“You said you came here alone,” she says, and it’s not a question. It’s one final opportunity for me to revise my story, suspicion back in her tone.
“Yes,” I say. “I give you my word.”
Her measuring glance reminds me she doesn’t know the worth of a prince’s word—or even that Iama prince. I’m not dumb enough to point out the value of my word, or ofme, until I know what she’ll do with that information, so I stay quiet.
Eventually, she explains. “My people should be on guard. And they ought to be looking for me—we should have been challenged by now.”
There’s something about the way she says it:mypeople. It reminds me of the way my bloodmother speaks. Like a leader.
While I’m considering that, she leans down to run her fingers along the cat’s spine. As if the gesture was a signal, the thing prowls alongside her as she moves on once again.
“Stay close,” she says, and through the trees ahead, I see a glimmer of light. We’re reaching an open space, and the way she moves now—silent, careful, that spear thing at the ready—tells me she thinks there might be danger ahead.
“Nimh,” I whisper, keeping my voice low, almost inaudible. “Do I need something to use as a weapon?” There are plenty of sharp, broken sticks around. I don’t know what I’m going to do with a stick if things go bad up ahead, but I’d rather have something than nothing.
Without looking back she reaches down to one of the belts that circle her waist, draws a knife from a sheath, and offers it to me hilt-first, her fingers holding the very tip of the blade. I guess she really has decided to trust me, even if she clearly doesn’t want to touch me.
Maybe she thinks I have some kind of sky-sickness.
She doesn’t need to tell me to be quiet now. The sounds of the forest, a cacophony before, seem to have vanished here. I try to place my feet where she puts hers, easing them down gently as the two of us creep toward the light of several campfires ahead of us. But there are no shadows of people around them, no signs of life.
The fire lights Nimh’s face as we crouch at the edge of the campsite, turning her skin golden and animating her features with every flicker and shift of the flames. I follow her gaze as she scans the camp, and now I can see little canvas tents clustered around the fires, along with cooking pots, bags, and a couple of crates. It might be basic, but it’s a setup for several people—and none of them seem to be present.
I’d think they were all out searching for Nimh, but she’s not acting like someone who thinks her friends are just a shout away. Tension sings through her. She picks up a stone, hefts it to make sure I know what she’s about to do, then lobs it out into the middle of the campsite.
It clangs off a metal cooking pot, and nobody emerges from the shadows to see what made the noise. Slowly, gesturing for me to remain where I am, Nimh rises to her feet.
Though I’m itching to follow her, I crouch obediently in place as she creeps into the abandoned camp to investigate. One by one, she lifts the flaps of the tents. At first she’s careful, spear raised in her free hand, but by the end of her search she’s hurrying—she’s tugged down her veil from her face, breath coming quickly, open confusion in her gaze.
Eventually, she turns toward me, and I rise from where I’m hiding and walk out to join her.
“I do not understand,” she whispers. “A guard should have remained at camp, even if the others went looking for me. I cannot believe that—”
Something dark falls onto her cheek, and her hand flies up to it. When her fingers come away from her skin, their tips are a vivid red. As our eyes meet, another droplet falls between us, spattering softly against the dirt.
As one, very slowly, we tilt our heads back, lifting our gazes.
I don’t know if the gasp I hear is hers or mine.
A series of bundles hang from the trees above us, slowly twisting on their ropes. I stare, not understanding, as another thick, dark droplet smacks the ground between us.
And then, as if they’re coming into focus, the shapes above us suddenly resolve. And I’m looking at a nightmare.
Each bundle is a mutilated body. The firelight casts monstrous shadows on their faces and flickers in their dull, staring eyes.
A sound of horror tears itself from my throat and I scramble back, away from the things overhead—but Nimh is still standing there, staring, like a sculpture in stone. All around her, the sound of dripping blood hisses into the campfires.
Her camp, her people, have been slaughtered.
A flicker of movement behind her draws my eye, a shadow in the dark. Then movement erupts all around the edge of the clearing, and before I can react, at least half a dozen black-clad figures emerge from the trees. They walk slowly, deliberately, and silently—and they’re all armed, the edges of their knives and spears glinting in the firelight.
Beside me Nimh draws a shaky breath, adjusting her grip on her own spear. “You cannot win,” she calls in ringing tones. “You can still turn back.” There’s a tremor underneath her voice, a rawness, and the words sit there in the silence, then vanish into nothing.
The cat yowls and spits his defiance, and like the sound is a signal, the shadowy figures attack.
A man with a shaved head covered in dark stubble lunges for me, sweeping his long knife around in a quick arc, forcing me to stumble back toward the fire. He doesn’t make a sound, coming after me in two quick steps, and I throw myself sideways as I dodge again.
All I can hear is my own rasping breath as I spread my arms for balance, and that’s when I remember I’m holding a knife too.
