White Hart (White Hart series #1)

by Sarah Dalton

  “At least I have you, Anta. You’ll never leave me, will you? You must be some magical creature who never dies. You will outlive me.” My train of thought takes a dark turn, and I close my eyes, willing sleep to find me. It takes its time.

  I wake with the dawn and eat some of the food the villagers have brought to me. There’s no point changing, because I dressed for my journey yesterday and remain in the same clothes, so I wash my face and hands only. There will not be any comforts where I am going. I may as well get used to it now.

  Anta follows me out into the garden, and I stand by his shoulder, surveying all that I will leave behind: the garden and its crops, the firewood, the chest of my mother’s belongings, the hut. On a quick impulse, I head into the hut and rummage through a pile of my father’s things, some of which Norton brought to me from Father’s body. There must be something I can take to remember him by. Father took his cane. I couldn’t part him from it. My fingers brush cool metal, and I clasp the item and take it into the sunlight to look properly. Anta nickers behind me.

  “It’s a locket,” I say, half to myself. I open the locket and find two tiny sketches, one of my father with his wide lips and even eyes, the other of my mother with her wild curly hair and high cheekbones. “I look nothing like her. I’m all Father.” He’d always told me I look like her. For some reason my stomach sinks with disappointment. She is beautiful. I am not.

  I loop the chain over my neck and press the locket beneath my tunic. At least now I have something to look at, to remind me of what I’ve lost.

  I get to work saddling Anta and loading up my belongings. When he lets out a mighty snort, I turn to see Casimir on his steed, clopping through the village towards the garden. Norton walks by his side. I pat Anta on the neck to calm him, and then wait for Casimir to come within speaking distance.

  It is Norton who talks first. “This is a fool’s errand, Mae. You cannot take the prince of the realm into the Waerg Woods.”

  “I respect you, Norton, but you cannot stop me from doing this. No one is forcing his highness’s hand. If he wants to come, so be it.”

  “Neither of you should be going,” he continues. “You are both children, and that is a dangerous place.” He points savagely towards the forest. I’ve never seen him this agitated. “How is this honouring your father? Hmm? Getting yourself killed will not bring him back to life, White Hart.”

  I roll my eyes. This is why I’d wanted to slip away in the dark. “This is my choice and my revenge. If you want to send someone with us to help, then by all means, go ahead.”

  Norton presses his lips together until they disappear into a single line.

  “I thought not.” I turn back to Anta, tightening the straps on his saddle.

  “If I may interject,” says the prince. “The only craft-born in the realm is currently kidnapped within the most dangerous woods in the land. Someone needs to find her before it’s too late.”

  “And seeing as you’re not willing to send anyone to help…” I add with a shrug.

  Norton sighs. “I cannot, on good conscience, force anyone into the forest. You know how frightened the people are of that place. You know that more than anyone.”

  “Yes, I do,” I say. “I know because I’ve been treated as an outsider since I was born.”

  “Well, it’s unusual for anyone to enter the forest. Yet you do it every day, and you ride a beast of the forest.” His eyes trail the length of Anta’s neck. “I suppose if anyone is to survive that forsaken place it’s you. We have to think about what is best for the realm. I’m not sure that includes taking the prince.”

  I slap down the flap of the saddle and turn to face him, my cheeks burning with temper. “Oh, I get it. You’re only concerned about the prince. That’s nice, Norton. That’s an excellent way to treat your people. And to think I’ve spent these years respecting you.”

  “Mae, no, that’s not… That’s not what I meant—”

  “It certainly sounded like it,” Prince Casimir adds, sending a jolt up my spine. I’m not used to anyone arguing my case.

  Norton turns back to me and clasps my hands. The simple gesture makes me start. “Mae, listen, please. I don’t want you to go into that forest, but I understand your desire for revenge, and I want Ellen to be found safe and sound. Your father was a good man, and I want to honour his memory by saying to you: Don’t do this. You have a place here. You have a way to make a living.”

