by M. J. Scott
“You obviously survived the experience.”
Survived. There was a word. He was still alive, true. But he still dreamed about it. About that moment when he’d felt everything stop. Felt the pull of terror and oblivion. Still woke from those dreams covered in sweat, if he managed not to scream. Looking into Sophia’s eyes, turned some nameless color by the firelight, he knew exactly why no one wanted women to learn battle magic. The thought of her feeling anything close to what he’d experienced was incomprehensible.
“Yes, I did. But believe me, it’s not something you want to know about.” He poked at the fire again. “Perhaps you should try to sleep. It’s been a long day.” And tomorrow would likely be longer. He’d told her that there might be good news, that they might get to return to Kingswell tomorrow, but he didn’t think it was likely.
Which left him potentially shepherding a brand-new royal witch through the countryside, trying to keep her alive.
He was starting to think that the goddess didn’t like him very much.
CHAPTER FOUR
Sophie woke with a start when a sugarjay screeched somewhere above her. It took a few seconds to remember where she was. Which was somewhere in the middle of nowhere in Caloteen. On the run. With Lieutenant Mackenzie. She was tempted to pinch herself to make sure she hadn’t dreamed the whole thing, but the blue sky above her and the ache in her bones as she rolled over seemed evidence enough. It was real. Someone had attacked the palace. Attacked the royal family.
Illvyans? Or was one of the lords trying to take advantage of King Stefan’s illness and make a play for power? There hadn’t been a lords’ rebellion in three generations. Not since Stefan’s grandfather had seized power after the last Illvyan incursion had left half the former court dead.
She shivered, partly from the unwelcome thoughts and partly from the chill morning air. Her cloak was Kingswell weight. The border of the Hellebride Peninsula, where the capital lay, was the warmest part of Anglion. It grew colder as you headed north, and now they were halfway up the country, if Lieutenant Mackenzie was telling her the truth.
She rolled toward the fire and realized then that the lieutenant wasn’t lying on the other side as he had been when she’d finally fallen asleep. She’d watched him through the low flames of the fire for an age before she’d finally slept. Too much had happened in a day for her to feel safe enough to sleep, no matter how her body, drained from the frantic portal journey, had wanted to. But she had succumbed eventually. And evidently slept too deeply to hear the lieutenant when he’d left.
Which meant, hopefully, that he had felt sorry for her and let her sleep rather than he’d taken the opportunity to desert his unwanted charge in the night. Given his reluctance to let her go yesterday, she couldn’t believe it was the latter.
She pushed herself up to a sitting position, paying for the action with the shriek of muscles not used to sleeping on hard, cold ground, and gathered the cloak around her. The lieutenant had fed the fire before he’d left. There was a small log burning solidly enough to shed a little warmth, and she wriggled closer and just sat and soaked up the heat for a few minutes. Which was when she noticed the pile of berries sitting on top of the neatly folded uniform jacket he’d left by what remained of the small stack of wood he’d gathered the previous night.
More blackberries. Her stomach rumbled even as she wished for something else. If the lieutenant’s trip to the village he had mentioned was successful, then perhaps he would bring back something more sustaining.
She ate the berries, then climbed to her feet and ventured down the stream to drink and wash and take care of her other pressing need. Squatting behind a bush with her skirts hiked around her shoulders was far less embarrassing when she knew nobody else was within earshot.
Still, when she returned to the fire, she wished the lieutenant had woken her when he’d left. Then she might have some idea of how long he had been gone and when he would return. Until then, there was nothing she could do except wait. They would be leaving this place, so there was no point looking for more wood, and she really didn’t want to pick more blackberries unless she had to.
She settled back down by the fire, poking idly at it with a branch, watching the low flames flickering. From the position of the sun, still relatively low in the sky, she thought it might still be only eighth hour, maybe ninth. The sun rose near seventh at this time of year, so assuming the lieutenant had left at first light, he might not be much longer. He’d said the village was only a few miles away.
