She’d seen them, was what had happened. She had gone to the outhouse, planning to pee before going on a very long, very distant walk, far away from Tor. She’d come out of the small outbuilding, looked up the hill, and seen them watching her.
She had opened her mouth to scream as she turned to run, but something had hit the back of her head—a stone, maybe—and knocked her out. And then she’d woken up in the gully.
Garn didn’t seem to be about to explain it, so she filled in for him. “Yeah, these super scouts might need to go through their ‘how not to be spotted while spying’ training once more.”
Garn glared at her, his fingers twitching as if he was holding himself back from walloping her, but it was the guard from the camp who spoke. “I do know you. I’d remember that bitchy attitude anywhere. You’re the queen’s maid.”
What the hell? She looked at him more carefully. He did look vaguely familiar. Had he been in Kaerlud? That made sense, if they knew her and Alanna. She had never gotten to know the palace guards. Getting to know them did not end well for women in the court, and they had far less respect for her. She had kept her eyes down and her door locked. “I don’t—”
“No,” he replied with a dark look. “You wouldn’t remember the lowly cavalry surrounding your mighty shrew of a princess. She was a spoiled ice queen for sure, but you… you were the harpy.”
She pulled her shoulders back and straightened her spine. Asshole. So typical of Ballanor’s court. Any woman who didn’t immediately fall over herself trying to serve them was obviously an ice queen, and any woman who refused to let them walk all over her was clearly a harpy.
Well, she hadn’t cowered in front of these bullying assholes when they were locked in the palace, and she wasn’t about to start now. She lifted her chin. “You bast—”
He stepped in front of her and growled. “Shut up.”
“No. I—”
He grabbed her shoulders and shook. Hard. “I said shut the fuck up.”
She swallowed the words, settling for a violent litany of cursing and hatred in her mind instead.
The guard’s big hand clamped over the back of her neck as he turned her toward the gate. “Andred will want to see you.”
Chapter Sixteen
Tor pushed the stallion harder,sweating despite the freezing air as they clattered through mile after mile of bleak, stone-strewn mountain gullies.
What was Keely feeling? Was she terrified? Fuck knew that he was terrified enough for both of them.
Did she know he would come for her? Did she think he didn’t care? Gods. They had to move faster.
He and Rafe pushed up the last steep climb and emerged onto a windswept ridge just as Jos landed lightly on the side of the path, gesturing for them to stop. Ahead, the path tracked along the ridge toward the mountains and then split.
One path continued on, rising up toward Verturia. The other turned down into a pine forest that covered the hillside leading sharply down toward a distant, misty lake.
And worst of all, there beside the lake, just visible at the bottom of the hill, past the trees and low-lying fog, lay a huge encampment surrounded by towering cliff walls. Even from a distance, it was clear the camp was formidably well structured with high walls and orderly lines.
It was also, strategically, probably the best military position Tor had ever seen. Only one way in—down a narrow gorge surrounded by trees that were certain to be filled with sentries—plenty of water and firewood, and utterly hidden unless you were right on top of it. The only risk was flooding, but that wasn’t a consideration until the snow melted in spring. And in these northern mountains, spring came late.
Who the hell were these people? And what did they want with Keely?
“They took her onto the path down the gorge,” Jos said quietly, admitting what they all already knew. “Toward the camp.”
“Okay then.” Rafe nodded, firming his shoulders.
“No.” Tor grabbed his friend’s bridle. “They’ll kill us all. Probably as soon as we get under those trees.”
“Or sooner,” Jos agreed. “They must have seen me in the air. My guess is we’ve got a minute or two before company arrives.”
Tor kept his voice low and firm. “You have to go back, warn the others. Send a messenger to the queen.”
Both Jos and Rafe shook their heads immediately.
“We can’t leave you here alone. They’ll rip you apart,” Rafe muttered, “and the archangels know that I’ll be the one trying to stitch you back together.”
Tor reached over to clap Rafe on his shoulder, hearing the true depth of worry underlying Rafe’s words. His friend’s fear that there would be nothing left to stitch together.
