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“Yes, she is,” Henrike dared to disagree.
“No, she’s not!” I insisted.
The farmer looked at me, eyes narrowed. “Your women are very loud,” he said to Sarolf. “Especially this pretty one. Tell me, is she your wife?”
“That’s none of your business. Now make way. The horse is not for sale.”
Henrike huffed loudly. “But—”
“He said it’s not for sale,” I cut her off.
The old farmer scratched his chin, his eyes glued on me now more than the horse. “These lands are not very safe these days. The war in the North has forced desperate souls down here into our beautiful South. It would be a shame if such a fine mare”—he grinned at me—“were to be taken.”
Sarolf’s face turned dark as he pulled his cape back to reveal a sword hanging on his leather belt.
“I’ve fought in the war you speak of. I’ve taken many souls. A few more won’t matter to me. The nightmares stay the same.”
The man raised both hands, his lips curling into a fake smile. “My deepest apologies. I don’t seek trouble, just wanted to offer you a fair price for the horse.” He nodded at Sarolf, then threw me a last look. “Good day.”
He gave his horse his heels and rode off over the fields.
We all watched as he disappeared over the nearest hillside. It was Henrike who jumped off the cart first.
I leaped off the cart as well. “What are you doing?”
“May the gods help me.” Sarolf shook his head before jumping off too.
Henrike made her way over to Fiona and grabbed the leather reins that tied her to the cart. “We have to get rid of this horse. Our lives could depend on it. If I ride after the farmer, I will be back before the hour is up. We need the money anyway.”
I ran over to Fiona and tore her reins out of Henrike’s hands.
“Don’t touch her!”
“Or?”
“Stop it!” Sarolf demanded. He stepped between us, misery written all over his face. “We haven’t traveled a full day together, and you two are already at each other’s throats.”
Henrike and I both looked away. What he said was true. This wasn’t how I pictured my escape to the North on day one. But I wouldn’t budge on Fiona. She was more than just a horse to me.
“I won’t sell her,” I said firmly.
Sarolf groaned. “I already said we won’t sell her. But”—he turned to Henrike, raising his hand before she could speak again—“Henrike has a point. We have to do something. Fiona is attracting too much attention. We won’t make it far like this.”
I bit my lip. I was many things, but dull-witted wasn’t one of them. Of course it made sense. But I refused to lose the last friend I had.
Gently, I pet Fiona’s forehead. Like always, she rubbed her snout against my shoulder. My lips curled into a smile.
Think, Mina...think!“So the problem is—”
“That she looks like a king’s horse,” Henrike huffed. I ignored the lingering hostility in her voice and focused on the problem. Then it hit me.
“Well, if that is the problem,” I said, “let’s fix it.”
Sarolf frowned at me. Henrike crossed her arms in front of her chest.
Both of them watched as I strode to the edge of the road and knelt down. I dug into the soft earth and grass beside the road until a wet, muddy puddle revealed itself.
“I think a few hours without the comforts of her castle has robbed her of her wits,” Henrike whispered to Sarolf, but loud enough for me to hear.
