I run a hand through my damp hair. I’m too tired for this. “We need to find shelter for the night.”
“How far are we from the guard station at the mountain pass? Can we take shelter there?”
“Under an hour,” I say. But I consider how many soldiers and guards from Syhl Shallow were found to be working with the Truthbringers. Men and women I knew personally were among the traitors.
Anyone on duty at the guard station knows about this safe house. If they were plotting against the king, they would have been in a perfect position to destroy the place without anyone knowing.
If someone is planning to ambushme, they’d expect me to head right for the guard station.
Either way, I don’t like it.
But then I look at Malin in his gold-and-red livery and realize that if someone has been waiting to trap me, I might have already ridden right past them. I always travel alone. I’m always in black trimmed with green, my armor emblazoned with the crests of both countries.
Rhen’s disguise might fool more than just scravers. Right now, we just look like two soldiers from Emberfall.
“We have to go through the mountain pass,” I say, “but we’re not going to stop at the guard station.” I swing down from Mercy’s back again, but this time, I pick up a handful of wet dirt, roughing it between my hands. I run it through my damp hair, dulling the blond. Now that Syhl Shallow and Emberfall are at peace, the lookouts mostly just wave riders through from a parapet. No one should get close enough to see me closely. Even still, I add, “Trade horses with me.”
Malin does me the courtesy of not looking like I’m crazy. He actually does one better: once he’s on the ground, he roughs up a handful of dirt himself and rubs it into the stripe down the front of Mercy’s face.
He sees me looking at him. “I heard what happened when they attacked the king,” he says. “I wouldn’t trust any of them right now either.”
I take up the reins of his horse. “Ride point,” I say. “I’ll take second.”
He nods. “If they stop us, what story do you want me to give them?”
That’s a good question. Two soldiers traveling together isn’t common, and it’s late. We have no written orders to provide. As the King’s Courier, I wouldn’t need them. But if I don’t trust them enough to reveal my identity . . .
“When we get close,” I say roughly, “bind my hands. If they ask your business, tell them I was suspected to be working with the Truthbringers. Say your general ordered you to deliver me to the king. They shouldn’t question it.”
“What if they recognize you?”
It’s a chance I’ll have to take. My heart twists anyway. “There are already rumors to that effect, so the plan will work either way.”
“There are?”
“I gave you a story, Lieutenant.”
His mouth forms a line. “Yes, sir.”
I swing aboard his horse. “Good. Let’s go.”
Half a mile out from the guard station, we stop under a copse of trees and Malin binds my wrists behind my back with a length of thin leather. This was my idea, and I didn’t think it would bother me, but much like the gold-and-red livery I’m wearing, itdoes.
Malin tethers my horse’s rein to the pommel of Mercy’s saddle, and he leads at a walk. My shoulders are tight, my hands working at the bindings subconsciously. I may as well be arealcaptive. We’re nearing full dark, and it’s reminding me of the other times I’ve been trapped with no way to escape. The animal keeps prancing, picking up on my tension.
I need to shove the memories away. My breathing feels tight and strained, and I realize stars are flaring in my vision.
Magic.It’s responding to my panic.
I hate this. I need to focus. I look at the sky, the trees. I try to center myself, the way I’ve done before. I’m not a child. I’m not in danger. Malin isn’t my enemy.
Maybe I should just order him to untie me. Surely the guard station isn’t too much of a risk.
But it is. I can feel it in my gut. And asking him to untie me would be cowardly. It would invite questions I don’t want to answer.
And we’re fine.I’mfine. This is silly.
But there’s a wicked, primal part of my brain that won’t stop whispering.Maybe he wouldn’t untie you, even if you ask. You’re at his mercy. Maybe he’s been waiting to—
