
“I was sold into slavery before I could walk, Trelland. I don’t intend to put anyone else through that, even Lord Domacridhan,” she said, jerking her head back at the Elder. It was easy to pretend she didn’t see the sudden pull of pity on their faces. Even Dom softened a little, like granite worn by centuries of wind and rain. Sorasa had no use for any of it. “And I doubt any of you would be worth much in the gambling dens. The witch, maybe.”
Corayne and Andry exchanged uncertain glances, falling quiet. But before Sorasa could enjoy it, Dom rumbled from the rear of their party.
“You aim to recruit more of your kind in that cesspool,” he growled.
