“To get a ship.”
“A ship?” My voice sounded small and shaky. I coughed and tried to clear my throat. Will he always feed me information like this—one tidbit at a time?
He stopped his busy work in the saddlebags and answered, keeping his ever familiar back to me. “Yes, we’ve got to get you as far away from Fallstaff, and Inselgrau, as possible. Where did you think we were going?”
“I don’t know!” My panic returned, and my heart crept into my throat. I felt bad enough leaving Fallstaff, but taking a ship meant leaving Inselgrau altogether. Gideon might as well have said he was taking me to the moon. “I don’t understand what was happening back there, and I’m not likely to figure it out on my own. Won’t you tell me something, Gideon? ...Please?”
He wore his arrogance like a shield, a façade. I suspected he wanted to keep people away, although I never understood why. When I’d asked him that question, I had expected more of his usual aloofness, but instead he exhaled and his shoulders sagged.
He met my gaze, and the granite in his hazel eyes softened, turning from stone into stormy skies—no less fearsome, but somehow more approachable. “You’ve been sheltered,” he said. “You loved him, and I don’t want to ruin your memories.”
“Are you talking about my father?”
He rubbed his smooth jaw and looked away. “I suspected the people of this island would look to fill his place with one of their own after his death.” He glanced at me again. The hardness returned to his eyes, as well as the set of his chin. “They don’t want another Stormbourne ruling them. I’m surprised it took the people this long.”
“That doesn’t tell me much.” What complaint do the people of Inselgrau have against my family? What offense have we committed? “I still don’t understand.”
“No, I don’t expect you do, and we don’t have time for me to explain it. We need to get around the next town before sundown. I don’t know if we’re being followed, but I don’t want to take chances. We need to keep moving.”
“The train would be faster.”
“Obviously, which is why it’s most certainly being watched. And the coach-ways. As long as we stay off the main roads, horseback makes us a lot harder to follow, and we need to be invisible for as long as possible.”
A chill trickled down my spine, and I turned away from him before he could see on my face the sickness caused by his words. In my haste to escape, I hadn’t considered the consequences of leaving Fallstaff. My house had been crashing down around my ears, and survival had been my only concern. It was still my primary goal, but it came at the cost of abandoning my home and the people, like Gerda, whom I considered family, especially after my father’s death.
I was young, inexperienced, and lacked powerful allies, the kinds that could have established a counterattack or resistance. How could I have known such a thing would be needed? The only men at arms my father had kept were a small group of trained fighters he had called his Crown of Men. Where were they in my time of need? Why had my father’s horse master been the one to take charge of my security?
Why... why... why? So many questions. So few answers.
“Evie?” Gideon said my name in a soft way.
I waved him off and busied myself checking Nonnie’s tack and stowing my water skins. His sympathy did little to ease my nerves. Mostly, it made me more uncomfortable.
“Ready?” he asked.
I nodded and mounted Nonnie, and we fell into place once again behind Gespenst.
For the rest of the day, we kept to ourselves in the hazy twilight of the constant forest. As nightfall approached, we skirted the edge of a small village called Valsparre. Once we had put the town to our backs, Gideon brought us to a halt.
“We’ll stop here for the night,” he said.
I slipped down from saddle and prepared to make camp, although I had almost no experience with such things. Nonnie seemed glad when I released her from her saddle and bit, and I led her beside Gideon and Gespenst to a nearby stream.
“We won’t camp near this creek,” he said. “It drowns out distant noises, and I wouldn’t be able to hear if anyone’s approaching. When the horses are finished here, come back to the place where I first stopped us.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to start a fire, get some water boiling. I don’t know about you, but it might be nice to have something hot in my stomach. It’s going to be cold tonight.”
He was right. The first and most audacious stars already twinkled overhead. The night would grow chilly without cloud cover to hold in the earth’s heat.
The horses dawdled at the water long after they finished drinking. I stayed with them, reluctant to return to Gideon’s somber company. I had chewed on his words for the entire afternoon, and couldn’t balance his statements with my own knowledge. My father had been stern and rigid, but fair and loving. He’d spent countless hours with me, showing me things in his massive collection of books, teaching me how to run a household. He had begun to outline his management of the kingdom, but he never advised me about what to do if I ever needed to flee Inselgrau.
Perhaps Gideon had always been his contingency plan for me in such an instance. Surely, he never expected to die so suddenly, not when there was still so much I needed to learn. Something was wrong, though, no mistaking that. Something had gone terribly wrong, if people wanted to destroy Fallstaff and chase the last Stormbourne away from her home.
Gideon would come looking for me if I didn’t return soon, so I surrendered to the darkness and cold and headed back to camp. I had seen enough disapproval on his face for one day, and Gerda’s warning about not annoying him echoed in my memory—no need to inspire his further annoyance.
“Tomorrow, I’ll teach you how to build a fire and set rabbit snares,” he said when I returned. “I’ve already set some while you were gone. I packed enough dry goods to get us through tonight, but we’ll have to gather food when we can.”
I nodded and sank to the leafy ground on the opposite side of the campfire.