  The thought of staying in that hut alone makes my gut twist. I shake my head. “I can’t.”

  Norton grips my hands more tightly. “Then think on this: If you step into those woods with the prince, the realm rests on your shoulders. You are taking on the responsibility to keep the prince from harm and find Ellen.”

  I pause, and then I say, “I accept that responsibility.” I lick my lips and avoid Prince Casimir’s eye. My shoulders seem heavier than ever before.

  Norton lets go of my hands with a sigh. His eyes turn dark and shadowy, and any trace of emotion leaves his face. “Then may the gods protect you.”

  When he turns to leave, a shiver runs down my back. I realise now how afraid he is for us. What awaits us in the forest?

  *

  The tracks are easy enough to find. The Wanderers came on horseback. They veer east at the entrance of the forest, which is likely the reason we didn’t see or hear the riders when we were bringing Anta back. We had gone deep into the woods that night. The riders had skirted the entrance for a while before heading into the midst.

  “They wanted to avoid something,” I say, half to myself and half to Casimir. “I wonder if they knew where we were.” I think back to the shadow in the crowd. Maybe they had been watching us all day. I’d seen a shadow in the woods before I met Casimir. Perhaps they had been waiting amongst the trees, watching our every move.

  “Wouldn’t they have followed us?” Casimir asks. “They were after me, apparently.”

  “What if they weren’t looking for you at all?” I say. “What if they only wanted the craft-born, and your guards ended up in the way?” I swallow dryly. “Along with my father.”

  “That’s possible,” Casimir says. “They must have a reason to take her. They must need her magic for something.”

  The thought concerns me. I shrug it away and direct my attention back to the path. What happens when Ellen can’t perform the magic they need? None of this would have happened if I’d revealed myself long ago. But then Father still would have fought for me, and still ended up dead.

  “We need to hurry.” I urge Anta on. “We need to cover as much ground as possible before nightfall.” The thought of sleeping in the Waerg Woods makes the air freeze in my lungs, but we will have to once the darkness seeps in through the trees.

  Horse and stag walk together side by side, and we travel like that for hours where we can. Still the tracks remain in the shallows of the woods, showing that the Wanderers are more like nervous children who do not want to paddle into the deep section of a river. In a way, I would respect them more if they ventured towards the heart of the forest, yet I am also glad for their timidity, because it means we can relax for a while. Still, Casimir starts at every noise. His nervous fingers cause his horse to dance and spook at every rustle or bird call. I shake my head at him. If he would only relax, the animal would calm with him.

  Casimir spots me watching and straightens his back, in the habit he has of pretending he’s older or less afraid or something. “These woods aren’t half as bad as Norton made out. I find it hard to see what all the fuss is about.” The branches sway above his head, swooshing with the wind. His steed whinnies and shoots forward, leaving Casimir to hurriedly gather his reins and calm it down. I smother a laugh with the sleeve of my tunic. When Anta catches up with the prince’s horse, I can see Casimir’s shoulders trembling.

  “We’re only in the beginnings of the woods,” I say. “The deeper you go, the worse it gets.”

  Casimir’s throat shows a visible ‘gulp’ as he swallows.
“You’ve been into the heart of the forest before?”

  I shake my head. “The only person I know to have been deep into the forest and come back is… was… my mother.”

  Casimir drops his eyes to the horse in front of him. “I see.”

  We don’t talk for a while, and the prince finally settles into his mount. We eat when we’re hungry, but I ration out the food carefully. Neither of us knows what kind of berries or vegetation grow in the forest. It could all be poisonous, so we need to keep a supply of food available, even if it means going hungry. Father showed me plants that were safe to eat when we entered the woods, so along the way, I harvest as much as I can, stuffing the mushrooms and berries into the knapsack on the saddle. Casimir watches with quiet interest. I wonder how much he is learning about the realm today, how much he would never have learned being stuck in Cyne with his father.

