Forest of Firelight

by Shari L. Tapscott

  Can the princess swim?

  I pace the dock, waiting for the crew to finally lower the dinghy. Ages later, the small boat approaches.

  As I figured, Amalia is on it. She speaks with a man next to her, giving him that smile of hers. It looks genuine, and irrational jealously rears its ugly head.

  There are dozens of people milling around, the gossipy types who are waiting for details about the passengers’ almost-fall. Amalia doesn’t notice me in the crowd—her attention is focused solely on the man at her side.

  He steps out of the boat. Before he can lean down to assist the princess, I step in front of him and grasp her arm just as a wave sends the dinghy lurching.

  “Thank you,” she says, looking up. When she spots me, her lips—lips I kissed last night—part with surprise. “Rhys.”

  My attention moves to her bleeding hand and the white handkerchief pressed against it. “You’re hurt.”

  “There was a bit of a mishap.”

  I glance at her new companion, wanting to tell him to move along. “I saw.”

  He’s the man we saw with the courtier Amalia is hoping to avoid. How did they end up together?

  I assist her from the boat, holding her arm until she’s steady on the dock.

  The newcomer studies me, looking mildly curious, and then turns back to Amalia. “We’ll go to the inn, and I’ll take care of your hand there.”

  What is this? I leave Amalia unattended for one morning, and another barnacle has already attached itself to her side.

  Before I can protest, the princess turns to me with a smile. ‘Rhys, this is Kent. He’s a doctor.”

  Of course he is.

  She looks back at the man. “Kent, this is Rhys.”

  Friendly as ever, the doctor extends his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet a friend of our—” he stops abruptly, and his face goes white.

  He knows then. And here I am, forced to pretend I have no clue who she is.

  “Amalia,” she offers, attempting to put the doctor out of his misery.

  For one moment, I debate letting the man stand there like a fool, but with an internal growl, I grasp his offered hand and give it a brief, firm shake.

  “Are you traveling together?” Kent asks Amalia.

  “Rhys is my unofficial guardian.” She glances at me, daring me to object.

  With a laugh, Kent says, “I thought Gage was your guardian.”

  Grinning in a familiar way that I don’t care for, she leans a smidgen closer to the man. “I’m afraid I find enough trouble for two.”

  Kent glances back at the ship. “I noticed.”

  Far more irritated with the conversation than I should be, I steer Amalia down the dock. I have no doubt the doctor will follow us, but at least she’s on my arm.

  The princess gives me the strangest look as we walk—one I choose to ignore.

  We arrive at the inn, and I step to the bar. “Two rooms.”

  Amalia turns to me, startled. “I’ll wait for Gage—”

  Before she can finish the sentence, I slap the payment on the counter.

  The princess purses her lips, looking like she can’t decide whether she’s exasperated or about to laugh.

  The innkeeper glances between us, perhaps unsure whether she should be concerned. Slowly, she hands me our keys.

  “You didn’t have to pay for my room,” Amalia says, taking me aside as Kent secures his own room.

  “It didn’t break me.”

  She stares at me so long, I look away, pretending to study the small room.

  “You’re jealous,” she whispers.

  I whip my attention back. “I’m what?”

  “You’re jealous,” she repeats, her eyes triumphant. “You don’t like that someone else came to my aid. Well, perhaps you shouldn’t have run off this morning.”

  There’s a lot to address in that accusation, but her wording—so close to Tryndon’s—irritates me the most.

  “I did not ‘run off.’ I had business to attend to, and I was on my way back to the ship when the incident occurred. And I’m certainly not jea—”

  “Everything all right?” Kent steps up, his eyes going between us.

  Amalia practically glows with satisfaction, almost as if she thinks she caught me at something.

  “Yes. We’re perfectly fine.” She turns her attention to the doctor and holds up her hand. “Are you ready to stitch me up?”

  Kent frowns at me for a moment longer, perhaps not sure if he can trust me, and then nods. “Follow me.”

  I begin to walk with them, and Amalia turns back, a wicked smile on her lips. “I’ll be all right for now. You don’t have to accompany us.”

