Hackles rising, Cole followed the sound, weaving through soldiers dismantling tents. He reached a clearing around the remains of last night’s bonfire, where Jeffrey stood in a wagon bed, lute in hand, belting out the famous song Mistel had written about Achan. At least a dozen onlookers had gathered.
“The pawn our king, sing merry, merry, merry.
The pawn our servant king.
For he was once the lowest of all strays
And now claims to be king.”
Mistel stood at the front, clapping, farmer’s hat back in place. Less than an hour here, and she’d already found their competition. A tangle of emotions rolled through Cole—seeing her admire Jeffrey, standing among soldiers who had no idea she wasn’t one of them.
He needn’t fear. Right?
Mistel caught his gaze and nodded at Jeffrey, her eyes bright, her lips quirked at the corners, just enough to hint at her approval.
No surprise there. Of course she would find Jeffrey a superior musician. Cole’s jaw tightened, and he turned and walked away. Deep down he knew she deserved better than him. And he wasn’t about to stand in her way.
Chapter 6
Mistel
Dash it! Why did all Mistel’s choices cause ruin?
She raced after Cole, trying to track him in the maze of tents, unable to fathom what she’d done wrong now. To be fair, though, what had she really expected? That shy, soft-spoken Cole Tanniyn would take one look at her, grin that boyish grin of his, and say, “Mistel, thank Arman you’re here,” and kiss her until her toes curled?
Well, maybe she had. Maybe, in some distant, hazy corner of her mind, she’d imagined Cole grabbing her around the waist and twirling her in circles while he declared his joy over seeing her again. Then they’d sing together—one of the songs they’d written for the king—and the entire army would applaud their amazing talent.
She could totally fix this, whatever she had done.
She passed by a group of men eating something meaty. Her stomach growled and she paused. Just…maybe she’d eat a little something first.
Up ahead, she caught sight of Cole helping Kurtz collapse a tent. Food would have to wait. She approached the edge of their space slowly and stopped where she’d be out of the way.
“Any news?” she asked.
Cole shot her an unreadable look, then went back to his work. “On three,” he said. “One, two, three.”
In unison, Cole and Kurtz heaved the tent fabric above their heads, then walked toward each other. Cole took the corners while Kurtz grabbed the middle and drew it back. They quickly folded the tent into a small square, which Cole rolled and tied with a length of hemp rope.
Mistel shivered in the silence, certain something horrible had happened in their meeting. Was Cole upset that he had to arrest her? Or upset because he had to let her stay?
By the time they’d packed the rest of their campsite, she had lost her patience. “Well, Stoneface? Are you just going to ignore me?”
Cole’s brow wrinkled. “Stoneface?”
“You’re saying nothing,” Mistel said. “And I can’t guess anything from that blank look on your face.”
“I’ll carry these to the wagon.” Kurtz tucked the tent under his arm and carried the two bedrolls away, leaving them alone.
Cole folded his arms and looked at her—finally. He sighed as if she were the biggest burden he’d ever encountered. “You can stay,” he said. “For now.”
She squealed and ran toward him.
He held out his palm, stopping her. “There are some rules. First, you must stay in your disguise until we reach Tsaftown. There you will be known as my cousin.”
She smirked. “Kissing cousins?”
He arched his brow. “No. Cousins was your idea, so don’t forget, all right?”
