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Curiously, Uther’s word still mattered to both sides. If he gave his blessing to one or both of the queens as ruler of Wincham, without caveat, then few in Wincham would argue. Of course, that would just be the start of a larger war between my sisters and their respective armies. Both knew that the unity between them that existed for the purposes of the siege was a temporary truce and one that would evaporate as soon as my father was forced to announce his chosen heir. Then there would be a long and bloody war.
In some ways, I used that potential war as my excuse.
Perhaps the courtiers of Farringcourt, or even Jonas himself, would have handed over my father to prevent the pain of a long siege that could only end one way. Perhaps that would have been the right thing to do; my father had made mistakes that would cost the country dear.
But he was still my father and I couldn’t let that happen.
By night, using all the skills I’d learned in my five years in the mountains with my Aunt Leah, I snuck past the siege lines of Gaunt and Latran and scaled the fortified walls of Farringcourt. While the city’s many defenses made a full-scale attack a futile gesture, a single person—especially one who knew the city well—could sneak in, and I managed to do so, into the city and then into the palace, where I found my father under guard.
It was only then that I learned the extent of Uther’s mental deterioration, and I will never forget the horror of that moment, when those eyes which had been the first to look on me as a baby, looked on me now and saw nothing. The fact that my own father didn’t recognize me almost made me give up there and then. It broke me.
But I suppose I’d learned to be hard during my time away. So, I swallowed my heartbreak and went to the secret escape route in the king’s apartments that my father had shown me when I was young. It could only be accessed from the inside—which was why I hadn’t come in this way—and not even my sisters knew about it. My father had shown it to me during a game of hide and seek, when I kept losing to my older siblings. He always favored me, always allowed me to cheat, and gave me more leeway than he did them. Looking back, perhaps that was where all this animosity between my sisters and me had started. But there was no sense in dwelling on the past.
I took my father out through an underground tunnel that emerged into the wilderness, some distance from the siege lines, and we struck out for the mountains and the safety (or partial safety) of my aunt’s realm.
The siege on Wincham ended a few days later. Spies within the palace had told Rhea and Sylvia that the rumors were true, the king was gone. That, presumably, was when they’d decided to look elsewhere and had hired mercenaries, who drew less attention.
And it was a tactic that had apparently worked for Rhea. Our capture would almost certainly mean death for us both, just as soon as Uther proclaimed Rhea his legitimate heir. Then there would be war. Certainly, between Rhea and Sylvia, with their husbands’ armies behind them, but perhaps Wincham would go to war as well, depending on how Jonas and the others in charge responded to what was clearly a forced declaration by the old king.
It would be a long and bloody conflict, and I told myself that such was what I was trying to prevent. But in truth, I just wanted to save my father.
***
For the most part, the mercenaries rode while I walked behind Buck’s horse, my hands tied and tethered to his saddle. I was grateful that Uther had been allowed to ride up behind one of the men, in recognition of the fact that the old man was slowing them down. I too was occasionally permitted to ride when they wanted to go faster, but I wasn’t to be trusted—they had all seen me fight and knew I was more of a warrior than perhaps I looked.
“I’ll take her.”
“No, I’ll take her.”
“You took her last time.”
In other circumstances, it might have been quite flattering to be fought over by all these men, but the knowledge that they were fighting for the opportunity to grope me as we rode just made me slightly sick. I was happier to ride with Buck, who left me unmolested, but he was always trying to keep his men happy, aware that he was their leader more by default than by right.
“Kimmel. You take her. It’s your turn.”
I braced myself. Kimmel had a strong grip and ideas about what he gripped.
Gradually, I was starting to learn the names of my captors, and their respective personalities (which was a big word for not much). Buck was the leader, though not a very strong one, but apparently was a good fighter. This gave him the right to lead over Vorst, who had more authority but was less of a fighter. Frankly, I just thought Vorst was a bastard: he argued with everyone, undermined Buck, and leered at me every chance he got. So far, I hadn’t had to ride with him, but I knew I would because he was making such a fuss about it and Buck would want to keep him happy.
Then there was Kimmel, the tracker who didn’t realize his own strength and so left bruises on my ass. Vassek; dark-skinned, soft-spoken, and a little creepy. Chico; the youngest, nervous but anxious to impress the others, he’d initially been too scared to touch me when I rode with him, then, when the others made fun of him, he went way over the top, grabbing everything in reach. Bronson; huge and hulking with a low forehead and a face that looked as if he’d been used as a battering ram—I hadn’t ridden with him yet because his horse already had its work cut out.
And then there was Devon. I hadn’t ridden with him either, because he was the only one of the party who didn’t seem to care whether I did or not. He seemed the most professional of the group, the one who was here to do a job whether he wanted to or not, and from time to time, I still got that vague sense that he didn’t want to be here, that kidnapping a girl and an old man wasn’t something he would do by choice. That made him seem my best chance of escape—as there was no way I would escape without help. On the other hand, his detached attitude made me less optimistic about that chance; perhaps he didn’t care for this job, but he didn’t seem to care much about me either. I was just cargo, to be treated well because damaged cargo was worth nothing, but cargo none the less.
And yet…
That was the problem with defining Devon; he seemed a mass of contradictions, a career mercenary who did the job in front of him and yet who was so different to all the others, a man who didn’t care and yet who took the time to defend me against Vorst. I imagined Devon was someone who saw me as a package to deliver and yet who shared a smile with me when big Bronson tumbled off his horse. I had a hunch that smile had broken the hearts of a hundred or so barmaids, stable girls, and the privileged daughters of noble families looking for excitement. It was a smile that promised much, delivered briefly, but never stuck around for breakfast. The smile of a rogue.
And damn it all, it was a smile I rather liked.
The fact that I found Devon attractive clouded everything. I didn’t think myself particularly shallow. The other girls in the mountains had introduced me to a few handsome men, and I’d actually developed a pretty low opinion of them because they all knew they were handsome. Devon didn’t seem to know, or if he did know, he didn’t act like he did, or perhaps he wasn’t that stereotypically handsome but was just attractive in a very literal sense; there was something about him that drew me. An aura he carried, a look in his eyes, that damn smile.
Was it odd to spend so much time thinking about the relative good-lookingness of one of my kidnappers? It certainly felt odd, possibly even a bit daft.
But it wasn’t just me for whom Devon was a bit of an unknown. He was clearly new to the mercenary group, and they weren’t quite sure what to make of him yet; they weren’t so much nervous as tentative. The casual way he wore his sword, as if it was another limb, made it seem as if here was a man who knew how to use it.
“Well, someone’s got to do it. You spent half the day with her pressed into your back, so I say it’s me!” snarled Vorst.
Part of me wanted to say, ‘Please, boys, don’t fight over little old me,’ but it was hard to see the funny side of my current predicament.
