by David Estes
Annise grabbed his jaw and forced him to focus on her. What was left of the stubble of his beard was rough against her palm. “Where are you supposed to go after you conduct your search?” she asked.
“Half to Raider’s Pass, the rest to Blackstone.” Tarin had been right. Had they taken the main road along the edge of the Mournful Mountains toward Blackstone they’d most likely have been captured already.
“What is happening at Raider’s Pass?” The passage through the mountains was too close to Gearhärt for comfort. Arch was supposed to be at Gearhärt.
“The king received a stream from our scouts in the east. King Ironclad and an entire legion is moving for the Pass.”
“It could be a defensive maneuver,” Annise said.
“It’s not. They are preparing for war.” Annise’s heart fluttered. She knew she shouldn’t be surprised. Her father, the king, was dead. Their enemies would expect the north to be in disarray, especially if they’d heard about Queen Loren’s execution and Arch and Annise’s escape.
“And what of Blackstone? Surely the west wouldn’t risk an assault across the Bay of Bounty?” Blackstone had never been taken, and most considered its seaward defenses to be impenetrable.
The soldier shook his head, and for the first time looked slightly amused. “No,” he agreed. “In a week’s time we’ll launch our own offensive across Bounty.”
“What?” Annise couldn’t hide the surprise in her tone. Her uncle had barely seized power and already he was attacking one of their major rivals? “Why would Lord Griswold do that?”
“King Griswold learned of another royal death, this one in the west.”
Annise cocked her head to the side. Impossible. One non-war royal death might be an accident, but two? Impossible. “King Loren is dead?”
“And most of his castle guards, if our spies aren’t exaggerating in the streams they sent. Only the furia managed to escape the city.”
“How? Escape from what?”
“Some say it was a ghost. Others a demon. There were few survivors to tell the tale, and they were too traumatized to do much more than babble incoherently. We were lucky to learn anything at all. Regardless, Knight’s End is ripe for the picking and King Griswold plans to take it.”
Annise tried to make sense of the news, but all she could seem to think about was the eerie disappearing boy that had appeared on the tower staircase. The boy who had set everything in motion, including her mother’s execution. Was he the ghost, the demon? Had he really killed the western guards and their king?
A week ago the tale would’ve sounded like idle gossip, but now…
“What else can you tell me?”
“Nothing,” the soldier said, his teeth beginning to chatter from the cold, or perhaps the shock of his injury. Annise believed him. “Now, please. Can we go inside? I’m hungry.”
“That’s not going to happen,” Annise said.
“You said if I answered your questions, that you’d—”
“I lied,” Annise said, remembering the way he’d laughed at the farmer and his wife as he threatened their lives.
“Step aside, princess,” Tarin said, finally breaking his silence. He grabbed Annise’s arm, but she shrugged him off.
“I’ll do it,” she said, looking back at him. His eyes burned into her, but then he nodded.
She stared at the knife’s razor-sharp edge, glinting in the white sunlight reflecting off the snow. In the shiny silver blade, she saw her mother’s eyes just before she dropped from the gallows. As much as she tried to make herself believe she was going to kill this man to avenge her mother, she knew it wasn’t true. No, she was doing it because she was scared to see Tarin kill again, scared to see that darkness in his eyes.
“No,” the soldier pleaded. “I was only following orders. You can’t do this. You can’t—”
Annise slid the blade between his ribs, and she was shocked at how easily his skin and muscle parted to allow the blood to flow out of him. No more difficult than cutting cheese, she thought.
The man gasped, blood bubbling from his lips. His back arched, his arms twitched, and then he went still.
“You’re the queerest princess I’ve ever met,” Tarin murmured.
“You’ve met many princesses?” Annise said, trying to hide the quiver in her voice as she looked away from the corpse. It was so cold that his blood was already freezing in red streams and crimson ponds.
“Well, no,” Tarin said. “But I’m certain none would be like you.” Something in his voice made her heart speed up, although she wasn’t sure why.
