It was hard walking, the hill steeper than it had looked, and the path was rutted and littered with rocks and stones.
Halfway up, she turned and looked back to see Jos flying a wide sweeping loop over the farmhouse and down to the thick line of trees that flanked the long driveway back to the road, checking for danger. It was beautiful to watch, the powerful flight of a strong Mabin, as the sun climbed higher, picking him out in golden light.
She was panting by the time she reached the top of the first hillock, but it was worth it. The world spread out, a sea of sprawling heather rippling in the early morning light, the low dells and hollows wreathed in heavy mist as the nearby hills rolled upward into mountains in the distance.
This was the feeling that she missed. The feeling that the world was in front of her, ready to be taken. For so long, she had lived without a future. Was she going to give up now, when she had finally glimpsed what she wanted?
She closed her eyes and let herself imagine Tor holding a baby. Those big arms, covered in ink, cradling their child. She could work on the council like Lucilla had suggested. Finally do something real to end the misery of the war that had taken Niall’s life. And maybe, one day, the friendship and attraction between her and Tor could become something else. Something more.
She sank down onto a low mound of rocks, breathing in the cold air and watching her exhaled breath puff into clouds of vapor, and accepted what she had to do—she couldn’t stay in Verturia. She was going to have to go back after this trip and speak to Tor properly.
She let herself settle into the stillness of the morning. Cold stone at her back, fresh air on her face, and the slow spread of relief at having made the decision. She snuggled more deeply into her cloak and lifted her eyes to watch a pair of peregrine falcons climbing higher and higher until they were tiny dots almost too far away to see.
Jos paused in the air over the road for a long moment and then dipped down out of sight on the other side of the farmhouse. It was cold, and she’d have to go down soon. And she was starting to feel the first stirrings of hunger, which she now knew better than to ignore. But not quite yet. She could take two more minutes of peace.
A sudden commotion at the farmhouse snagged her attention. Guards were calling out to each other, their words whipped away by the wind.
From her perch, she could see the back of the house and the tumbledown rear of the shed, as well as the pair of guards who were settled on the far side of the outbuildings, patrolling inside the thick gorse hedge that protected the farm. But not what was happening out the front.
Jos still hadn’t reappeared, and she started to worry. Had there been bad news? It was early, but if a messenger had left the barracks at Staith before dawn and ridden hard, they might just be arriving now.
Was everything okay at the palace? Lucilla and Nim were there with the other Hawks. And Tor.
Keely stood, shaking out her limbs and rubbing her gloved hands together, watching the farmhouse. And then she saw him. Emerging from between the buildings, wearing heavy leather armor covered in a thick gray cloak, and starting to climb up the path toward her.
He looked up, saw her, and paused. He was too far away for her to see his eyes, to make out his expression, but she knew he was looking right at her.
Bard. Tor had followed her after all.
Chapter Twelve
Tor foldedhis bedroll and tied it to the back of his current horse with swift, efficient movements, despite his staggering exhaustion.
Brutal hours in the saddle, day after day, snatching a few hours of sleep—in unfamiliar barracks when he could, beneath a hedgerow when there was no other option—had taken its toll. But dawn was close, and it was time to get back onto the road.
The last four days were a blur of galloping horses—changed at every barracks along the bleak Great North Road—freezing mud, rain that poured in cold rivers down his face and under his oilskin, hasty meals of dried meat, and broken sleep.
But he knew he was close. He would catch up today, he was sure of it, and something relentless inside him drove him on. He had to see her before she crossed over into Verturia.
The mountains growing hour by hour in the distance felt like the point of no return. As if she would disappear entirely if she crossed over without him.
He pulled his thick woolen cloak tighter, covering his knives but leaving easy access to the greatsword at his hip, slung his crossbow over his shoulder, and then launched himself into his saddle.
The stallion, whose name was lost in the fog of swift changes, whickered and huffed as he nudged him into a steady trot, slowly warming them both after the cold nighttime hours. Leaving behind the grim poverty of Staith.
He had to move fast enough to catch them. He’d fucked up so many times, but not this time. There was only one thing in his life that made any sense. Only one thing that he wanted—Keely—and he wasn’t going to be too late.
The sun crept higher, bringing the hills around him into focus, the mountains behind them growing clearer. He bent low and focused on the road as he pushed the unfamiliar horse into a ground-eating canter.
He was just starting to think it might be time to slow to a trot and allow the stallion to rest when he saw the glint of sunlight on a Mabin in flight over a copse of trees up ahead. Jos, by the look of him. He raised a hand in greeting and was relieved to see his gesture returned, then pushed on, swiftly covering the last mile.
He reached a turnoff to a rutted drive that curled away, perhaps to a farmhouse judging by the moss-covered roof peeking out above the trees, as Jos landed lightly beside two Tarasque guards standing sentinel over the drive.
His stallion blew hard, flanks quivering as they slowed to a walk, and he looked up to greet the three men. “Morning.”
Jos grinned. “I wondered how long it would take you.”
Tor shrugged. What was he supposed to say?