A small pot bubbled and steamed on the fire. Hunks of carrots and potatoes swam in a thin broth—vegetables that would withstand the jostling of saddlebags, so it made sense for Gideon to pack them. He had also thrown in a few strips of jerky and a handful of wild onions.
I inhaled, savoring the stew’s homey smell, and my stomach grumbled. “You still don’t know if anyone followed us?”
He shook his head. “I don’t, but it’s better to be safe than sorry. We’ll take turns sitting up tonight, watching, just in case.”
For the rest of the night we did everything in silence: eating, spreading our blankets, disappearing into the darkness to take care of private necessities. Through some unspoken communication, possibly voiced in Gideon’s stiff posture, I knew he intended to take the first shift of the watch. I rolled up in my scratchy wool blanket and tried to sleep, but my thoughts ran in circles filled with memories of my father.
I examined each one as it popped into my head, and tried to find something that might support Gideon’s claims. If our people were unhappy with my father as their king, it was new information to me. Either Gideon was wrong, or my father had been careful to keep me ignorant about what went on beyond the gates of Fallstaff.
I hoped it was the former, but my hasty escape and the hard ground under my spine tended to support the latter theory.
“Go to sleep, Evie,” Gideon said.
“How’d you know I was awake?”
“I can hear you thinking all the way over here.”
“How do I turn off my thoughts after a day like today? How can you expect me to sleep?”
He shifted and leaves beneath him crackled. “You’ll regret it tomorrow if you don’t.”
“It’s not that easy.”
“It is. Focus on your breathing and nothing else. Empty your mind. Concentrate on the blackness at the backs of your eyelids. You’ll be out in no time.”
“Does it work for you
?”
“Every time. Like Magic.”
***
I came awake with a screech when someone shook my shoulder. A hand covered my mouth, silencing my protest.
Gideon whispered into my ear, “It’s me, Evie. Don’t scream.”
In the darkness, my other senses took over and, for the first time, I noticed his scent—leather, horses, wood smoke, and something else... probably sweat. His natural fragrance suggested masculinity and strength.
He eased his hand away and said, “You’ll need to take over for a while.”
I nodded and rubbed my eyes. The tip of my nose was cold and my breath formed thin clouds. I scooted closer to the fire, which burned low but warm.
He motioned toward the flames. “There’s some tea left in the pot. You’re welcome to it.”
“Thank you.” I reached for my mug and braved a look at his face. His expression seemed compassionate, although it might have been a trick of firelight.
He immediately curled up in his blanket. “Wake me when you feel sleepy again. I only need a couple hours. And if you hear anything, wake me up right away.” He rolled onto his side and his breathing evened into deep, somnolent breaths.
The tea tasted bitter and wild, but sipping it kept me occupied and awake. The rest of the night passed in a rush, consumed by more fruitless worrying.
A misty morning light had infiltrated our camp by the time Gideon awoke. “You stayed awake all night?” he asked when I came back from seeking privacy in a distant thicket.
I shrugged.
“You shouldn’t have done that.”
Is his voice always so unnecessarily sharp? “I didn’t intend to. Morning came quicker than I expected.”
His face softened, but in the next breath his mouth turned down. “I hope it doesn’t affect your ability to keep up with me today. It’s going to be a hard ride to get us to Braddock in two days’ time.”
“I’ll be fine.” I turned to go check the rabbit snares.
I came back toting two squirming gray and brown hares, and held them up for his inspection. “I would have skinned them, but I really don’t know how. Besides, I don’t have a knife.”
Gideon paused in his packing and studied the rabbits. “We’ll have to remedy that.” He crouched and pulled from his boot a short, sharp knife. With a subtle flick of his wrist, he sent the blade stabbing into the soil between my feet.
My breath caught at the unanticipated gesture.
“Pick it up,” he said. “See how it feels.”
The knife was heavier than it looked, but the short hilt fit my palm. I had never trained with weaponry, and now found myself wishing I hadn’t led such a sterile life.
“Keep the knife in your boot like I did,” he said.
I smiled in thanks, but wiped it away in an effort to mirror his serious mood. “You don’t need it?”
“I have more. I’ll skin the first rabbit. You watch and then do the other.” His knife flashed, and he slit the poor creature’s throat.
I blanched at the red splatter and the steam rising from the still, warm body. My throat swelled, but I choked back the tears. I hadn’t cried over the destruction of my house, or my separation from its inhabitants. I wouldn’t cry over a dead rabbit, either.
“Your turn.” He looked toward the other rabbit.
I took a deep breath and hardened my heart. Somehow, I managed to complete the task without succumbing to the revulsion simmering in my gut. The carcass wasn’t cleaned as quickly or neatly as his, but I removed enough skin and left enough meat on the bones to make the bother of roasting it worth the trouble.
I held out the meager offering. “Breakfast?”
He grabbed the rabbit from me and stabbed it onto a spit he had whittled from a slim branch. He studied my face for a moment, and I wondered what he saw. “Hopefully you’ll get better with practice.”
He had rarely spared a kind word in the past, so I shouldn’t have expected anything different now.
While the rabbits cooked, I slipped away to water the horses again and refill the water skins. When I returned, Gideon managed a small nod of approval.
