Her gaze flickered between him and the knife. He had just saved her life, but he had made it clear that he intended to take it at some stage. He had dragged her across the countryside, participated in the murder of her compatriots, supported the enemy, and threatened to kill her more times than she could remember. Still, she hesitated at the thought of ending his life. She stared at him for a moment, then brought her gaze back to the blade. It shook in her grasp, and she took a deep, steadying breath. She was a descendant of Valor, a princess in her own right, even if she did not bear the title, and one day she would be queen. It was up to her to protect her people and destroy those that would destroy them.
She tightened her grip and raised the knife above her head. The Drameara was watching her, his eyes not leaving her face. Ignoring his gaze, she stared at his chest, marking the place where the blade would pierce his skin. She gripped it tighter and leaned forward, then stopped and allowed the dagger to fall from her grasp. Killing a man in the dead of night was one thing; killing him in the cold light of day was something else altogether, even when he deserved such a fate.
“Lost your nerve, princess?” he rasped.
“You’re almost dead, anyway,” she snapped. “And you don’t deserve to be put out of your misery!”
She grabbed his bag, pulled out the contents and dumped them on the ground, until all that remained within the bag were the canteen of water and the last of the bread. The small stone jar had escaped the fall unscathed, and it rolled along the rock until it rested by his hand. The cuffs clattered against the ground, and she stared at them a moment, before grabbing them and thrusting them back in the bag. She had no desire to keep them, but common sense told her they might prove to be useful, if only as a bargaining tool. She rose and slung the bag over her shoulder. Scooping up the dagger, she turned to survey the scene around her. She was surrounded by bushes on all sides; the only way through was to cut a path through the thick growth. Resisting the urge to look back, she strode forward to the closest bush and lifted the dagger. As she swung it through the air, his rasping voice reached her ear.
“I will see you soon, princess.”
Chapter 16
The warm rays of sun were the first thing Lark noticed when she awoke the following morning. Slowly, she stretched out her limbs, groaning softly at the accompanying ache. It had been dusk by the time she finally broke through the bushes the previous evening and stumbled onto the rocky banks of a river. She had eaten the last of the bread before going to sleep, and she looked around now, hoping to find something to eat.
Nothing caught her eye, and with a sigh, she picked up the bag and began walking, following the river downstream. She spotted a bush of goldenberries late in the morning; they were still slightly green but she ate them anyway, puckering her mouth at the sour taste, then groaning at the resulting stomach ache. Her only companions as she walked were the birds twittering in the trees and the occasional fish that darted past.
The trees thinned out later in the afternoon, until they finally disappeared altogether, replaced by a sea of grass. She looked behind her, searching for the hill that she had climbed with the Drameara, but all she saw was gently undulating land.
She sank to the ground before the sun had fully gone, exhausted. The image of the Drameara lying wounded on the rock plagued her mind, but she pushed away any thoughts of guilt. There was nothing she could have done for him, anyway, and his injuries had provided her the only chance of freedom. Still, she could not completely assuage her guilt for abandoning him when he had saved her life.
The place where she stopped was at the base of a small mound. Her stomach grumbled and she wrapped her arms around herself, wondering how she was going to manage her way back to Lenora. Without the Drameara lying close by she felt exposed, and she gripped the knife as she stared out into the night. Her hair was like a siren call, announcing her as a Cambrian to anyone passing by. If there was any hope of finding a way back to Lenora, she needed to reach a Cambrian town. But how she was to do that, she did not know.
She woke once again to the sun in her face and an ache in her stomach that reminded her that she needed to find some food. Her canteen was empty, and heading to the river, she bent down to fill it. A flash of silver caught her eye, and she followed it to see a fish swim away. A bug played on the water’s surface, and she watched as the fish darted upwards, catching the bug and disappearing behind a rock. Pulling her dagger slowly from her waist, she stepped into the water and crouched down low, waiting. Her back was aching by the time another fish appeared, meandering lazily through the water. She gripped the dagger tighter and held her breath. It drew near, then lurched when it was a foot away. With a flick of its tail the fish darted into the reeds as Lark fell back into the water, landing in the stream with a yell of frustration. She glared at the place where the fish had disappeared and pushed herself to her feet. Water filled her boots and her clothes were sodden as she squelched back to the bank and yanked the boots from her feet, flinging them away angrily. She spun around when she heard a laugh, glaring at the boy standing beside a bush on the other side of the bank.