Worry started to gnaw at her stomach. Something could have gone wrong. Anything. What would she do if he didn’t return? She didn’t even know which direction the village was. She could retrace her steps to the road perhaps and then find somewhere with people. Find someone to help her.
Had there been help for those left back at the castle? She’d caught a glimpse of the shattered east tower before Cameron had dragged her back inside Madame de Montesse’s store and away through the portal. People would have died in that explosion. More would have been hurt. And goddess knew what might have happened next. If there was an Illvyan invasion, based on history, there would be carnage.
Worry started to flare into panic. She clenched her hands and made herself breathe, counting back from one hundred in one of the calming exercises Captain Turner had drilled in to her so relentlessly. It helped a little, tamed the fear back to a manageable lead knot in her gut. Distraction, that was what she needed. She started to recite the proper ways to ground to a ley line in her head, over and over again until a jingle of metal snapped her out of her reverie.
She froze, straining. She heard a soft whicker and a creak of leather. A horse. Or horses. The lieutenant? Or someone else? Without thinking, she sprang to her feet and bolted toward the trees at the edge of the clearing, hiding herself behind the thickest trunk she could find.
The sounds grew louder. She peered round the trunk cautiously when she heard the snap of a branch that sounded close enough to come from the clearing itself. Relief washed over her when she recognized the lieutenant. He led two horses and wore a dark brown rough woolen jacket and brown trousers rather than the black ones of his uniform. Camouflage of a sort, she supposed. No point advertising he was a Red Guard if they were trying to go unnoticed.
“Lady Sophia?” he called softly.
She stepped out from the tree, and his expression mirrored the relief she felt. Had he thought she would make a run for it again? Try to get away from him?
“Good morning,” she said when she reached him. “Your errand was successful, then?” She stretched out a hand to the smaller of the two horses, a flat-nosed dun with a pretty black mane and tail. The horse nudged her hand, then snorted, probably disappointed that it didn’t hold any treats. The other horse, a big bay, flicked his ears toward the dun but stayed quiet under the lieutenant’s hands.
“A piece of luck,” he said. “Market day. I got these two and some supplies. You can have some breakfast, and then we’ll be away from here.”
“Was there any news?”
He shook his head. “Nothing definite. They’d had word of the attack, but I couldn’t find out any more. The capital is apparently well locked down.”
“So you don’t think it’s safe to return?” She couldn’t quite keep the disappointment out of her voice.
“No.” He pulled a bundle out of one of the saddlebags on the larger horse’s back and tossed it toward her. “You should change.”
“Change?”
“I got you some breeches. Too hard to find a sidesaddle in these parts.”
Because farmers’ wives and villagers were too sensible to try to ride in skirts just to look elegant. Her mother had insisted that Sophie be taught both ways, and she vastly preferred riding astride, not that she got the chance in Kingswell. Royal ladies rode sedately, dressed in elegant habits. Sophie sometimes wondered if they drugged the horses to stop them getting bored from slow walks around the royal parks with the odd canter if Eloisa was
feeling rebellious.
“You can ride astride, I assume?” Cam said.
“Yes.” She nodded. “I can.” Stiff and sore as she was from the night sleeping outdoors, a long ride wasn’t likely to be pleasant. “Where are we bound?”
“I’d like us to go farther north. And west. Put some distance between us and the portals we’ve used. Just in case someone is looking for us. Then we’ll find another portal.”
Ah. Yes. He’d used blood to trigger the portals. A strong battle mage with a tracking talent could follow that trail. So his plan made sense. She nodded again. “Let’s get started.”
Cam pushed as hard as he dared with the horses and Lady Sophia herself. She hadn’t been lying when she had said she could ride astride. She sat on the little dun very well, but she wasn’t used to riding at a traveling pace for hours at a time over roads and countryside. He wanted her in one piece, not falling off her horse from exhaustion or too stiff to walk.
