Half a dozen angry voices rose behind her, reminding Elia of baying hounds. She couldn’t help but picture them after her, and the thought of dogs transformed into wolves.
Watch for wolves. Vinson’s warning rattled inside her head like dice in a cup, a reminder of how poor her odds of escape really were.
Or maybe they rattled like bones.
Her boots pounded the snow underneath her and the cold air scorched her lungs, but she dared not slow down. Her sense of direction was not good, but her first task was simply getting away.
Please, please let me get away. They hadn’t had time to talk about what would happen if she couldn’t.
Warmth flowed from the wooden ring on her finger, a steady, comfortable cascade. Even without her coat, the frigid wind couldn’t chill her skin. Her skirt flapped against her legs and for a moment, she considered shedding her dress, too.
Wouldn’t that have been a sight. A nobleman’s daughter running through the woods in her undergarments, her hair unbound and wild. Had she even a moment to spare, she might have made it happen. As it was, voices behind her spurred her to move faster, and she regretted her choice of convincing attacks for the dozenth time.
She knew why Cass wanted her to make it real. She was done. He wasn’t. Peretor was free and she knew everything the king wanted about who had taken him, but Cass still had his own report to make. The longer he stayed with the criminal group he’d embedded himself in, the better.
Yet as she flew past trees and leaped fallen logs, she couldn’t help but wish she’d stayed. Pretended to be his captive. Maybe pretend to let him sway her to their side. Anything that meant staying together.
She huffed at herself and ran harder. As if that was any kind of future. Sooner or later, they’d push her beyond what she was capable of pretending. They’d find her out, and then what?
No, she told herself firmly. It was better that she leave.
Something dark lay in the snow ahead. At first, she thought it a lost cloak. Then she saw it was still attached to its wearer. Her belly gave an uneasy little lurch, though she dared not pay attention to it now. That was why Peretor’s pursuer hadn’t returned, then.
And that meant he got away.
She tore her gaze from the body. Now you have to get away. It was only a matter of time before someone caught up. She’d gotten a head start, being closer to the woods and having shed the burden of her coat and bags. But sooner or later, someone was bound to catch up.
Burning heat blossomed in her legs and chest and something pinched in her side. The voices behind her did not cease, so she did not relent. Let them yell. Sooner or later, they’d wear themselves out, get tired, get cold.
Elia should have gotten tired, herself. Somehow, for all that her limbs ached, she kept going.
Abruptly, a figure stepped out from a cluster of trees. With her lungs working so hard, she couldn’t gasp, but her heart leaped at the sight. Peretor!
He looked this way and that before he saw her coming and straightened.
“Run!” she choked out as she closed the distance between them with long strides. “Keep running!”
He took two steps backwards before he turned to join her. Together, they raced through the forest, retracing the path they’d carved as captives. “You made it out!”
“Cass helped,” she panted.
His upper lip curled at the name, but he said nothing. It was better that they didn’t.
It wasn’t until the shouting behind them faded to nothing that she concluded they’d outpaced them. Slowly, she decreased her speed to a jog, then a walk, then finally a halt.
Peretor stopped beside her and bent forward to plant his hands against his knees, gasping for breath. “By the Light, Elia. I didn’t know you could run like that.”
“Neither did I.” Now that she’d stopped, of course, her legs wobbled like cold gelatin. Warmth flowed from the ring on her finger, both soothing and refreshing, and she studied the unfinished wood for a moment before she planted her hands against her hips. Maybe he’d spun more magic into it than she’d thought.
He let out a whooshing breath and scrubbed a hand through his hair. “Glad you did. We’ve got to keep moving.”
Elia nodded. “Back to Samara as fast as possible. The king needs to know what’s going on.” At least she didn’t have to worry about being used as bait now. She’d already caught up with Peretor, which meant they couldn’t lure Gaius out to where he might be ambushed. The king was more than just a capable fighter, but he was only one man, and she had no idea how many people Banne might have recruited. She’d seen a dozen different faces in the cabin just in the short time she’d been there.
Neither of them had the energy to run again so soon, but they trotted along at a steady pace and passed the cabin well before nightfall.