  Standing straighter, I meet her eyes. “Gage wouldn’t be pleased if I allowed you into a man’s room unchaperoned.”

  As if that thought embarrasses the saintly doctor, the tips of Kent’s ears turn red.

  Amalia gives me a shrug, barely hiding a smirk. “Suit yourself.”

  21

  I shouldn’t toy with Rhys like this, but it’s impossible to resist. For the first time since we met, I’ve ruffled him—the unrufflable. There’s something truly delightful about getting under that cool skin of his.

  I follow Kent down the upstairs hall as he counts room numbers, looking for eleven.

  “Here we are,” he says, shouldering his bag as he unlocks the door and lets us in.

  Just like the rooms in Kippert, these are tiny. It will be a tight fit with the three of us, but Rhys seems content to scowl in the doorway. Kent glances at him, probably unsure why he’s so surly.

  The doctor motions to the bed. “Go ahead and sit down.”

  I glance at Rhys and, much to my delight, find that scowl deepening. I don’t know where else he thinks I’ll sit—there’s nothing in the room but a bed and a narrow bureau. As Kent rifles through his pack, I flash the huntsman a look, raising my eyebrows to tell him to relax a bit.

  He rolls his eyes, crosses his arms, and leans against the doorframe—taking up a good deal of the space. For just a moment, I allow myself to look at him, comparing him to Kent.

  The doctor is about Gage’s height, a bit shorter than Rhys. He’s handsome, but in a slender way—still masculine, but softer. Rhys is built like a knight of old, like a soldier—more like Keir and less like Braeton.

  Kent is comfortable, where Rhys is intimidating. Strangely, this new irritation etched into Rhys’s expression makes him seem more approachable, more human perhaps. As though he wants to be close to me and not as though someone is forcing him—

  The thought startles me so completely, I freeze.

  “This might sting a bit,” Kent says, but I barely hear him. The antiseptic he dabs on my hand does smart, but my eyes are on Rhys.

  The huntsman realizes he has my full attention, and he lifts a single brow, silently asking me why I’m staring at him.

  My pulse begins to quicken, and suddenly I feel as if I’m going to cry. I look away, blankly watching Kent prepare for his task. He opens a tinder box and sparks a flame, which he uses on the needle.

  “It sterilizes it,” he says with a smile when he catches me watching.

  “Mmm,” I manage.

  The doctor then sits on the bed next to me, shoulder to shoulder like an old friend, and takes my palm once more. Gently, he presses on the skin next to the wound. “Can you feel that?”

  I shake my head.

  Nodding, he threads the catgut into the eye of the needle. Before he begins, he glances up. “You probably don’t want to watch.”

  I look at my lap instead, my thoughts too jumbled to fear the first bite of the needle.

  From the corner of my eye, I see Rhys push away from the doorframe. He kneels in front of me, but I refuse to look up.

  “Amalia?” he asks, obviously sensing the sudden shift of my mood. “He’s numbed it—it won’t hurt that much.”

  His gentle words add to the sting.

  Without permission, Rhys takes my free hand, p
ressing his palm to mine. “Squeeze if it hurts.”

  I can feel the dull tug of the needle as Kent begins, but it’s not painful.

  “My father hired you, didn’t he?” I say to my lap.

  Kent’s hand goes still, and he looks over, obviously confused by the question. But it’s not for him.

  When Rhys doesn’t answer, I look up, making him acknowledge me.

  “Didn’t he?” I demand.

  He watches me coolly, his expression guarded as usual. “Amalia, I don’t know your father.”

  I won’t speak of it anymore, not in front of Kent, but I know I’m right.

  Uncomfortable, Kent clears his throat and begins again. I sit as still as possible, refusing to tighten my grip on Rhys’s hand even when Kent reaches a tender spot. I also refuse to pull my hand out of the huntsman grasp, though I can’t put my finger on the principle behind it.

  “Amalia?” Gage says from the open doorway, gaping into the room.

