James stiffened, and his stomach dropped.
“Not human screams,” Arthur clarified, rocking on his heels. “Horse.”
The world spun, James’s mind filling with a vision of Ahnna’s half-eaten corpse, her hazel eyes staring glassily up at him. He hunted her with the intent of killing her, but the vision made him feel sick, his mouth sour. “Wake everyone. We need to ride.”
“It’s not wise to ride in the dark, Major General,” Arthur said. “If a lion took her horse, we’ll catch her quick come daylight.”
“She might be injured.” The words came out without thought, andas Arthur frowned, James added, “The king will want proof she’s dead. That’s hard to give if she’s in a lion’s stomach.”
All true, but not the reason his pulse thrummed with urgency. “Get everyone up.”
Though the men moved swiftly, it felt like an eternity before they were mounted, and it was all James could do not to gallop Maven down the dark trail. Under any circumstances, doing so would be dangerous, but he was well aware of Ithicana’s reputation for booby traps and trickery, and the idea that this might be a trick sat in the back of his mind as they pressed onward up the winding trail.
“Should’ve brought the dogs,” Arthur called, and though he was a reliable soldier, James wished he spoke less. “She could’ve backtracked around us and we’d never know it. We should send someone back for them.”
There was no backtracking here, at least not on horseback. The terrain was too rough, torn apart by rockslides and crisscrossed with deep ravines. On her own, she’d manage the climb, but Ahnna wouldn’t abandon Dippy in the wilds, of that much James was certain. “Dogs don’t survive these mountains,” he called back. “If the lions don’t get them, they bring bears down upon camps. No dogs.”
James had hunters and their hounds with them, but he’d sent them back when they’d first encountered mountain lion scat. Though it had been tempting to keep the hounds longer, given the way they bayed and barked at Ahnna’s fresh trail, James knew better. The Blackreach lions didn’t just eat dogs, they ate men, and it was better to take longer than to risk his men’s lives by tempting the wildlife down upon them.
Yet for all his thoughts for caution, he heeled Maven into a canter at the first glow of dawn light.
Only to draw her up short as he rounded a bend.
The small clearing had signs it was regularly used as a camp by travelers, and the remains of three charred campfires looked fresh. But it was the dead lion at the center of the site that stole his attention.
James drew his sword, hunting for signs that this was a trap even as his heart climbed into his throat with the certainty that the next body he’d spot would be hers.
But there was no sign of Ahnna or her horse.
Sliding off Maven’s back, James left the mare and approached the dead lion. It was broken and bloodied, fur more red than white, but there was no mistaking the distinct shape of a horseshoe repeatedly crushed into its flesh.
Dippy had proven his worth.
Reaching down, James touched the broken arrow jutting from the cat’s flank, feeling the temperature of the body, which had not yet frozen. “She’s not long gone. Ride!”
11
Aren
Aren had debated sailing oneof the many ships Ithicana had acquired over the years—vessels stolen from pirates, salvaged from storms, or commandeered during failed attempts to crack the Bridge Kingdom’s defenses. In the end, he’d decided to arrive at the meeting with King William of Harendell in an Ithicanian vessel crewed by his bodyguard, a fleet of similar vessels in his wake.
William’s letter had been specific about the rules of engagement. Twelve people, no weapons, and all vessels were to be kept well back of Emesmere Island. The island itself was uninhabited, little more than a block of rock cast into the ocean with minimal greenery clinging to its iron-gray surface. It had long been debated whether it belonged to Ithicana or Harendell, so for the sake of peace, neither nation used it for much beyond a harbor of last resort in a storm. It had been hard to resist sending someone ahead to plant an Ithicanian flag on the highest point and officially claim it as his just to be contrary.
“You’ll recognize theVictoria,” Jor muttered, resting a hand against the mast for balance. “The rest look to be ships of the line, but I can’t tell which ones from here. Seems like they’re holding to their word and keeping well back.”
Aren grunted in agreement, then lifted a hand to shade his eyes tobetter see the setup the Harendellians had elected to use for the meeting. They’d erected a large pavilion of white fabric intended to shelter those beneath it from the weather, but they’d not accounted for the stiff breeze, and it looked ready to snap its moorings and fly away like a great white bird. Beneath it sat a table set with a white tablecloth that was equally at risk of being lost to the wind, on which rested an ornate writing desk. The sight of it lent credence to Lara’s belief that the Harendellians were here to negotiate.
God but he wished she were here. Lara had an eye for schemes, and all of the Magpie’s training would allow her to see things in the way the Harendellians moved, hear things in their inflections, and sense things in the uncanny way only those who had survived on instincts ever could. But his wife was with Delia, Nana, and a heavy guard on one of Ithicana’s more impenetrable islands. Ready to rule, to lead, to go to war if this was a trap.
Except Aren’s gut told him that the Harendellians had something else in mind for this meeting.
The double-hulled canoe ran up on the narrow and rocky beach, and Aren climbed out. Waves soaked his boots as he strode up the slope toward the pavilion, but it was his lack of weapons that caused him discomfort. His bodyguard fell in alongside him, Commander Mara the only senior member of his military present, and she was here only because she knew the Harendellians better than anyone.
“They just launched a longboat,” Lia murmured, her eyes on theVictoria.“Twelve aboard, by my count.”
Aren counted the same, his eyes skipping over the shadowed figures. In the mist and gloom, it was difficult to identify anyone, but he suspected one of the smaller hooded figures was a woman. Alexandra was his guess, which called into question whether her injuries had been as serious as reported.
He reached the pavilion, the billowing silken material irritating in the relative silence.