“The oh-so-clever Cambrian can’t even catch a fish,” he taunted. He was around Pip’s age, tall and lanky. He wore a dirty cap, which half hid the dark hair that hung into his eyes. He lifted his hand and Lark saw he held a fish, at least a foot long, his finger hooked in its mouth.
“I could if I had a fishing rod,” she grumbled.
“Do you see a fishing rod?” he asked. “All I ’ad was this piece of string.” He lifted his other hand to show her.
She frowned. “You’ve clearly had lots of practice while I, on the other hand, have had none.”
“Never ’ad to find your own meals, ’ave you? ’ad ’em all delivered on fancy dishes, I’ll bet. Which makes me think wot you’re doing out ’ere, all alone?”
“I’m, er, lost. Got separated from my friends.”
He gave her an appraising look. “Been separated a while now, ’aven’t you? And ’ere you are, all alone, with only a Rhymer to keep you company.” He cocked his head. “I could run you through right now, leave you for dead. People will thank me, you know.”
She lifted the dagger in her hand. “And I could do the same.”
“Wot, a pampered Cambrian like you? I don’t think so.”
She eyed him narrowly, her mind racing. Instead of squabbling with this boy, she needed to find a way to separate him from his fish. She glanced down at her sodden boots, and her gaze caught the bag on the ground. Lifting her gaze back to the boy, she smiled.
“Want to sell me your fish? As you’ve already pointed out, my chances of catching one are pretty slim.”
“You want to buy it? With wot? Those old boots?” he scoffed.
“A jewel worth hundreds of your fish.”
“And you ’spect me to believe that you ’ave jewels on you?” he asked suspiciously.
“I’ll show you.” Dropping to her haunches, she opened the bag and reached for the cuff, but kept it hidden within the bag. Using her dagger, she began to dig out one of the precious stones laid into the silver.
“Eh, wot are you doing?” the boy shouted suspiciously.
“Just getting the jewel.” She gave the dagger one more twist and the celeste dropped into her hand. Pushing the cuff back to the bottom of the bag, she rose and held up the gem between her fingers.
“Look,” she called.
“’Ow do I know it’s real?”
“Oh, it’s real alright. Look, I can show you.” She placed the celeste on a rock and reached for a stone.
“Wot are you doing?”
“A real celeste won’t break from the force of a blow. A fake will.”
“That’s a celeste?” There was a slight note of awe in his voice.
“Yes.” She brought the stone down on the celeste, then lifted it to show him the unbroken gem. “You see, it’s real.”
“And you’ll give me th
at celeste for my fish?” He glanced at the catch in his hand.
“Yes. And your hat,” she said, thinking furiously. “And tell me the way to the closest Cambrian town.”
He scratched his head. “Ain’t no Cambrian towns out this way. You’ll ’ave to go past Riverton to get to one.”
“And which way is Riverton?”
He cocked his head. “First give me the celeste, then I’ll tell you.”
“First give me your fish and hat, then I’ll give you the stone.”
“We meet in the middle.”
“Of the river?”
“You’re already wet,” he pointed out.
“Fine,” she sighed. Rolling up the bottom of her pants, she waded into the stream as he did the same. They stopped a few feet apart, and Lark opened her hand to show him the celeste but kept it close. “Pass me the fish and your hat, then I will give it to you.”
“We pass at the same time.”
After a few more negotiations and tentative steps forward the transaction was finally completed, and Lark had her fish and hat.
“Riverton’s that way, a few miles downstream,” the boy said, pointing down the river where they still stood, the water swirling around their ankles.
