He stares at me again, and it’s too dark to make out the expression in his eyes.
“Go!” I say. “Before we’re into the light.”
“You have my gratitude as well,” he says. “But with all due respect, Your Majesty, if I’ve learned anything from being afather, our choices are still our own.”
Then he presses the reins into my hand, says farewell to a startled Thorin, and leaps into the darkness.
I keep hoping the rain will let up, but instead, it pours down, soaking us through by the time we reach the crossroads. I’m shivering under my cloak, and it’s making me cough. Two of the men who’ve been following on foot have rejoined us in the wagon, claiming there’s been no sign of anyone on our tail. It should be a relief, but everyone feels so new, so untested. There are others who are still on foot, but we’ve had no sign of them yet. All part of our plan, but now I worry that they’ve been overtaken, that we’ll be attacked when we least expect it. I sent Saeth away, and now I have one guard at my side. Thorin didn’t say a word about it, but I can sensehis disapproval. A dark part of my thoughts wonders if he wishes he could leave, too, and I have to shove those worries down.
For a while, the men in the back were chattering with Francis while I sat up front with my last remaining guard, but now that we’re nearing the most questionable part of our mission, everyone is silent.
Thorin looks over his shoulder at the men. “Can any of you drive the wagon?”
I look at him sharply. “Thorin.”
He looks right back at me. “We don’t know who or what might be waiting at the crossroads.”
He’s not challenging me. Not directly. But he’s right: there are too many variables with what we’ve learned about Reed and Sommer and the rest of the guards, and I hear the unspoken question all the same.
Do you want my protection or do you want me to control the horses?
One of the men has shifted forward anyway. The rain is pouring down, and he has to shove a sodden cloak hood back from his face. His name is Bert, and he says, “I sometimes drive mules for supply runs from the shipyards.”
Thorin nods. “Close enough.” He moves over to create more room. “We’re going to draw to a walk at the crossroads, and I want you to keep the wagon straight and true. Don’t stop, even if something happens. Straight and true, all the way back to the Wilds. Yes?”
Bert stares back at him. “But what if—”
“Don’t stop,” Thorin says. “No matter what. It’s an open wagon. If we’re attacked and you stop, the king is dead.”
Bert’s mouth is hanging open. But he nods.
I thinkmymouth is in danger of hanging open. I clench it shut.
Thorin looks at me. “Let’s move to the back. You should sit between the bales, with your back against the planks.”
Another one of the rebels has moved closer to hear what we’re talking about. It’s Nook, the young man whose father is still following somewhere in the rain. He looks from me to Thorin as we climb over the rail.
“That’s so the king doesn’t take an arrow in the back, right?” says Nook.
Thorin glances up in surprise, then offers a brief nod. “Exactly right.”
Nook glances around. “Should we move more bales? What’s going to stop an arrow from the front?”
Thorin pulls a crossbow from where he stashed one against the floorboards. “Me.” But he looks at Nook again. “Moving bales is a good idea, though.”
They start tugging. I help, and I try not to think about the fact that my sole remaining guard and this boy are putting themselves in harm’s way to protect me. I hope the choices I’ve made so far are worth it.
I keep thinking about Quint saying how Corrick has an edge that I lack.
I try to imagine my brother hiding behind hay bales, and I fail. I tug at the hay, then have to put an arm against my mouth to muffle my sudden coughing.
Thorin eyes me, then looks out at the darkness. The rain against the trees is deafening.
I’m not completely useless, though. “Do you have another crossbow?” I say to Thorin when I can breathe again. “I can shoot.”
For half a second, he doesn’t answer, and I’m sure he’s going totell me there aren’t any weapons left. I harden my gaze, ready to demand one. I might not be able to breathe through a sword fight or run very far, but Idoknow how to hit a target.
But Thorin nods and digs a few more out from under another hay bale. “Stay low,” he says to me.
