I looked a lot like him, right now.
Turning away, I noticed Aethra staring at the statue before her eyes drifted to me, and her face paled like the dead. Gasping for breath, she grabbed her throat like she couldn’t breathe and fell to her knees.
Dropping beside her, I grabbed her arm. “What’s wrong?”
She didn’t answer. Her glazed eyes stared into the distance, oblivious to my presence, to my voice. Hands shaking violently, she wrapped her arms around her shoulders and squeezed her eyes shut.
This wasn’t fear—she had fallen into a full-blown panic. Forgetting the pain in my shoulder, I swept her into my arms and hurried back to our inn, terror pooling in my heart as to why she’d reacted so violently to an image of the king.
Pushing through the stable door with my good shoulder, I set her down by Athena. “Change of plans. We’ll steal something onthe way out.”
I couldn’t tell if she heard me. Shrinking into a ball, she pressed her back to the corner. Throwing what little we had back into the saddlebags, I fitted Athena with her saddle and moved to help Aethra onto her back.
She didn’t want to be touched. Rearing violently from my hands, she slammed her head into the stable wall. The impact dazed her long enough for me to lift her onto Athena’s back and mount behind her.
Pulling the reins, I guided the horse from the stable and ordered her into a fast trot. We’d need to make camp once we were safely out of the city. Both of us needed rest.
Rage grew like hot flames in my heart, dampening my worry. Rage toward Icelus, toward my home.
And my Father, most of all.
* * *
Tying the last thread of my coat, I flipped up the collar and rolled up the sleeves. It wasn’t as nice as the one Cerys’ glittering gold bastards had driven a javelin through, but it would do.
Leaning down, I gathered a bundle of dry wood to carry back to camp. Another fallen branch caught my eye, and I snatched it up, carefully tucking it into my pocket.
I hadn’t seen Aeacus on our ride out of town, nor on our short journey along the northern road. Part of me hoped he did not make for the city of Ma’at—but if he pursued us, we would not evade him for long.
Aethra sat by the dwindling campfire, Whisper lying across her lap. A thick forest surrounded us tonight, but soon we’d cross into the shrub lands.
Dropping the kindling into the fire, I knelt beside her. “Feeling any better?”
She raised her head and nodded. “Sorry. I don’t know what came over me.” Her voice was still quivering. “I should have helped you.”
“It wasn’t much of a heist,” I said, standing. Athena rested on the opposite side of the fire, and I gently nudged her, trying to getinto the saddlebags.
The mare stubbornly refused until I pushed with both hands. She stood, neighing.
“Someone’s gotten lazy,” I murmured, grabbing my bag. Pulling out a waterskin and a rag, I dampened the cloth and handed it to Aethra.
Twisting the rag, she tried to wipe the blood from her face, but only managed to drop it. Chuckling, she raised her trembling fingers. “I just can’t get them to stop.”
“Let me, then,” I said, sitting beside her. I wiped a smudge of blood from her cheek. “What happened?” I asked softly.
“Lord Icelus, he’s a muse,” she explained, knitting her fingers into the fabric of her gown. “He shows you nightmares.” She trailed off.
His name finally rang a bell. Icelus tortured traitors to root out rebellions and insurgents. I could imagine what he might have shown Aethra to elicit such a strong reaction from a statue.
But was it my father she feared?
Orme?
My eyes fell to the horrible bruises covering her shoulders.
“He really does look just like you,” Aethra breathed. “But so different, too.”
A small amount of relief dispelled my fury. I would never forgive myself if I’d tortured her—even if that me had been a mere figment of a muse’s spell.