“Thank you.” She returned to the bank and laid the fish on the ground. Now that she had it, she wished she had included a tinder box in the transaction. The boy was already gone, having taken off with his treasure as soon as he reached the bank. She found a couple of stones and, an hour later, finally produced a spark that set the dry leaves she had gathered smoking. It took a few more attempts to get the blaze going well enough to cook the fish, and it was past noon by the time she was finally able to stuff some food in her mouth.
Her hunger sated, she picked up the dagger and stared at it for a moment, then pulled her long braid forward, laid the blade at the top of the shank, and sliced. It took a few attempts to get the knife through all the hair, but it finally fell like a rope to the ground. Grabbing the boy’s hat, she placed it on her head and pulled it down low, then slung the bag over her shoulder and began walking along the bank of the stream, leaving behind her pile of hair. Her boots were still damp from her tumble that morning, and while they no longer sloshed, they chafed her skin as she walked. But she ignored the pain, thinking instead of the relief she would feel when she finally reached a Cambrian town and could let down her guard.
It started raining in the late afternoon, heavy sheets that made everything sodden. The only mercy was that, unlike before, the rain was at her back instead of driving into her face. It was because of the rain that she missed seeing the first buildings at a distance, and it wasn’t until she was almost upon them that she realized that she had reached another town. Riverton, she thought. It was clear from the haphazard layout of the streets and colorful buildings that it was a Rhymer town. Lark drew her cap down over her eyes as people hurried along the street, and they paid her no attention as they bent themselves against the driving rain.
She stopped within the shelter of an eave as she considered her options. She could not continue her journey in weather such as this, and it was too wet to sleep in the open. Perhaps she could find an inn where she could barter one of the gems for a bite to eat, and hopefully wait out the storm. With her long hair gone, perhaps she would blend in and escape attention.
She continued along the road, and the houses gave way to small shops, with signs announcing a bakery, a chandlery, and a haberdashery. Across the street, light shone from the houses, and she could see children laughing through the window of one.
An open archway in a wall caught her eye, and through it she could see a stone stairway leading to a small graveyard. On the far side rose a long, low building of gray stone. Light flickered in the windows, while a metal sign creaked over the doorway. Drawn by the light, she headed down the stairs and wove her way between the gravestones to the building. She could see now that it was a tavern, and laughter and warmth spilled through the door as she approached, wet and bedraggled. Her stomach rumbled hungrily as she stopped just beyond a window and peered in to see the customers with plates piled with food and large mugs of ale. She watched for a moment, considering, then turned towards the door, bumping into a woman a few years older than herself, with dark curls spilling over her shoulders as she looked at Lark appraisingly.
“Why, you poor thing,” she said. “Like a drowned rat, staring in through the window.”
“Actually, I’m just going in,” Lark said.
“Good! Come and get a drink to warm your belly. No-one should be out on a night like this.” She wrapped her hand around Lark’s arm and led her through the door.
“My name’s Gloria,” the woman said, leading Lark to a small table near the window as Lark glanced around the dimly lit room nervously. It was a mixed crowd of men and women, but apart from a few curious glances, they paid her no attention, and Lark felt some of her tension ease as she took a seat at the table.
“Take off yer cap,” Gloria instructed. “The water’s dripping down yer face.” She leaned forward to take the offending item, and Lark quickly leaned away, pulling it down further.
“I’ll leave it on,” she said, ignoring the water dripping between her fingers.
Gloria shrugged. “Well, then, suit yerself.” She cocked her head. “What’s yer name, luv?”
“Oh, er …” She glanced around the room and her gaze settled on the flame of a candle that flickered in the corner of the room. “Star,” she said.
“Well, stay here, Star, and I’ll bring you something to warm yer belly.”
With a pat on Lark’s shoulder, Gloria made her way between the tables to the long bar that ran along one wall, smiling and waving as patrons shouted out their greetings. Lark took in the crowd around her. Wooden tables of varying sizes were scattered around the room, each decorated with a small vase of colorful yellow flowers, It was such a feminine gesture, and Lark could not help smiling at the thought of Gloria carefully arranging each one. At one end of the room ran a long bar, where patrons sat on brightly painted stools. A cheerful buzz filled the place as people laughed and chatted. A voice broke through her thoughts and she leaned forward to listen to what the man was saying.
