I’m sorry, too. Sorry that I couldn’t stop Vexx. That I couldn’t do anything but watch.
Rhonin takes my elbow and leads me to the mender’s pouch. He kneels beside the cot and folds the leather open, withdrawing a small,simple dagger. A metal sheath covers the blade, and the hilt is slim and short. The whole of it is barely the span of my hand, fingertips to wrist. Perfect for jabbing at close range—or maybe throwing—but little else.
“Here’s the plan,” he whispers. “The prince is meeting with Vexx and Killian, his second general, but he wants to be your first healing. Afterward, he’s sending Killian south with convoy one. She and other soldiers will escort the first wagon, which contains a handful of Witch Walkers, though your sister won’t be included. She’s to stay with the prince, as is the king.”
I squeeze my eyes shut. Damn it. Colden Moeshkaishere.
“I know,” Rhonin mutters, as though understanding my disappointment. “Word is that the prince unleashed enough fire on Winterhold that the king’s ice was of no matter. The Frost King surrendered to save his people. After maintaining the construct, his Witch Walkers were too weak to withstand the prince. The good news is that the prince is weaker now, too.”
That makes me feel better. Weaker is good.
“Once your healing work is complete,” Rhonin continues, “the prince and Vexx and everyone else will head south. They’re meeting important men at Malgros, the same men who got them through the ports in the first place, to get them across the Malorian Sea to Itunnan.”
Father used to talk about Itunnan, a port city in the Summerlands. By important men, I assume Rhonin means traitors in the Northland Watch. I don’t know how else so many Eastlanders could’ve made it through the port, but the prince clearly thought of a better plan than facing an entire coast of guard witches. Somehow, he bought their loyalty.
Gods. This can’t be happening already.
“The prince plans to let me take you to your sister after you heal him, only for a few minutes, then your duty on this side of the camp begins. He knows your hands must be free for your magick, but don’t think he won’t have Vexx hovering with a blade at all times, or possibly something worse. They’re curious about your abilities, but they’d rather see you dead as dust than acting as interference. Do you understand?”
Yes, I understand what he’s saying. No, I don’t understand what he thinks I’m supposed to do with this information. I nod anyway.
“Later, I’ll come for you and your sister. You’ll use this little dagger to get free of your binds, wound me, and then run.” He leans in. “Don’t be nice about stabbing me either. It has to look real.”
I gawk at him.Thisis the plan?
He eyes my face. “Look, I’m giving you your freedom. It’s all I can do. Take it.”
His words fall over me like a rush of chilly air.
Freedom.
Rhonin stands and stares down at me, making an innocent face, and shrugs. “The blade might be uncomfortable, but it’s incredibly sharp. You’ll need it. Later.”
From behind a fallen strand of flaming hair, he winks, again reminding me of Mena. Her daughter was chosen for Winterhold many years before my birth.
Surely Rhonin isn’t…
I grimace, sucking in a breath between my clenched teeth as Rhonin carefully slides the sheathed dagger into my bodice, until it’s nestled between my breasts.
He holds my ribcage, shifting my bodice and breasts to hide the small hilt, and presumes to tighten the laces at my back. “To prevent the dagger from falling,” he says.
Sadness swims through me as I recall a similar moment. This one is just as awkward—the touching—but it isn’t intimate in the way it was with Alexus by the stream. I wish I could go back to that moment with the knowledge I have now.
Still, I welcome the contact. If this man wants to give me a weapon, I’m certainly going to let him. The second I get the chance, I’ll drive that little blade into the prince’s temple, or maybe into that tender spot beneath the chin Hel always talks about. There’s no way I can let him be close enough to heal and not kill him if the opportunity presents itself.
That thought makes me wonder something. Rhonin is a Northland spy. He’s become very trusted by the Eastland prince. Why hashenot killed him?
When I glance up, my eyes snag on his face, blushing seven shades of red. He’s as rugged as the Mondulak Range, but the closer I look, the more naivety and innocence I see, two things so incongruent with therest of him. It provides no answer to my question, but I have no way to ask.
I try, forcing the question into my eyes and onto my face. I glance down where the dagger hides, and then at the tent flap where I assume the prince will soon appear, and back to Rhonin, shaking my head.
Eyes and faces can say so much more than people believe.
He exhales a breath, reading me well. “Yes, I’ve often thought about sacrificing all to stop him, but I never expected any of this. I was called up the ranks for this mission two months ago. I didn’t have time for preparations before we left, and the prince has my family within his grasp. My mother, brother, and sister as well. My mother especially. She sees something in him the rest of us don’t.” Rhonin points to the sky, keeping his voice low. “Also, eyes are always watching. I could kill every last Eastlander in this forest, including the prince, and blame it on a Witch Walker attack, but unless I kill every one of his damn crows, too, his council will know what I’ve done before I can so much as leave this continent.” He sighs, his eyes searching mine, seeking understanding. “The prince holds a great fondness for my mother, but I don’t believe for a second that my family will be spared if he learns of my betrayal. I need to get home and secure my loved ones away from the prince’s palace. Then, afterward, I can do what must be done. If someone doesn’t beat me to it.”
Things just somehow keep getting worse, but I realize there’s a saving grace. The prince has no hold on me anymore. Save for Nephele and Hel, I have no one else to lose, and my sisters are in this wood with me.
IfIkill the prince like I’ve envisioned, ifIdestroy the Eastlanders, ifIfree the Witch Walkers and the Frost King, these crows can tattle all they want to the Eastern council. Rhonin’s family will be spared, the plan to torment Fia Drumera with Colden’s demise will be thwarted, the Prince of the East will no longer live, and no gods will rise. The God Knife will still exist, but if I can pilfer it from the prince or this camp, it will remain safe in my Keeper’s hand. The snake of the East will lose its head, and I can make it to the Iceland Plains with Nephele and Hel and find passage out of Tiressia before the council becomes a problem.