“Don’t suppose you’ve got anything to eat in your pockets,” Peretor asked after the sunset faded. They’d reached a tacit agreement that they wouldn’t stop. Walking all night on an empty stomach hardly sounded pleasant, but at least they’d been able to eat fresh snow any time they grew thirsty.
Elia touched her hips. Her dress didn’t even have pockets. She’d have to remember to tell Thea. Her cousin would never allow garments in the palace that didn’t have basic functionality. “No. I’ve got a knife, though, if you think you can hunt.”
“A knife? Where’d you get a knife?”
“Cass gave it to me.” She patted it through her skirt.
Peretor made a face. “Why do you keep calling him that?”
She snorted. “It’s his name. What else am I supposed to call him?”
“His name?” he repeated.
“What, did you think it was really Badger?” She couldn’t help a smirk.
“No,” Peretor said so swiftly, it came over as defensive. “It’s just odd that you’re so familiar with one of them. And that he gave you a knife.” His nose crinkled as if he’d smelled something unpleasant.
Elia considered disagreeing, then thought better of it. From the outside, it would seem odd. He didn’t know Cass or the duty he’d been given, and none of it was hers to share. She opted for a simple explanation instead. “He introduced himself to me as Cass when we were traveling together. The knife, I think, is because he doesn’t trust some of the men we met in that cabin. He wanted me to be able to protect myself.”
His face grew stony. “Because you’re worth more untouched. I heard.”
Oh. She’d hoped he hadn’t, and that choice remark would be lost beneath the sounds of his scuffle. “A ransom can’t be gotten if the captive is dead. They must have wanted a ransom for you, too, you know.”
Peretor gave her a prickly look from the corner of his eye. “Are you making excuses for your kidnapper?”
“He didn’t kidnap me,” she protested. “I promise you, he’s been nothing but decent.”
“Which is why he flung you about like a rag doll and then threw you into a cage,” he concluded.
Convincing him would be a chore, but not one she addressed now. “I’ll explain everything in time. I promise. Right now, we just have to get back to Samara.”
He sighed. “Of course. I’m sorry. Cold as I am, you must be freezing. Do you want my coat?” He reached for the buttons.
“No, thank you. The movement keeps me plenty warm. As long as we keep hurrying along, I’ll be fine.” Her thumb stroked her ring.
“Oh. All right.” He refastened the single button he’d undone. His fingers lingered there, as if unsure.
She offered as sweet a smile as she could muster, but did not stop. She’d explain everything once they reached their destination. The problem was just getting there. Her stomach made its own complaints and she made the conscious decision to ignore it, staring ahead in the dark of night. A deer bounded across the path in the distance, its body a smoky shadow against the white snow.
Peretor shuddered. “I hope that’s all that’s out here tonight.”
Would they be able to fight off anything else? Elia brushed a hand over the hilt of her hidden knife and frowned before another shadow caught her eye. “Unfortunately, I don’t think it is.”
Brisk hoofbeats reached their ears only moments later. She considered trying to dart behind a tree to hide, but it was too late; the rider had already seen them in the dark and was headed straight their way.
Instead of shrinking, Peretor stood up straighter, like a guard dog on alert. A moment later, a delighted laugh burst from his throat. “The Light shines mercy on us tonight!”
Elia squinted into the night until she could almost make out a face. “Is that…?”
The rider raised an arm and waved. Peretor waved back with both arms as the approaching figure slowly resolved into his uncle.
Vinson pressed a hand to his chest to display his relief. A moment later, he drew his mount to a stop and slid from the saddle. “By the Light, you’re alive! Both of you! I’d begun to lose hope of finding you. You’re all right? You aren’t hurt?” He gave Peretor a quick look from head to toe, then turned to take Elia by the shoulders. “Girl, where’s your cloak? You’ve got to be freezing!” He reached for his cloak pin, but she put up a hand to stop him.
“I’m fine,” she said, though she suspected he wouldn’t believe her. “I promise. Running all night has done wonders to keep me warm.”
“I don’t know how,” Peretor said. “I feel as if I could freeze to death. Uncle, what are you doing out here so late?”
“Can’t you tell?” The sugarmaker gestured to the horse.