  We probably do look a sight, with Kent next to me on the bed and Rhys kneeled in front of me, each man claiming one of my hands.

  “Almost finished,” Kent says calmly.

  I turn to Gage, grateful for his arrival. “I injured my hand during the incident.”

  My cousin walks into the room and peers down at Kent’s handiwork. “Doesn’t that hurt?”

  “I numbed it.” Kent draws the needle back to tighten a knot.

  “I’m thankful for you, Kent,” Gage says. “But your sister is looking for you, and I’d rather she not spot Amalia.”

  I turn my eyes back to Rhys, looking for some glimmer of recognition.

  He gives nothing away.

  “Once I wrap it, I’ll be done,” Kent answers.

  My cousin nods to the door. “Close it, will you, Rhys?”

  Gage doesn’t ask why my imposter fiancé disappeared this morning, doesn’t give any inkling that he thinks it’s strange to find him with me once more.

  Rhys does as he’s asked, making the space even smaller, especially with Gage’s presence.

  Carefully, Kent wraps my hand in a long white cloth. “Be careful to keep it clean,” he instructs. “Is it your dominant hand?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  The doctor glances between Gage and Rhys before he looks back at me, giving me a smile. “I’m sure you have more than enough help, but if you need anything, let me know. And I can give you something to dull the pain before bed if it’s bothering you.”

  “Thank you,” I say, returning his smile.

  He nods, and we both stand.

  “Lestra was downstairs,” Gage warns. “Put up your hood, Amalia. You and Rhys should leave first. I’ll go down and reserve our rooms.”

  I don’t bother to tell him that Rhys already reserved a room for me, and Rhys doesn’t speak up either.

  The huntsman opens the door, checking the hall, and then nods me forward, closing the door behind us. The hallway is empty and growing dark in the late afternoon light.

  The moment we’re alone, I grasp his arm, making him stop. “We need to talk,” I hiss.

  He pauses for a moment and then nods, leading me further down the hall until we reach one of the rooms he reserved.

  Rhys opens the door and then extends his arm.

  I glance back, making sure Gage is still safely tucked inside Kent’s room, and then I dart inside. The curtains are drawn, making the room nearly as dark as the hall. My eyes adjust to the dim light, though I nearly jump when the door closes.

  If Kent’s room seemed too small, Rhys’s dark space, though very nearly the same size, seems no larger than a cupboard when it’s just the two of us.

  I crawl over the bed and yank the curtains open. The window faces east, so the light is meager this time of day, but it’s better than nothing. Quickly, I leap off the bed and stand in front of Rhys, ready to ask questions.

  “Who hired you to follow me?” I demand.

  Rhys cocks his head to the side ever so slightly. “No one is paying me.”

  “Then why are you here—we both know you don’t want to be.”

  “The truth?”

  “That’s a novel idea, isn’t it?”

  He stares at me, but for the life of me, I can’t tell what he’s thinking. Finally, he says, “I like you, and I would rather you not die. Can’t that be reason enough?”

  I like you.

  Those are the words my foolish heart holds onto, but hearts can’t be trusted.

  “I know there’s more to it than that.”

  Rhys narrows his eyes, and his mouth twists into a wry, mirthless smirk. I step back, startled, but my thighs meet the back of the bed.

  He doesn’t touch me, but he could. We’re close enough, I must look up. Memories of last night’s kiss flood back, warming me, making me tingle with sweet, and extremely inappropriate, anticipation.

  “Are you not carrying your own secrets, Amalia?” he asks.

  I blanch, but I hold my chin a fraction of an inch higher.

  He leans down just enough to look me in the eyes. “How about you show me your cards before you demand to see mine.”

  I stare at him, on the edge of simply telling him. I’m almost positive he knows anyway. What use is carrying a secret that’s not all that secret?

  “Answer one question,” I say.

  Though Rhys doesn’t agree, he doesn’t turn me down either.

  “Are you traveling with me because you want to? Because you like me, as you said?”

  Rhys’s lips twitch. “Don’t confuse my use of the word ‘like.’ I think of you as a clumsy kitten. I’m mildly fond of you. You amuse me. Yes, I like you, but this was not a confession.”

