It was a relief when we stopped at a stream to water the horses. The wide creek rolled slowly, barely a disturbance on the sparkling surface. I slid down Peanut Butter’s side and landed on my feet with a lurch. A young girl came and took the reins to lead him to water. Hoof deep in the stream, he promptly stuck his muzzle in.
I rolled my hips and stretched my back. Sitting for hours on end didn’t sound hard—everyone else on horseback certainly seemed unaffected—but, for me, the yoga I started teaching Omar had become essential.
As I rolled my shoulders, I looked around. There was a bridge farther down the stream, and I could see two wagons from the caravan crossing, their horses already watered. Though I had told myself I wasn’t going to pursue things with Draw, I couldn’t help looking for his shoulder-length black hair among the crowd. With no sight of him, I stepped away from the jostle on the bank as new riders dismounted and servants took horses to water. I stood for a moment, a little awkward with no one to talk to.
Then Ironclaw emerged from the trees on a tall, black stallion. He apparently hadn’t been on the same trail as the rest of us. He wore his usual dark tunic and pants, his face a stiff mask as he navigated the noisy throng of people. I knew the queen was far ahead on the road and I wondered why he wasn’t riding alongside her. She always seemed eager to chat with chosen members of her court during the day’s ride. In contrast, Ironclaw rode alone more often than not.
There had to be common ground between their personalities. Sherry Whitehorse would have seen it. I had to also—after I persuaded Ironclaw to leave Draw alone.
Ironclaw dismounted and waved off an approaching page in favor of watering his horse himself. At the streamside, the horse lowered its neck to drink, and Ironclaw put one hand on its shoulder and stared at the water in thought.
Ironclaw didn’t stay in one place for long. In a moment, I was decided.
I came to stand alongside him on the edge of the grassy bank, wary of getting my boots wet. I made my face open and curious. Pleasant, I hoped.
“Did you take another route, Sir Ironclaw?”
Ironclaw didn’t look at me. His brow was tight, his eyes focused. “I was combing the woods for the Dark Mage’s scouts.”
How many times had I read a similar statement in the books? As a reader, I’d been fixated on his bravery, his savvy heroism, but for the first time I got a glimpse of something else—was he avoiding the company? Surely there were lesser-ranked soldiers that could patrol the woods. Why would he choose to do that instead of riding with the queen of Landsome, the woman he loved? Was their relationship that rocky? Or was something else going on?
My job wasn’t to question him though. I had to get him to trust me.
“That’s what I’d heard about you,” I said.
Ironclaw finally looked at me, his interest piqued. His irises were dark brown, so dark as to look black. And they were waiting.
“That you’re always prepared,” I said more clearly. “The witch told me to rely on you as the hero of Landsome.” His attention was on me and he wasn’t growling or accusing me of dark magic. I had to keep this line of conversation going. “Is that a new sword?”
He didn’t turn his head, but his eyes flicked to the back of his saddle where a black hilt stuck out of a wrap. I had seen him pick it up at the armory back at Castle Creneda. Longclaw, the great sword of his house, was usually on his back, but today he only had his silver daggers at his hips. I thought he’d be enthusiastic to talk about a new purchase.
“It is.”
“Did you need a new one for any particular reason?”
He frowned slightly. “Many reasons.”
Uh-oh, this was going the way of my conversation with Ariana. I guess not everyone wanted to spill their secrets to a foreign witch’s apprentice.
Yet I was learning what everyone did want—information. That was the true currency of the court.
I dropped my voice. I had rehearsed this in my head earlier based on how I imagined Sherry Whitehorse would have written the dialogue. “When we talked about your sister back at Castle Creneda, I wasn’t able to tell you everything. With the coming battle, we need to better align ourselves. In information surely, but also...as true allies.”
Though the frown didn’t let up much, he leaned toward me. “How did you come by this information? Through magic, isn’t that so?”
“Well, yes, from the witch’s prophecies.”
He shook his head but turned fully toward me. “I’ve seen magic turn ordinary folk dark, fortune-telling causing more harm than good.” Despite his accusations, there was a charge in the air between us. I couldn’t tell how seriously he took his concerns or whether he was saying it only to irritate me.
I narrowed my own eyes back at him. I was trying to help him! Or rather, help Draw through helping him.
“This isn’t that kind of magic. There are no spells or curses,” I said impatiently. If he would just listen to me...but he was headstrong. Ironclaw wasn’t going to take my advice out in the open, or even likely on a one-off interaction. All I’d read showed me I needed a regularthingwith him if I was going to have a chance at getting him to listen to me. Draw was right, Ironclaw’s interpersonal skills were nothing impressive—maybe he liked subtly in his women but not so subtle he couldn’t see it.
“Come to me tonight?” I fought to keep from blushing.This is just another scene in a book,I told myself.
He didn’t respond and I felt the urge to twitch under his gaze, but I couldn’t falter.
If not a scene, a play. Cosplaying at a convention. I had to hold steady. I was the only one who knew strategically what the characters needed to do, and I was there to make things happen.