  Late afternoon, the tracks veer north into the forest. Despite the dense birches, there is a clear path, marked with hoof and boot prints. The Wanderers travel in packs. They collect nomads as they move from village to village, stealing and threatening the locals. Some people whisper about how they live in the Waerg Woods. Some say they used to be witches before the magic died.

  Now we are heading deeper within the trees, and it is my turn to experience the jitter of nerves running up and down my arms. Anta responds by shaking his head up and down. I see shadows between the trees. What lurks there? What waits for us?

  The tracks follow the path of the forest where the trees are spaced wider apart. From this part of the woods, I can see the sun fading behind thin clouds, spreading a purplish shade across the sky. That’s a good thing. It gives me the sense of being anchored to the realm, rather than lost in the shadows.

  Casimir’s horse, who I learn is named Gwen, drifts closer and closer to Anta, as though the two animals seek the warmth of each other. Animals always sense danger first, so I know we’ve left the comfort of Halts-Walden now.

  Part of me wants to stop and find a safe place to rest, even though the sun has barely set, but another part urges me on. I have to remember what I’m doing here. I have to find the people who killed my father, because they can’t get away with it. The Wanderers deserve to pay for what they’ve done, and I can’t make them pay if we let them get away from us. We have to keep moving, keep up with them. No. It’s not time to stop, not yet.

  Foliage changes from the pretty silver birches into old, gnarled trees with thick trunks and low-hanging branches. The path becomes so narrow that Casimir has to ride behind me. Overhead, the branches begin to block out the moon, and we’re cast into shadow. With a heavy feeling in my stomach, I realise we have to stop and camp for the night. I ease Anta to a stop and dismount.

  “We sleep now,” I say.

  Casimir slips from his horse. “Thank the gods. My thighs are red raw.”

  I shake my head. “You rode here, didn’t you?”

  “Yes, but we stopped in inns on the way. We didn’t ride for hours like you do.”

  “Pampered prince,” I mutter as I remove Anta’s saddle and bridle. The substantial stag scratches his belly—which is damp with sweat—with the sharp edge of his antler. I can’t help but grin. “Majestic creature, aren’t you?”

  Casimir stands awkwardly next to his steed. I roll my eyes. He doesn’t even know what to do with himself. He’s waiting for my lead once again.

  But then he does something that surprises me. He unbridles Gwen, places a halter over her head and tethers her to a tree, and then gets to work setting up the camp. I watch with my jaw half dropped as he arranges the fire in exactly the same place I would.

  “Are you going to stand there gawping all day or come and help?” he snaps.

  With a blink I come to life, my cheeks burning with shame for being caught staring. Silently, I pull the bedrolls from our packs, and place them on the ground.

  “Father took me hunting once a month,” Casimir explains. “We have servants, yes, but that doesn’t mean I don’t learn myself. I can catch and skin a rabbit, too.” His voice softens. “Finan taught me.”

  “You were close to your bodyguards?”

  “Of course,” he answers. “They were like brothers to me.” He turns away and busies himself with the fire, angling his face so I cannot see it.

  It occurs to me that, in those moments when I found Father, I treated Casimir badly, suggesting that his grief for his two employees and his bride-to-be was somehow not as worthy as my own grief. My cheeks burn again. “I’m sorry.”

  His head bows in a nod.

  The two of us work separately and yet somehow together to get the camp set up. Soon we’re sitting in front of a warm fire, heating up a batch of cooled stew from Halts-Walden.

  “Does it feel weird?” Casimir asks. He sips his stew, which seems like a good way to let your food go cold, if you ask me.

  “Does what feel weird?” I answer, still chewing on a piece of meat.

  Casimir grimaces at me. “Your manners are appalling. Does it feel weird to be sat eating with the Prince of Aegunlund?”

  I think for a moment. “Why should I care who you are? You’re helping me get to the Wanderers and I’m glad for it, but if you’re asking if I think you’re somehow better than me because of who your dad is, well, the answer is no.”

  He stirs his stew, and at the same time a small smile forms on his lips, as though he knew I’d say that. “What do you care about, Mae?”