  “Do you often kiss kittens?” I demand, knowing full well how ludicrous that question is.

  “Only when they’re hoping to avoid someone.”

  Standing taller, I say, “Do you know what I think?”

  “I’m sure you’re going to tell me.”

  “I think it was an excuse. I think you—” I stop abruptly when Rhys presses his finger to my lips.

  “Go find Gage,” he says.

  “Are you going to disappear again?” I ask, unfortunately forced to speak against his finger.

  He bends his knees to meet me at eye level. I’m sure we look a little ridiculous, but who’s here to see?

  “No,” he says, removing his finger from my lips.

  I swear he lingers on my bottom lip as he draws his hand away, but the moment is so brief, I might have imagined it.

  “Promise me,” I demand.

  “I promise.”

  “Swear it.”

  A smile plays at the corner of his mouth. “I swear.”

  “Fine.” I turn, edging past him toward the door. I open it, peeking my head out to make sure the hall is clear. Just before I leave, I look back. “One more thing.”

  “What?” he asks on a sigh.

  “You were jealous of Kent.” It’s not a question. “That emotion seems strange when I’m nothing but a ‘clumsy kitten’ that you’re ‘mildly fond’ of.”

  Before he can respond, I step into the hall and close the door.

  22

  The princess is going to drive me mad.

  I stare at the closed door, tempted to follow Amalia into the hall to argue with her—which is ridiculous.

  I sink to the bed and bury my head in my hands. The longer I’m around her, the more confused I become. How is this woman my enemy?

  Why couldn’t I have met her years ago, on the right side of the Chasm?

  And yet, I don’t want that either.

  I don’t want Amalia to have a thing to do with that darkness. I don’t wish that life on her. She’d be a different woman, hard. Beautiful still, certainly, but as damaged as the rest of us.

  Half of the princess’s allure is her innocence, that life in her eyes. She’s so different from anyone I’ve ever known. I envy her, even hate her a little because she’s had such a blessed life. But at the sam
e time, I’m drawn to her light. I want to be near it; I want to bask in her glow.

  More than anything, I don’t want to be the one to extinguish it.

  My hands move into my hair, grasping the strands. Why? Why must it be me? Let someone else betray her. I want nothing to do with it.

  Slowly, I drop my hands and lie back on the bed, defeated. What I want doesn’t matter. Even Amalia’s happiness—something I would almost die to protect—doesn’t matter.

  This is greater than either of us, and I will not let an entire kingdom fall into ruin because my heart yearns for a woman who unknowingly holds the future in her hands.

  23

  “They usually arrive several days after the ship,” a man in the stable tells us when we inquire about our horses.

  Because we couldn’t bring them aboard the sailing ship, Gage paid to have them brought along by land.

  Personally, I think Gage should have sold the beasts and bought a new pair.

  “It seems we’re here for several more days,” Gage says as we leave.

  “Where’s Tryndon?” I ask Rhys as we walk back to the inn.

  “He went ahead.”

  “Without a horse?” I ask.

  “He bought one,” Rhys answers cryptically, offering as few details as possible—which is so like him.

  “Is he headed home?”

  Rhys glances at me. “No.”

  “Where is he going then? Will he be there long?”

  “Amalia,” Gage interrupts before Rhys can answer. “Leave the man be. Is this an interrogation?”

  Ahead, I spot Kent near the docks. He stands with his hands clasped behind his back, looking out at the water. I scan the area, terrified I’ll find Lestra as well.

  When I’m certain she isn’t around, I walk toward the doctor. He smiles when he sees us coming. The morning sunlight shines on his hair, making it a little more red than brown.

  “How’s your hand?” he asks.

  I hold it up even though it’s bandaged. “It’s fine unless I hit it on something. Though brushing my hair was a challenge.”

  “Not used to doing it left-handed?”

  I don’t bother to tell him I’m not used to doing it at all. I was getting the hang of it, however. This has undoubtedly been a setback.