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I glanced at Draven. He was staring into the fire, a fathomless expression on his face. Was he listening? I couldn’t tell. Either way, it did not seem as if he’d be rushing to my aid.
I flushed, realizing I’d been expecting him to. I couldn’t have it both ways. He was either a coldhearted murderous liar who I should avoid as much as I could or... I realized I had no answer for that.
I put my hands on my hips. “What sort of consequences?”
Whitehorn sneered. “I’ve been told that’s entirely at my discretion. Your Highness.”
“I see.” I could easily imagine a wide range of possibilities, none of them nice. I took the mug, turned my back on Whitehorn and walking a few paces away, began to drink.
Afew nights later, I lay in my tent, sleepless, my head blurry with pain.
We had been traveling for nearly five days. Yesterday evening we crossed the border of Pendrath and entered Cerunnos. The landscape of Pendrath had been lush and familiar, all fertile farmland and rolling hills.
But now we were passing through very different terrain. A rugged wilderness of ancient forests and towering mountains.
Five days and no one had followed.
Five days and I was past caring about Florian or Arthur's soldiers.
Five days of taking the new daily dose of medicine until my head pounded and my stomach roiled and I could no longer find anything worth caring about.
I stayed astride my horse each day. That was the best that could be said for me. I could not eat, I could hardly drink, and sleep was something I merely longed for.
I had seen Draven giving me what might be called concerned glances. But he had said nothing and I had offered no complaints.
I turned on my side, my bedroll hardly cushioning the rocky ground, and stifled a groan.
My kingdom for a lantern and a book. I could sit by the fireside and read, for the campfire was left burning all night. But Draven and Whitehorn had no tents. They slept under the stars in their bedrolls.
I did not relish the idea of sitting on a log reading while Whitehorn stared at me from his bedroll. It was bad enough that I had to endure the feeling of his eyes on me from behind all day long as we rode.
A low growling sound pierced through the quiet.
I froze. It came again.
I slowly pushed myself out of my bed roll. Lifting the flap of my little tent, I peered out.
I was not the only one who had heard it. Whitehorn was sitting up in his bedroll, casting his eyes about with a look of panic on his face that would have been humorous if I wasn’t feeling similarly unsettled.
Draven was the only one who seemed perfectly poised despite it being the middle of the night. He was already up and in a hunter's crouch, his hand on the knife at his belt, his other on the trigger of a crossbow.
I followed his gaze across the campsite and through the darkness to where a creature stood in the nearby grove of trees, illuminated by the flickering flames of the fire.
The creature was like nothing I had seen before. Its sleek golden-brown fur glinted in the firelight. Thick black stripes ran along its back and sides. It was huge. Easily the size of Draven's stallion, and its eyes were a piercing yellow.
As the three of us watched it, frozen in place, the beast growled, displaying a mouthful of sword-sharp teeth that looked capable of tearing through even the toughest of hides.
I glanced at where Haya was tethered with the other horses and prayed she would stay calm. This creature looked as if it could devour our horses in one mouthful each.
I heard the sound of a crossbow cocking and turned my head to see Whitehorn raising the bow to his shoulder.
“What do you think you're doing, Whitehorn?” Draven's voice was tense, as if he were speaking with his jaw clenched tight.
“Doing what you’re not. Shooting that fucking thing.” Whitehorn's voice was a ragged gasp. I could see his arm was shaking with fear.
The creature growled again and pawed the ground in front of it.
Draven shook his head slightly. “Lower the crossbow, Whitehorn. That's a fucking order. It's not going to hurt you.”