Well, that’s progress.
Juices from the meat sizzled on hot coals. It wasn’t roast pheasant or lamb kebobs, but it smelled almost as good. Tasted almost as good, too. I craved a cup of the fine tea Gerda always made in the mornings, but I pushed the notion away. Gideon’s herbal mixture would have to suffice, and it probably provided more nutrition anyway.
The rabbit had a gamey flavor, but my hunger overruled the unpleasant taste. We threw our gnawed bones into the fire when done, and smothered the flames with handfuls of dirt until it stopped smoking.
My rear end protested when I climbed into the saddle. Nonnie and I had spent a lot of time riding together, but never for a whole day, and never so strenuously. Gideon and I fell into our places, him at the lead and me at his back.
How does he know where to go? How does he know what to do?
No matter. If Father had trusted him, then that was enough for me. It had to be. Without resources and connections, I had almost no options. Staying with Gideon seemed the most certain way to ensure my survival.
My father had obviously kept me shielded and naïve, and I had never questioned him. I had lived a happy life, never knowing the detriment of my complacency. No more. Those days were gone, maybe forever. I sat up straighter in my saddle, throwing my shoulders back and raising my chin. Like a snakeskin, or a molting insect husk, I would shed the soft, contented girl of before. I’d develop a tougher hide... and perhaps a set of teeth and claws to go with it.
We stopped again in the early afternoon before we crossed the Tamber, a river bisecting Inselgrau from northeast to southwest. Maybe the lack of evident pursuit had drained some of Gideon’s urgency, because he seemed less anxious to move on. In fact, once he finished refilling his water skins, he stretched out under a copse of ancient willow growing near the bank, and closed his eyes.
My unease around him was out of character. I considered myself smart and friendly, but something about his somber moods and arduous work ethic lent Gideon a cold and unapproachable aura. Even my father, the king of a nation, had found reason to laugh from time to time. What kinds of things inspired Gideon’s humor? I dismissed the question. If he ever expressed amusement, he would most likely temper it with sarcasm. How could such a young man be so constantly morose?
I spied a soft pallet of grass and ambled over to it. My sore rear end protested as I plopped down. The horses grazed between us and seemed glad for the break. The idea of falling asleep in the middle of the day, in such a wide-open spot, stirred my unease, so instead of trying to nap, I drew Gideon’s knife from my boot and studied it again. The blade was shorter than the length of my palm and almost black in color, blunt along the spine, but lethally sharp at the blade. It had sliced through the rabbit skin earlier like butter. Hard, molded leather comprised the hilt, bound with rawhide strings. A thumb rise and a small quillion braced the hilt against the force of a stabbing grip.
Oh, yes, I knew the anatomy, but nothing about its practical use. I had spent so much of my life in books, but perhaps I had never really lived. After all, what was education without application?
The knotty root of a nearby willow jutted from the muddy bank. I aimed for it, grasping the knife between my fingertips, and threw. The knife missed its target, and the blade skipped over the ground before landing in a muddy mound at the river’s shallow edge. Black sludge sucked the knife up to the hilt. My achy muscles griped when I rose to my feet to go after it.
I crouched at the bank’s edge, my focus intent on the knife, and was unaware Gideon had moved behind me until he spoke.
“That’s no way to treat my knife.”
I flinched and lost my balance.
Before I splashed face first into the river, he caught my shoulder and dragged me to solid ground. “You don’t have much more control over your own self either, do you? How do expect to throw a
knife when you can’t keep from falling in the river?”
A harsh response formed on my tongue, but a glint in his eye and the curl at the corners of his lips held me in check. Maybe I had misjudged his sense of humor, after all. “Are you teasing me, Gideon?”
He dropped my arm as if it burnt him. “If you are going to manhandle my knife, you’re going to have to give it back.”
“I wasn’t manhandling it. I was naive enough to think I could teach myself to throw it.”
He shrugged. “You probably could, if you had a dozen-or-so years. Why don’t you stick to skinning rabbits?”
“Can you throw a knife? I mean, throw it and hit something?” Why did I persist with him? Maybe I wanted any kind of conversation after so much silence, even if it was laden with cynicism and terse words.
He narrowed his eyes, bit his bottom lip, and reached into his belt to pull out another blade—a longer one, much deadlier looking than the one he had given me. In a motion too swift to decipher, he spun and tossed the knife. It landed in the center of the same knotty root I had aimed for earlier.
“Show off,” I mumbled under my breath.
He chuckled in a lovely, low rumble. Who knew he was capable of such a thing?
I held up my adopted knife by the haft like a stinky stocking. “Would it be an impossible request if I asked you to teach me?”
He rolled his eyes. “You’ll probably end up stabbing yourself. Of course, then I’d be free from the burden of trying to rescue you. So... sure. Why not?”
“That’s two jokes in less than five minutes. Are you sure you’re feeling well?”
He frowned. “Come on. We’ll start with learning how to hold it, and then you can practice throwing it at things.” He led us to a flatter area away from the water’s edge.
“Gideon?”
“Yes?”
“Why are you helping me?”
Heir of Thunder (Stormbourne Chronicles Book 1) Page 2
