“So you remember the second half,” Alric replied. And then with a swiftness that one can only see when remembering what took place, not in the moment as it is happening, his dagger in his right hand, he slit the man’s throat. Dark blood arced out of the slash, spraying across Alric’s face.
Thatcher lifted his hands from Nash and the man took a step towards Alric, made a choking noise, eyes widening as he realized he was dying. He fell to his knees, hands flailing at his captain, who stepped back, and then Nash fell forward on his face.
Thatcher stepped towards the body and slammed his boot on the back of Nash’s head and shoved it into the road. He looked at Alric. “Any particular orders regarding this?”
“Strip it of anything Tintarian. Remove the head and one of the limbs so the bones are not at peace. It is not a body fit for the goddess. Let the wolves feast.” Alric tipped his wet dagger towards me. “The horse can go to their leader. Cut all of their bonds.”
13. Bedroll
Without needing to discuss it, Quinn helped me get Helena seated on Nash’s gray instead of with her on the roan. I mounted the horse behind her, taking the reins, my arms around her. Her only sign of awareness of me was a slight lean in her posture, resting against me.
Mischa managed to get a weeping Maureen up on their horse, sitting as I was, cradling her, offering the girl the meager comfort of her frame.
The regular arrangement of two men on either side of the women’s horses was abandoned. Perhaps our captors felt for us. Perhaps they had forgotten. We rode side by side, Helena giving no indication of life other than her breaths, Maureen timorous and tearful. Mischa and I looked at each other continuously for the rest of the afternoon and evening, speechless. Where did we go from here?
When night fell, we made the same camp we had the previous nights. The nine of us women had dismounted and Luka, one by one, took the reins from us and led our horses to the line of their grays tied to trees along the road.
I held Helena close to me, her back to my front and her hands wrapped around one of my forearms limply, but she did not return my embrace. She had put more and more of her weight against me throughout the day in the saddle, finally resting as much of herself against me as she could. I gladly bore her. I had nothing to give her, nothing to say.
One of the men unpacked the length of chain from his saddlebag. I watched Alric shake his head at the man.
Nodding towards an open swath of moss on the side of the road, he indicated we women should sit there. The trees were now farther apart, some spaces allowing for a horse and rider to pass. I walked Helena towards the moss. Mischa, arm around Maureen, followed. The other five women joined us, Eefa sitting immediately.
“I will not cuff you tonight,” Alric said. He was a few paces away, not facing us, offering us only his profile. He had yet to wipe off the spray of Nash’s blood on his face. It had dried in an angry spattering over his nose and mouth. “If you run, wolves will be your end. Or other beasts. We will feed you shortly and if you need to relieve yourselves, ask.” He turned away to speak in a low voice to Perch.
“Do you want to sit?” I asked Helena, arms still around her. When she did not respond, I eased her down next to me, Mischa and Maureen close by. Maureen threw her arms around her mother and for the first time in hours, Helena showed a little life and leaned her face into her daughter’s neck, giving a sigh.
“I should have offered you this the first night,” said a solemn male voice.
We looked up to see Thatcher, cautiously setting his bedroll at Helena’s feet. His approach had been soundless. I could tell he wanted to say something else, but he stood up, took a long look at Helena and walked over to Perch and Alric.
We were fed jerky and hearty nuts that Stefan had foraged, their shells an unappealing gray color, but the flesh sustaining and flavorful. He had found apples and pears again, but they were not ripe and none of us finished ours. The men were sedate, unrolling their kits and setting up camp.
Allowing for mother and daughter to have as much privacy as they could considering our circumstances, Mischa and I pulled away from the little nest they had created, Maureen’s arms around Helena. Eefa, Bronwyn and River had fallen asleep. We sat up with Catrin and Quinn, passing a canteen Perch had handed me between us.
“This is my fault,” Quinn said into the silence.
“No,” said Mischa. “It was the brute whose throat they rightfully cut.”
“After she dismounted, I lost track of her in the mist. He must have put his hand over her mouth. I did not hear her cry out.”
“Do not blame yourself,” said Catrin, her hand on Quinn’s back. Her once glossy red hair was greasy with sweat. “You did not do the misdeed. He did.”
“Agreed,” said Mischa, taking a swig from the canteen.
“You have handled all of this remarkably,” I commented, looking at Catrin, but also placing a hand on Quinn’s arm.
She looked at me, confusion marking her winsome face.
“I’m sorry,” I explained. “You are a Tigon. Your life has been much more cloistered. I would think so, at least. I’m not making any sense. Never you mind me.”
“I understand,” she said, taking no umbrage. “I’m surprised at myself. I have never encountered this… this unsafeness. And upheaval.”
“Do you think your betrothed will try to buy your freedom?” asked Quinn.
She shrugged and said, “Maybe he cannot. And my family cannot. Because Eccleston is now at war with Tintar. And I have never met him. It is an arranged marriage.”
“That is awful,” said Mischa. “I never want to marry but the idea of my spouse being chosen for me by someone else? Sickening.”