The animal was painfully familiar, now that Elia looked. “Is that one of the king’s horses?” The guards were supposed to retrieve them. Why hadn’t they?
“It is.” Vinson’s brow furrowed with his troubles. “I don’t keep any of my own. After you left with that Nylmerian dog, though, I had no peace. I set out right off, thinking that if I found the two of you, no one would mind if I borrowed one.”
“One? There’s another back at the house, then?” Peretor dared sound disappointed.
His uncle nodded. “I was afraid leading the other would slow me down. Do you know what time it is? We’ve got to get you to shelter.”
“Shelter where?” Elia asked. “We’ve got to be another full day out from Samara.”
“I’m guessing you don’t know where you are. This is Warold’s sugarbush. He’s a friend of mine.” Vinson glanced to the star-filled sky overhead, then turned to point toward the horizon. “His house should be that way. We should be able to rest there until morning. Get something to fill your bellies. I doubt that cur fed you.”
The insults against Cass raised her hackles, but she tamped down her agitation with a hand against her middle. “A meal would be appreciated, but if someone followed us—”
“Ah, don’t worry about that. Warold’s tough as a summer-fat boar and twice as cantankerous.” The sugarmaker motioned both of them closer. “Peretor, help her up. The two of you ride.”
“What about you, uncle?” Despite the question, Peretor laced his fingers together and braced them against his knee to give Elia a boost.
She considered it for a moment before she accepted the help. Her skirt was split down the middle, made for riding, but it pulled up in a fashion she deemed inappropriate as she clambered into the saddle. Yet it hadn’t been all that long since she’d considered abandoning the dress altogether, so instead of fighting to keep it down, she merely held one side in place to ensure her knife would stay hidden.
“I’ve been in the saddle all night. A little time walking will be good for me. Hold tight, I’ll lead.” Vinson kept the reins twisted around his fingers as his nephew climbed into the saddle behind Elia. It wasn’t made to seat two people and the cantle was bound to be uncomfortable, but Peretor settled in as easily as if it were a plush seat instead of tough leather on a horse’s back.
Elia held tight to the saddle’s horn, letting her body sway with the horse’s movement as Vinson led the way. More than once, she looked back the way they’d come, but the shadows of trees were all that filled the woods. At some point, she noticed the sword at Vinson’s side and allowed herself to relax.
As they walked, Peretor explained his capture and where he’d been to his uncle, who nodded along and asked questions. Their soft voices and the gentle sway of the saddle made Elia drowsy and she almost nodded off twice before a good-sized cabin came into view, a lantern burning low in its window.
“Is someone awake?” Peretor asked.
“Probably. They’ve got early lambs, I’ve heard. Warold’s wife probably about killed him for bringing them into the house, but better that than lose them to the blizzards we’ve had.” Vinson drew the horse up near the front door. As he knocked, Peretor slid from the saddle and reached up to help Elia down.
She brushed his hands away and dismounted on her own. A hint of movement in the window caught her attention and she stared at it as the curtain swayed. “Lambs, you said? I don’t see a fold.”
“It’s out in the sugarbush. Not a great place for grazing, but we do what we can.” Vinson straightened and knocked again.
A moment later, the door opened a crack.
“You were right, Warold,” Vinson announced, puffing up his chest with pride. “I got ’em.” By now, every sugarmaker near Samara had to have heard what happened to his nephew.
An old man pulled the door wide. “Scorch my soul, you’ve done it!”
“Let us in, please. The girl’s lost her coat. She’ll freeze to death if we don’t get a chance to warm up.” Vinson stepped forward without being invited, motioning for Elia and Peretor to follow.
Elia had never met Warold, but he was still dressed in spite of the late hour, his sleeves rolled up past his elbows. The hair on her arms prickled as she looked at him, though she wasn’t sure why.
Peretor put a hand on her shoulder and guided her inside when Warold stepped back. “Thank you for your hospitality. I know you couldn’t have been expecting us.”
“No?” Warold chuckled softly and stepped back.
Across the room, another lantern flared to life, and Elia’s heart plummeted as Banne shook out the match and cast them a cold smile.
“On the contrary,” Vinson said as he shut the door. “You’re right where we expected you to be.”