“The king and ’is dog are blaming us, as though we ’ad anything to do with it.”
“Wot I don’t understand is why ’e let the boy go free. Shoulda killed them both.”
“At least there’s one less royal brat to worry about.”
As coarse laughter rang out, Gloria placed a plate and tankard at her elbow and slid into the seat across from her.
“That’s all they can talk about,” she said, “the death of Lady Lark, and how the Cambrians are blaming us Rhymers. What’s it got to do with us, is what I say.”
“So she’s dead, then?” Lark asked.
“Oh, aye, I’d say so. It’s been a few weeks since she was taken. The Shadow Warrior has killed her for sure and left her body hidden somewhere.”
“I see,” she said faintly. “And did, er, did her family search for her?”
“I think the commander sent some guards to see if they could find her, but he called off the search pretty quickly, from what I hear. I mean, there’s no point searching for someone who’s already dead. He’s been rounding up Red Lions in retaliation, though. Searching through all the towns and villages and taking them to Lenora to hang. He’s angry because Issachar keeps slipping through his fingers.”
“Issachar?”
“Aye. Leader of the Red Lions.” She cocked her head as she looked at Lark. “What rock you been under?”
“I don’t pay much attention to all the rumors.”
“Oh, aye, that’s a good thing. It’s silly if you ask me, all this fighting. Men just killing each other for the sake of killing. We women know better, don’t we?” She watched as Lark took a mouthful of food. “What you doing out on a night like this?”
“Traveling down south.”
> “On yer own? It’s not safe, you know, for a woman to be traveling alone, not with all the Crimson Guard about. They’re everywhere these days.” Someone shouted Gloria’s name, and she quickly rose. “Better see who’s hollering. Eat up!”
The food was a simple homecooked meal, but full of flavor, and Lark quickly cleaned the plate. She looked up as Gloria returned to the table. “Hungry, weren’t you,” she said, taking the plate from the table. “So where exactly you heading?”
“Oh, a village near Lenora.”
“Lenora? Got quite a ways to go, don’t you?” She glanced around the room and pointed to a corner. “See that couple, sitting there? They’re taking goods to Timberdale in the morning. You could ask them for a ride. Save you a bit of walking.”
“How far is Timberdale?”
“Oh, about ten miles, I’d say. On the road to Lenora. I’ll let them know you’re interested.”
“You have a room where I can stay?”
“I sure do. Now let me fill that tankard.”
Gloria showed Lark a room down the hall a short while later, and Lark closed the door with a sigh of relief. Gloria had spoken to the couple, and they were willing to take Lark as far as Timberdale the next morning, as long as she was prepared to ride in the back, to which she readily agreed. The Drameara’s final words to her were a nagging worry at the back of her mind, and she was eager to put as much distance as she could between herself and the place where she left him.
She locked the door and leaned against it for a moment, before glancing around the room. It was decorated in pinks and creams, with curtains that matched the counterpane. A stand with a bowl stood against one wall, with a jug of water and a pile of towels with a small cake of soap on top. A mirror hung above the stand, and she walked over and studied herself, meeting her ice-blue eyes in the glass before examining the rest of her features. Her hair was a choppy mess, and her cheeks were a rosy pink. Dirt streaked her forehead, and she poured some water from the jug into the bowl, then used one of the cloths to rub herself clean. Leaning forward, she examined herself more closely, frowning as she studied the sprinkling of freckles that now marred her porcelain-white skin. She scrubbed her face once again with the cloth, hoping to clean them away, but they stubbornly remained despite her efforts. Lifting her hand, she studied it, shuddering at the dirt that caked her nails. Turning it over, she stared at her skin; there were freckles on her hand as well, and her once white skin was now the lightest shade of tan. She plunged her hands into the water, scrubbing them furiously to remove the dirt beneath her nails, and by the time she was done, the water was a light shade of brown. Her family would not recognize her now, she thought ruefully. Even Neta would have a hard time knowing who she was.
Into the Shadows Page 14
