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Chapter 13
The last few days had been terrible. It rained almost nonstop, which was unusual in my father’s kingdom outside of the spring season. As a child raised in long, warm summers and mild winters, it was a nightmare. Sarolf and Henrike, however, didn’t seem to notice.
Even worse than the rain were the beggars. At first, there were only a few of them here and there, but the farther north we traveled, the direr the situation grew. People threw themselves in front of our cart, begging for food or coin, sometimes holding on to the sides of the cart until Sarolf was able to deter them by throwing coins into the field. I was surprised to see how giving he was, as every coin he gave came from his reward for taking me north. And yet, each day, he continued to give until the money ran out and we had to sell another one of my dresses or pieces of jewelry. I could have protested, pointed out how, at this rate, I would have nothing left to wear when we finally arrived at my relative’s estate, but how could I? One look at the pitiful souls, and I started giving them every coin I had on me.
Each day seemed like a reenactment of the one before. We would travel for hours on that dreadful cart, rest the horses for a little while, eat, and then continue until we found a filthy tavern to sleep for the night.
At one of the stops along the way, Sarolf had spent hours building a cover for the cart from wood and linen. It would have held up against the rain had the wind not flung it at us from the side. Despite his efforts, we were all still soaked at the end of the day.
As we traveled, I watched the gray, rainy countryside, its rolling hills covered with fog, and thought about my father. How we had grown apart over the years, and how he must have hated me in order to avoid me the way he had. Did he blame me for Mother’s death? Wasn’t every father supposed to love his child unconditionally? Like mothers did?
At night, I lay awake on dirty beds in filthy taverns, listening with red cheeks to the moans and screams of prostitutes in the other rooms. I knew Sarolf could hear them too. Was he snoring through all of it like Henrike? Was he a man who whored around as well? And why did I even care?
Of course, there was still the hostile tension among us, mostly between Henrike and myself. For a short while, she had begun to ignore me, maybe for Sarolf’s sake, but as the days passed, she began to mock me again. And I rose to her challenge every time. Day in and day out, we argued and bickered...It was exhausting. I often daydreamed of taking Fiona and riding off. But where would I go all by myself? I needed Sarolf, whom I couldn’t help but pity at times. He was constantly trying to stop the fighting, always caught in between. Surprisingly, he seemed to be defending me more and more, much to Henrike’s frustration and my suspicion. But then, how could he not? He didn’t want to risk his reward. All those jewels would set him up for life.
We were not far from another shabby inn, this one looking more like a run-down farm than anything, when Sarolf suddenly stopped the cart.
“What is it?” I asked. I was sitting with Henrike in the back between my trunks. It was getting dark quickly.
Sarolf looked ahead, then over his shoulder.
“Be quiet and hunker down between the trunks.” He laid his hand on his sword’s handle. He seemed to be listening to the rain patter into water-filled ruts, then he rose.
“Why are you following us?” Sarolf shouted into a small patch of woods to the right of the road. Henrike and I peeked through a hole in the wagon’s tarp but didn’t see anything.
“Show yourself. It won’t take me long to cut one of my horses loose and ride after you.”
First, there was a snapping branch, then slowly, a dark shadow rode out from the rows of trees, forming the shape of a man on horseback, wearing a dark cape and hood.
“Does your brother know how to use that sword?” I whispered over to Henrike.
She nodded. “Better than anybody else I’ve ever seen.”
The strange figure pulled back his hood, revealing a middle-aged man with long brown hair and a beard. One of his eyes looked strange, as if it was scarred and missing. My heart started hammering against my chest.
A true Northerner.
“No need to worry, traveler. I just like to ride out of sight. Nothing to do with you,” the man said in a low voice that churned like gravel.
Sarolf stared at the man for a moment, then sat back down. “If I see you again, itwillhave something to do with me.” He gave the man one more look before setting the cart back into motion.
“Stay out of sight until we reach the inn,” he whispered to us.
Henrike and I watched as the man on the horse grew smaller in the distance. He remained motionless, staring after us until we were out of sight.
When we made it to the inn, Sarolf quickly brought the horses into the barn and rushed us inside. It was by far the worst of the inns we had stayed at. The floors, the walls, and the beams that held the ceiling all smelled of mold. I almost tripped over a bucket that was collecting rain from the cracked roof.
An older woman, short and chubby, came limping over to us.
“You have coin?” She spat onto the floor. Her teeth were black and rotten.
“You have a dry room?” Sarolf countered.
She analyzed me from head to toe, her cold blue eyes as curious as they were rude. Then she nodded.
“The master’s room. He died a few weeks ago. Follow me.”
Henrike and I exchanged glances.
