“We’ve been calling them spider wolves,” one of them said.“Because otherwise they’d be wolf spiders, and that’s already a thing.” He held a finger to one nostril and blew through the other. A blast of wind lifted up the carcass of a spider wolf. It danced around in the air for a few moments before it dropped with a squishy thud.
“Ah,” I said, disquieted. “But anyway, no. Not a princess. I hope you weren’t counting on meeting her today.”
Bloody Knee’s shoulders relaxed with such stark, obvious relief that I felt slightly insulted. I’d thought I might see disappointment or perhaps suspicion, but not that. He really hadn’t wanted to meet the princess. To meet me. I wondered why.
“Well then,” he said. “If you aren’t the princess, who are you?”
“Her handmaiden, of course,” I answered. “No more than a minor noblewoman from the court of Skalla.” Lies are best concealed within as much truth as possible. “I’ve been sent out in advance to make sure everything is properly arranged for the wedding.”
“I see.” He frowned thoughtfully, but if he had any doubts, he didn’t express them aloud.
“My horse was chased off by the spider wolves before you arrived.” That was also reasonably close to the truth. I hoped the mice were doing well, wherever they were; they’d been Calla’s friends. “So if you’re King Gervase’s huntsmen, might you be willing to escort me to the castle?”
“Aye, of course,” Sam said, rising a bit unsteadily from the log. “We’d be happy to.”
“Even though you’d have to give up on your stag?”
“Stag?” he said.
“The one you were tracking,” I reminded him, “when the spider wolves attacked.”
“Obviously, your plight takes precedence,” Bloody Knee cut in. “We might want to wait until morning to travel, though.” He glanced up at the darkening sky. “It’s a full day’s journey from here.”
“If we have to, I suppose.” A night facing unknown dangers with people I didn’t entirely trust wasn’t exactly what I’d been hoping for.
Sam seemed less than thrilled with the notion as well. “Shouldn’t we be on our way? What if more of those things come?”
Bloody Knee shook his head. “Then better that they come when we’re in a good defensive position and not wandering through the woods in the dark.”
“But, Jack—”
“Oh!” I said. “You’re aJack! Why didn’t you say so in the first place?”
My muscles unknotted as the bulk of my tension drained away. Bloody Knee’s name was the most reassuring piece of news I’d had since my rescue.
Everyone knew that you could rely on a Jack—or a Hans, or an Ivan, depending on the local naming conventions. They weren’t likely to be outright villains, even if they weren’t always heroes. These so-called hunters might be lying about who they were, but if their leader was a Jack, my chances of being kidnapped, robbed, abandoned, or forced to scrub dishes had dropped considerably.
He looked discomfited. “It’s…a nickname, really. You shouldn’t make too much of it.”
“Isn’t it usually a nickname?” I asked. “For John, or Jonathan? Or maybe James? I don’t see why that makes any difference.”
“Let’s git awa’ fae thae deid beasties and mak’ camp,” Clem interjected. “Afore we lose th’ light athegither.”
We left the bodies of the spider wolves behind, pressing into the forest for perhaps another half an hour before we topped a low, clear hill that, being slightly less boggy than the lower land around it, was judged a suitable place to spend the night.
By then, the clouds were clearing, and the first stars of evening glimmered in the sky. The hunters who were well enoughto help moved to busy themselves, gathering the driest leaves they could find for bedding and the driest branches for a fire. Clem and The Nose Blower constructed a lean-to with a blanket they’d produced from somewhere. They all worked together in a way that spoke of long practice.
Sam wanted to pitch in, too, at first, until I described exactly what would happen if he pulled out his stitches and sepsis set in. Since the rest of them appeared to have things well in hand, and I feared I’d only be in the way, I sat next to him on a flattish rock and let them get toit.
I readied myself for at least one more horrible night in the wilderness. Although if they truly did intend to get me to my destination the next day, it might be the last one.
“What’s your name, princess’s handmaiden?” Sam asked, turning toward me. His jaw clenched as his stiffening, bloody shirt pulled away from his wounds. “Since I’d rather not have to refer to you as ‘Princess’s Handmaiden.’ ”
“At least it’s better than ‘Detachable Leg’ or ‘The Nose Blower,’ ” I muttered.
“Sorry, what?”
“Nothing,” I said. “You can call me Clover.”