They stopped to eat in the middle of the day, finding a small stream with a shrine as they rode through a scrubby wood following a half-overgrown track.
“Do you think anyone’s keeping up the blessing?” Sophia asked as they stared down at the water.
Cam looked at the small pile of stones and the graceful curving lines carved on them. “No moss, so maybe. Not much we can do about it if they’re not.” Running water was supposed to be safe even without a blessing. He shook his head. It was nonsense anyway. The blessings were to protect the water from being used to summon a demon. And no one in Anglion practiced water magic. Even if the attack in Kingswell had been set in motion by Illvya, it wasn’t like there was an Illvyan wizard lurking behind the next tree, disturbed midsummoning. It was a stream in the middle of the damned country. But he didn’t know how superstitious—or observant—Lady Sophia was, so he pricked his thumb, let the drop of blood fall into the water, and muttered, “Salt to bind, blood to save, goddess bless this place.” It was the shortest, most perfunctory of blessings. With his level of magic and without enough blood to truly add enough salt to the water to make it poison to a demon, it wouldn’t have done anything to interfere with an Illvyan summoning anyway, but hopefully it would make her feel more comfortable.
She hadn’t asked about the stream the previous day. Too panicked and confused. If her question now meant that she was adjusting to her situation, then it was worth a drop of blood. He sucked his thumb to stop the bleeding. The nicks he’d made yesterday to power the portals were all healing, but the friction of the reins and his sweat had turned each one into a stinging annoyance. They had to keep moving, and he’d never had any skill for healing magic or herbcraft, so he couldn’t heal the cuts. He ignored the small pains, scooped water to rinse his hands off, and then drank before topping up the water bags.
Sophia bent to drink, too, splashing the water over her face. She’d pulled her hair back into a simple braid and, in the breeches and the too-large dark blue jacket and shirt he’d found for her, she looked very young.
She was a pretty thing, her eyes the clear brown of strong tea and her hair several shades darker. Her face was made up of angles. Eyes that tilted in the southern way, sharp cheekbones, and a face more pointed than the rounder-faced looks that most southerners had. All in all a face that suggested she might just have a stronger will than one would expect from a court lady. Some northerner blood somewhere in the family tree to give her those bones. Or Illvyan. The hair would change, of course, if her power manifested. She’d wind up with rich red hair, as all earth witches did. He tried to picture it for a moment and failed.
Then he pulled his mind back to the job at hand. Getting her to safety and keeping her there to ensure that she would live to get that red hair. They had a few more hours to get to the portal he was aiming for. Then they could make the final leg of the journey once he had found somewhere to sell or leave the horses. Theoretically, you could take an animal the size of a horse through a portal but only a very, very strong one. It would be a horrendous waste of power and, if the blessings weren’t strong enough, the portal could fail altogether. No one knew what happened to those caught in a failed portal. None of them had ever been seen again to explain what happened.
“We should keep moving, milady.”
Sophia nodded and took one final handful of water from the stream before heading back over to the little dun. She hadn’t complained about the journey so far, but she moved a little stiffly. Even though it was plain she knew how to ride astride, he doubted she’d ever had to do so for hours on end for a long time. She looked at the horse and made a face before feeding it the core of one of the apples they’d had for lunch.
Cameron hooked the water bag back onto his saddle and made sure the other saddlebags were closed before moving to check Sophia’s as well. She stood stroking the dun’s ears.
“I’ll give you a hand to mount,” he said, and came around to her side of the horse.
“I can do it,” she protested.
“I’m sure you can. But you’re not used to riding all day, so conserving energy is only sensible.” He regarded her for a moment. She was shorter and slighter than Eloisa, her figure sleek rather than extravagant. He could probably just pick her up and put her in the saddle, but that might be skirting the bounds of what was respectable. Particularly with her in breeches, with no layers of skirts and petticoats to shield her body from his hands. There were fairly strict rules around touching unmarried women of the court other than for socially accepted reasons such as dancing or offering an arm or a hand up into a carriage. The rules only got stricter when it came to unmarried potential royal witches. Of course, out here there was no one to see if he touched her—but there was no point shocking her virgin sensibilities if he didn’t have to.