“Take care of the body and then meet me inside,” she said. “And try not to scare the poor farmers when you enter.”
The soup was thin, but hot and flavorful. Annise tried not to slurp as she ate. She was unsuccessful.
She pretended not to notice the farmer and his wife gawking at her.
“You’ve never seen a princess eat before?” she finally said, after she’d picked up her bowl and tipped it back to suck down the final dregs.
The woman went beet-red and the man looked away, pretending to fiddle with some kind of tool. “We’ve never seen a princess at all,” the woman said.
“Oh.” Annise hadn’t thought of that. “Is there enough for another bowl?”
The woman nodded and refilled the dish.
“Thank you,” Annise said, accepting the food. She drank this bowl slower, savoring it. Who knew when her next warm meal would be?
The cottage was small, but warm and cozy. A fire blazed in the hearth, which the woman had used to cook the soup. There was a small straw bed in one corner of the room, but other than it and the table and four chairs used to serve supper, the space was empty of furniture. A threadbare rug covered a small portion of the floor, which was constructed of long timber boards, cut and shaved smooth. Iron pots and kettles hung from wooden pegs hammered between the stone blocks that formed the walls. Near the door was a small rack for thick sheepskin coats, hats, and gloves. Snow-caked boots were lined up against the wall, puddles forming as the snow melted. For the first time in her life, Annise realized how good she’d had it in the castle. Hearty meals, soft beds. She hadn’t used a chamber pot in days! She almost laughed at the absurdity of her thoughts. She never expected to miss her chamber pot so much.
I’ve been selfish to wish it all away, she thought, sipping another spoonful of soup.
“We owe the thanks to you,” the woman said. “If you hadn’t come along, who knows what might’ve happened.” The man grunted, and it didn’t sound like agreement.
Annise looked up at her sharply. “It was because of me the soldiers came here in the first place. It’s my fault you almost—”
“You can’t control the actions of others,” the woman said. And then: “I’m Moira. My husband is Killorn.”
Annise really looked at the woman for the first time, taking in her storm-gray hair, which hung like curtains on either side of her face, her wrinkled skin, her sky-blue eyes. There was something comforting about her. Something motherly. Annise had the urge to fall into her arms and spill out every emotion she’d felt since the melee.
Instead she said, “Annise Gäric.”
“We know,” the woman said. “Can I clean the cuts on your face? They’re deep and susceptible to infection.”
Annise raised a hand and touched her cheeks, which were finally warm again. She could feel the jagged lines where the bear had clawed her. “Yes. Thank you,” she said.
Moira busied herself with a kettle of water, which she heated over the hearth. A few moments later, she positioned it on the table next to Annise, and used a clean washrag to dab the warm water on her face. Soon the basin was tinged pink with Annise’s blood.
“Shall I bind it?” the woman asked.
Annise considered the offer, but then said, “No. Thank you. It might be better for the air to dry and heal the wounds.”
“Then it’s time for you to go,” the man said. “And your friend.”
“Killorn,” Moira chided. “The princess is our guest.”
“According to the soldiers, she’s a wanted criminal, and we’re guilty by aiding her.”
“She saved our lives!”
“It wasn’t me who saved you,” Annise said quickly. “It was my…friend. The knight. And your husband is right. I put you at great risk. We should go.”
“Not until your friend has eaten. We owe him a life debt.”
Killorn grunted and moved to shove another log into the fire.
“He didn’t mean it,” Annise said to the man’s back. He stiffened. “He was just trying to protect me. He would never hurt someone innocent, I swear it.” The man’s shoulders slumped and he turned back. Nodded once. “Eat and then go,” he said.
“We will.” Annise glanced back at the door. Where was Tarin anyway? He should’ve been back by now.
“He’s standing outside,” Moira said. “Shall I let him in?”
Annise shook her head, but it wasn’t an answer. Of course Tarin wouldn’t come in, not after what he’d done—or almost done. “You can try,” she said.
