I could do it—kill him. Right now.
I lower my hand a fraction, pearls of cold sweat breaking across my brow.
A sudden commotion outside draws my eyes to the tent flap a second before the clamor of birds fleeing their nests ripples across the canvas. A warrior barges inside, panting, face reddened.
Eyes wide, he bows to his prince. “Forgive me, my lord, but something’s wrong. You should come. Now.”
With a sigh and groan of irritation, the prince gives me a long once-over and then heads outside. Moments later, he returns, a beady-eyed crow perched on his shoulder. Ire fills his stare, his body thrumming.
He lances Vexx with a sharp look. “You and I need to have a little chat.” He all but spits the last word before turning to Rhonin and Killian and motioning to me and Nephele. “Get these two witches in the holds and ready the men. We have a rather unexpected visitor on the way.” He turns to Killian. “Get the prisoners on the road south. All of them. Immediately.”
I glance up at Vexx. He looks bewildered.
And afraid.
The prince’s crows have seen something—this unexpected visitor—and it set the eastern lord into a frenzy. I think of Hel. Please, gods, don’t let it be her.
Rhonin begins retying the ropes at my wrists, though not as tightly as before, while Vexx removes the noose and follows the prince outside. It’s just me, Rhonin, Nephele, and Killian.
I meet Rhonin’s stare, pushing all my thoughts onto my face and into my eyes. If he could subdue Killian, Nephele and I could run.
But two more warriors enter the tent. They grab Nephele’s arms and lead her into the night while Rhonin finishes securing my binds. He shakes his head, a minuscule movement, warning me that this is not the time for an escape effort.
Killian peers outside. When the woman turns around, her face is grim. She stalks across the small space and grabs my arm. “Come on. Let’s get her to the wagons.”
Rhonin tightens his hold on my wrist and levels a cerulean glare on Killian. Everything about him takes on a defensive air. “I’ll take her.”
She tilts her head, her flat, gray eyes assessing. Not in the least bit intimidated, she drops her free hand to a ring of iron keys dangling at her hip. “We’lltake her. BecauseI’mcarrying her south. Like the prince ordered.”
The moment we step beyond the tent, wolves howl, their voices united in one terrible, wailing cry that seems to stretch and stretch. Rhonin and Killian pull up short, and my skin prickles, gooseflesh rising along my arms. The energy I felt at the ravine has returned in full force, that unnatural presence rolling in on a cold, white mist hugging the ground, floating over our boots. A chill wind nips at my face and rustles the boughs above us, whistling and meandering through the snowy wood.
Rhonin looks down at me, wary as we start up the torchlit path, the flames struggling to survive the wind. Everything feels wrong, and hesitance traces my steps. Killian glares at me and picks up her pace, all but dragging me. The prince and Vexx are nowhere in sight, but ahead, across Winter Road, the camp is alive, the tall shadows of warriors bustling in the firelight.
As I scan the wood, I notice that the attendants have abandoned their posts, leaving the injured men, their buckets of wine haphazardlydiscarded along the roadside. I can hardly distinguish the men’s wounded forms in the frosty fog, but I hear their moans plainly.
When we reach the camp, the warriors are ready, eyeing the wood and trees, prepping their weapons, and lighting more torches. There’s chatter and murmurs—discussion—and enough apprehension tightening the air that it wouldpingif I could pluck it. The prince and Vexx are inside the tent from earlier, their bodies reflected in silhouette behind the canvas. Vexx is on his knees, clearly begging mercy, the prince curled over him in a threatening shape.
I don’t know what’s happening, but I’m almost thankful I’ll be locked away for it.
We rush past the campfires to the wheeled prisons where warriors hurriedly harness horses, hitching them to wagons. The conveyances are solidly built, wood on all sides reinforced with steel frames. The doors are fastened with heavy chains and padlocks.
Killian starts toward the middle wagon.
“Wait.” Rhonin thrusts his chin to the right. “That one might be better.”
The woman pauses. “I can’t imagine how.”
“I don’t think we need to put her with her sister, is all,” Rhonin replies. “And the other wagon is already packed.” He jerks me forward. “She’s valuable. Valuable enough to be”—he juts his chin to the right again—“inthere.”
An icy finger of dread trails down the back of my neck as I slice a glance at him. Of course, I need to be with my sister. What’s he playing at?
Killian mulls over her fellow warrior’s words and sets to unlocking the padlock sealing the wagon to my right. My pulse picks up. I feel like I’m being thrown to the wolves.
Behind us, the camp explodes into activity, warriors running toward the path where the injured lay in waiting. Killian yanks the wagon door open, jerks me away from Rhonin’s hold, and shoves me inside.
I land splayed across the slatted floorboards in a spill of fractured moonlight. As the chain and lock rattle from the other side of the door, I scramble to my knees and struggle to my feet, darting to the tiny,barred window to see what in gods’ death is going on. Rhonin walks away. Killian must be tending to the horses.
Rhonin tosses a glance over his shoulder, and though I wish to the gods that Icouldread minds, I don’t need to. He rubs his wrists together and heads toward the tent where I’d seen the prince and Vexx.