  I realise then that he’s attempting to get to know me. He wants me to tell him all about my life and the things I love. Well, I won’t take the bait. “I care about the flowers in summer and the way the dew settles on the grass in the morning,” I say in a wistful voice with my head tilted to one side, staring up at the sky above, “and the way the blackbird sings at dawn with its chirripy song. Chirrip-cheep-cheep-chirrip-chirrip-chirrip—”

  “That’s enough. I can tell you’re mocking me,” Casimir says. He rams a stick into the dirt. “I just wanted to get to know you, that’s all. No need to be like that.”

  I wipe my palms against the knees of my trousers and look away, not wanting to see the water in Casimir’s eyes. “I’m sorry,” I mumble. At the back of my mind, I think of the way father chastised me just minutes before he died. My body goes cold. Here I am, acting the fool again. Embarrassing myself.

  We finish our food in silence before passing a canteen of water between us. Casimir leans back against a log and draws in the dirt with his stick.

  “I don’t know what I’m going to do,” I say.

  Casimir turns to face me. “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t know what I’m going to do when I’m face-to-face with Father’s murderers. In my mind, I find the camp and fight them all, slitting their throats while watching the blood run from their bodies. But in my head, they have no faces. They are blurs of people—blanks. I don’t know what I’ll do when I see them in the flesh. Can I look a man in the eye and take his life? I don’t know.” The words are a burden lifted from my shoulders.

  “We’re only part way into our journey,” Casimir says. “You have plenty of time to meditate on the subject, decide on what to do.”

  “It’s about revenge, it has to be,” I say, my voice rising. “I want them to pay for what they did to Father.”

  “Revenge isn’t always about death,” replies Casimir. “It can be taken in other forms.”

  I meet his eyes. “What do you mean?”

  “Well, when Father is angry with one of his subjects, he doesn’t kill them, he locks them in a cell or he banishes them from Cyne. He doesn’t kill many people at all, really, only the murderers.”

  “They are murderers,” I say, my voice sounding cold and dark even to my ears. “Maybe they deserve to die, and it should be at my hand.”

  “Father was betrayed by one of his friends once,” Casimir says. “He had an important law to pass in the realm, and the lord was supposed to vote in favour of my father. At the last minute, the lord ch
anged his vote against my father.”

  “What did the king do?” I ask.

  “He arranged a marriage between the lord’s daughter and, well, let’s just say someone very undesirable to almost any woman, a man completely beneath her station.”

  “That’s cruel,” I reply. “It punishes the girl as much as the father.”

  “It punished the entire family. They became the laughing stock of Cyne and…” he trails of. “I don’t want to tell you the rest.”

  “Tell me,” I say, now far too intrigued by the story to let him stop.

  Casimir doesn’t look at me. “The girl took her life.”

  I turn my head away from him. I’m sickened to the stomach.

  “I told you he was ruthless,” Casimir says.

  “It would have been kinder to kill the lord.” I think of the poor girl, forced into marriage with a man so disgusting she would rather die. This is why I hide my craft-born skills. I will never, ever let that happen to me.

  The wind picks up in the highest branches of the tree, whispering through the dark. I feel the cold touch of its fingers on my neck, and a surprising gust of wind blows out the flames of the fire, leaving little more than embers to light the dark. Gwen whinnies, snorts, and I hear the sound of her hooves as she backs up.

  “Do you see that?” Casimir asks.

  I follow the direction of his gaze. A thick fog travels towards us. There is something unnatural about it that makes my heart skip a beat. The temperature drops dramatically, my muscles tense, and something tells me we have to get away from it. Fast.

  Chapter Six – The Warmth to Live

  Anta lets out a low, rolling groan, like a cry of pain or a shout of forewarning. Casimir leaps to his feet and removes his sword from the sheath at his hip with a metallic zing.

  “You can’t fight fog with a sword. Can you?” I say. Even as I say the words I doubt them. This fog is somehow different to what I have seen before. It moves as though aware of its path. There is something preternatural about it that makes the hair on my neck stand on end.