Moira scampered over to the thick oak door and hauled it open. Tarin’s massive frame filled the entrance, and Annise chortled when he flinched back. “I’ve never scared anyone before,” Moira said.
“Beg your pardon, ma’am,” Tarin said. “You just startled me.”
“Well come in before you let in a draft.”
“I’d rather not.”
Annise shook her head. “Get your muscled arse in here, Sir, your princess commands it!”
Tarin ducked his head and entered, and Moira closed the door behind him. When he didn’t move from the entrance, Moira said, “Eat your soup before it gets cold, Sir…”
“Arme. You can call me Arme,” Tarin said.
Annise thought he looked like a lost giant. She stood and grabbed his arm, dragging him to the table and pulling him into a chair, which creaked under his weight.
Moira pushed a bowl in front of him, filled to the brim. “Can I take your helmet?”
“No!” Tarin said.
Moira raised an eyebrow. “It’s going to be awfully hard to eat through your mask.”
“Sorry,” Annise said. “But can you give us a few minutes alone so he can eat?”
“Gladly,” Killorn said, glaring at them and stomping toward the door. “I’ll get back to work loading my cart.” He left, slamming the door behind him.
“Don’t mind him,” Moira said. “He has trouble showing appreciation for anything.”
“I don’t blame him,” Tarin said, his voice low.
“I’m going to check on Killorn,” Moira said. She moved to the door, and only once she’d pulled the door shut behind her did Tarin reach for the bottom of his mesh face cover.
“Turn away,” he said.
“Tarin, I’ve already seen—”
“Turn away, Annise. Please.”
Annise pursed her lips, but obeyed. She didn’t hear the clank of his spoon, just the barest hint of someone drinking. Less than a minute later, he said, “We should go.”
She spun around to find his bowl empty, licked clean, his face mask once more covering him. “You can have seconds,” she said. “I did.”
“I’m not hungry,” he said. “And we need to move on so we can get closer to Gearhärt before dark.”
“Tarin, we should talk about what hap—”
“Annise,” Tarin said, cutting her off. “I can’t. Not now.”
“Then when?”
“Maybe never,” he said. He started to get up, but Annise grabbed his shoulder. Tarin’s eyes flicked to her hand and then back to her face.
“I’m not your judge, jury, or executioner,” she said.
“Then what are you?”
“I was a friend, once. Maybe I can be one again.”
“I don’t have friends,” Tarin said.
“What about Sir Dietrich? You let him defeat you in the melee, did you not?”
“What? No. He bested me with his valor and swordsmansh—”
“I don’t doubt his ability,” Annise interrupted. “But you didn’t fight to your full potential. Not the way you did against those four soldiers.”
“Clever,” Tarin said. “But you’re not getting me to talk about that. Maybe I didn’t fight as long or as hard as I could have in the melee, but if I had, I still would’ve lost. There’s more to Sir Dietrich than a quick sword.” Annise remembered how her uncle had stripped him naked. She remembered all the scars.
“You lost control, so what?” Annise said. “It happens. I lose control all the time. Once I practically neutered a smug lordling from Darrin who tried to kiss me after complimenting my hind parts.”
Though she couldn’t see it, Annise could sense Tarin’s lips curling into a smile. “I’m walking out that door, and I hope you’ll follow me,” he said, pushing his chair back and standing.
“Maybe you are made from stone,” Annise muttered, but if Tarin heard, he pretended not to. However, before he could reach the door, it opened, a gust of snowy wind blasting inwards.
Moira and her husband stepped inside. Moira said, “Killorn has something he wants to tell you.”
Killorn grunted and stared at his boots. Moira jabbed him with her elbow and he glared at her. Then he spoke. “Thank ye fer what ye done, savin’ the missus an’ me.” He rubbed his bald head, adding, “An’ fer not chokin’ me dead.”
Moira slapped him in the back of his head and said, “What else?”
He shook his head, and she pinched his arm. “Frozen hell, woman! I’m gettin’ to it!”
“Getting to what?” Annise asked.