He crouched and cupped his hands instead so she could use them as a substitute for a mounting block. She did so and gained the saddle with no difficulty, gathering the reins with a determined expression and no hint of discomfort.
Small but tough, he decided, and went over to mount his own horse.
The best-laid plans often came to nothing though, and his plan was far from best laid. After three hours or so of riding, when they were once again in a stand of scrubby woods that covered a few square miles, his horse stumbled and then started to limp. On inspection, he discovered that it had managed to lose a shoe.
He cursed under his breath. They were going to have to keep going on foot. Well, Sophia could ride and he would lead his horse. He wasn’t going to abandon the damned thing in the middle of the woods. Sophia’s horse wasn’t large enough to carry both of them, at least not for any length of time. If his memory served, there was a largish farm near where the road to the portal he wanted forked from one of the other main roads. They could leave the horses there and continue on.
They moved off again, but as they reached the edge of the woods, it started to rain. Heavy, soaking rain accompanied by a biting wind. Sophia started to shiver after about twenty minutes or so.
Dust of the goddess. There was no point continuing on if she was going to catch lung fever from being dragged through the rain.
So, new plan. Find shelter.
Another mile or so down the road, he spotted a stone structure in the distance. It was small and very basic. Four walls and a roof and what was revealed as they came closer to be a half-rotted wooden door. He wasn’t sure if it was a shelter for humans or animals, but no one seemed to be using it currently, so it would have to do.
They halted in front of the hut. Cameron swung down from the saddle and peered through the rain. There was still no sign of any occupant, human or otherwise, so he opened the ruined door carefully. The room was empty of furniture, but there was a stone floor to go with the walls, even though it was damp in spots where the roof was letting in some of the rain.
There was a small stack of firewood tucked in one corner and a rudimentary hearth in another. Maybe it was a shepherd’s shelter. The farmers in this part of the country ran both sheep and
cattle. Even the odd goat. But whomever it belonged to, it didn’t matter now. The hut would give them shelter and, if the wood would light, some warmth. Enough to stop them from freezing half to death in the rain.
He leaned back out the door and beckoned for Sophia to join him. Her dismount from the horse wasn’t graceful, and she looked pale as she came into the hut.
He made a fire, then went back out to get their saddlebags, which held their other clothes. He told Sophie to change back into her dress, which would be dry at least, and occupy her for the time it took him to make sure the horses were secured in a good spot. When he came back in, she had done so and had wrapped her cloak around herself. She’d laid her breeches and the woolen jacket by the fire. She was still shivering but maybe not so hard.
Cam pulled off the jacket he’d bought at the market and put his uniform jacket back on. It was a bit warmer inside, but the building let the wind in somewhat. Dry clothes helped, but what they really needed was something hot to eat and drink. Whoever had left the firewood hadn’t been kind enough to also leave a kettle or any cooking utensils, however, so he sliced bread and used a damp stick to toast it over the fire.
Sophia ate it in silence and looked better having done so, some of the color coming back to her face as she warmed up.
“Do you think the rain will last?” she asked.
“Hard to tell this time of year.” Summers in Kingswell were mostly dry, but as the season went on, the counties in the middle and north of the country were prone to storms. Some of them bad. So far there hadn’t been any thunder or lightning, but that didn’t mean they weren’t coming. The driving rain and wind were bad enough. “We’ll stay here until it stops.”
If that was much longer than another hour, they might as well spend the night. It would be starting to get dark, and by foot he wasn’t sure they could reach the portal before it was full night.
Sophie pulled the cloak tighter around herself and stared at the fire. He wondered what she was thinking. Tomorrow was her birthday. If they’d been back in Kingswell, tonight she would have been having a feast with her family and then spending the night in the castle’s shrine to await her fate in the morning.
