Keris gritted his teeth and urged his horse forward. “Come on, girl.”
The mare gathered herself and leapt.
For a moment, the world dropped away—air rushing past, the weightlessness of the jump pressing against his ribs. Then impact—his mare’s hooves struck the ground, sliding through loose dirt. A heartbeat of panic gripped him as she fought for balance, her muscles bunching, her head jerking up. Keris leaned back, coaxing her to steady. She caught herself and surged forward, but he could hear William’s gelding galloping down the path, flashes of the king’s dark coat visible through the trees.
The forest thinned as Keris crested a slope, a valley stretching out before him. A wide green river split into two around an island city, and in the middle of it rose a structure that defied reason. A tower that stretched to the clouds, a gleaming white palace perched atop it. It gleamed like a beacon. A prize.
The finish line.
A shadow flickered at the edge of his vision.
William.
The king had stayed on the trail and was moving at reckless speed in the slick mud. Keris’s eyes tracked down a slope to the town that sat on the banks of the river, two white posts on its outskirts exactly as William had described.
Keris cursed and pushed his mare harder. They tore down the slope, loose earth kicking up behind them. A jagged rock outcrop loomed ahead. He wrenched the reins, barely managing to angle his mare away in time. But then her hooves were on the road and they were tearing down it just ahead of William.
The king was shouting, urging his taller horse for more speed as they hit the straightaway. Keris remained silent, flat against his mare’s neck, her hooves barely seeming to touch the ground as she flew toward Verwyrd.
William was right behind him—so close he could hear the other man’s labored breaths.
Then—by inches, by a breath, by the space of a heartbeat—Keris shot ahead, his mare galloping between the two posts a full length ahead of Harendell’s king.
Victory.
Keris’s chest heaved as he slowed his horse, his legs splattered with mud. Behind him, William pulled up hard, his jaw tight, his eyes flashing. Not a man who did well with losing, and Keris silently cursed himself for letting his own pride get the better of him.
Then a grin formed on William’s face. “I’d been so anticipating your arrival in Harendell when you’d planned to come to our university, only to have dreams of our friendship ripped to shreds by your father’s designs on Ithicana. How fitting that it should be Ithicana that brings us together now.”
That felt like a lifetime ago, that version of himself almost another person. Would he have been friends with William if he’d arrived inHarendell as planned? Nights of drinking and carousing, days at the races, every minute of their lives dedicated to indulgence and pissing off the men who’d sired them? Keris allowed that alternative version of reality to spool through his mind, and felt nothing but disgust.
None of which he allowed onto his face as he gave the king of Harendell a smirk. “I’m keen to see your palace, Your Grace. Shall we carry on?”
Cavendish chose that moment to careen toward them, his winded horse sliding to a stop next to them, Saam on his heels.
“I always thought you and James let me win,” William said to him. “But it strikes me now that you’re just slow, Georgie.”
The lord grimaced, then patted his mount on the neck. “She’s no racer.”
“Makes me think that Veliant deserves a better prize than just bragging rights for beating me,” William said. “What say you, Keris? Name your prize.”
“For my sister’s sake, I’d ask to see Lady Taryn Kertell,” Keris said, knowing full well that Cavendish had intended to stymie that request. “They are close, and Bronwyn fears for Taryn’s…state of mind.”
“I’m afraid you’ll have to ask for something else,” William said, and out of the corner of his eye, Keris saw Cavendish wince. “It’s not possible for you to see Taryn.”
Unease caused gooseflesh to rise on Keris’s skin. “Why is that?”
William shrugged. “Because she never made it to Verwyrd.”
34
James
With James’s efforts on theoars and the swiftness of the current, they made good time down the river while they searched for a wooded area dense enough to take cover.
Ahnna used the time to wash using the soap that had been included in their basket of supplies, leaning over the side of the boat to rinse her hair in the river. It was a process made difficult by a broken arm, but she did not complain. She said very little at all, in truth, and James could tell that she was deep in thought. He desperately wanted to know what was going on in her head, but he stayed silent until she was finished cleaning up and had eaten before asking, “Can you manage to keep us to the center with one arm?”
“Why?” she asked. “Do you need a nap?”