“An offer. I be headin’ to Gearhärt in the morn. Ye may ride along in my cart if ye see fit.” With that, he spun around and headed back to the barn.
Moira grinned. “Well? What say ye?”
“We appreciate all your kindness,” Tarin said, “but—”
“Aye,” Annise said. “We say aye.”
Tarin turned around to glare at her, but Annise only offered a huge smile. She was hellfrozen tired of walking.
“Do you have a nearby stream or river?” Tarin asked suddenly. “Even a creek or pond will do.”
Annise frowned at him, wondering when his manners had shriveled up and died. For the last few hours, he’d said nothing, as Moira made small conversation with Annise. The kindly woman had tried to include Tarin, but had given up after he’d provided no more than one-word grunted answers in return, staring broodily at the crackling fire. Killorn wasn’t present, having excused himself to prepare the wagon for the following day’s journey to Gearhärt.
“Aye,” Moira said with a smile. She seemed happy to finally have something to talk to Tarin about. “A pond. Our source o’ fresh water.”
“Have you ever streamed messages from it?” Tarin asked.
“Course. We get news from the castle from time to time. An’ we communicate with our timber buyers ’fore my fool of a husband travels there.”
“Would you mind if I use a few Gearhärt inkreeds?”
“Who do you know in Gearhärt?” Annise asked.
“A woman,” Tarin said cryptically, glancing at Moira.
“I git the hint,” Moira said. “A secret then. Never fear, I will gather a pot of ink from our reeds fer ye.”
“Thank you,” Tarin said.
When she’d gone, Annise said, “What woman?”
“A friend of your aunt’s. She lives in Gearhärt.”
“Are you certain she’s trustworthy?”
Tarin nodded, but didn’t say more as Moira returned with a pot of ink, a long black quill, and a torn sheet of wrinkled parchment. “Sorry, but this’ll have to do. Parchment ain’t cheap so we reuse it.”
“It’s perfect. Thank you,” Tarin said. He situated the paper and ink before himself on the table, and then gently dipped the business end of the quill into the pot. “What is the known name of your pond’s inkreeds?”
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Moira said, “Moira’s Pond. They use it in Gearhärt. ’Tis the only place we send streams to.” When Tarin raised his eyebrows, she added, “Killorn don’t know his letters, so I do all the writin’.”
“You’re a good woman,” Annise said.
“That’s me,” she said. “A real catch.” She smiled. “I’ll leave ye to it.”
Annise watched as Tarin inked a cryptic letter to his contact in Gearhärt—a woman named Netta—about a hope flower blooming in the city the following day. He signed it ‘AK’ and included ‘Moira’s Pond’ as the return location.
“Are you the blooming hope flower or am I?” Annise asked, her lips curling on each side.
“Do I look like someone who wears pink?” Tarin said.
“Do I?” Annise retorted.
“It’s not meant to be taken literally. We came up with the code a while ago, when Zelda was making plans. The hope flower was her idea. Let’s go.”
Annise felt something warm in her chest at the notion as she followed Tarin to the door. At the same time, she wondered what Archer’s code name was.
Outside the cottage, Moira and Killorn were loading up a wagon with timber and supplies. Tarin opened his mouth to speak, but Moira waved him off, pointing down the snowy slope, eastward.
They trudged through the snow in the direction Moira had indicated, until they came to a small iced-over lake. It was easy to spot the small pod of inkreeds growing on the embankment beside the frozen water. Tarin started to bend down by the edge, but Annise stopped him with a hand on his arm.
“Can we talk about what happened earlier?” she asked.
“No.” He pulled his arm away, locating a sharp stone, presumably to break the ice with.
“Tarin—”
“What, Annise? Do you want to know about how the thing inside me screamed in my head as I fought? How fires burned through my veins? How my muscles were ready to snap, to choke, to pummel anything and everything nearby? Or how about the cold and the emptiness I felt in my chest when it was over, when the strength and adrenaline left me, when I was all alone again? Is that what you want me to say?”
“Yes,” Annise said.
