Total pages in book: 204
Estimated words: 193124 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 966(@200wpm)___ 772(@250wpm)___ 644(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 193124 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 966(@200wpm)___ 772(@250wpm)___ 644(@300wpm)
When there’s only silence, it’s clear he thinks that’s a rhetorical—
“You’re different.”
My breath stops in my lungs. “Why.”
Merc turns away, and I measure the breadth of those shoulders, the tightness of his waist, his spectacular …
Well, arse. Not to put too fine a point on it.
He ignores me and looks to the path the knight cut through the brush. “I need a horse. We need a—”
“I know where to go. For one.”
I expect him to pivot back around. He doesn’t. He stays where he is, still staring off into the trail of the other man, the one that leads to the road that will take anybody far, far away from where we stand now.
“I mean it,” I say. “You can go at any time.”
After what seems like forever, he shakes his head, the beads on the ends of his braids chiming softly as he turns his back on Julion’s way and whatever destiny would await him if he gave in to what he so clearly is contemplating.
“Lead on. Show me to the horses.”
As I take off through the branches, I don’t bother to see if he’s following me. He will or he won’t, and even though I’m terrified about being alone, I’ll do what I have to because he’s wrong. It’s not a wonder that I’ve survived this long. I’ve survived this long because I’ve kept a low profile, and if it’s left me stunted?
Hide.
Better off than dead.
I head away from the sun, penetrating the forest more deeply so that we have a buffer from the village’s pastures, and the going is slow, not just because of the dense branches, but because I stop often to listen. The day is already coming into its own and all kinds of people will be moving around soon. We can’t risk being seen, and as quietly as we shuffle through the leaves and the undergrowth, I swear we might as well be bringing a trumpeter with us.
I’m also uneasy about taking something that isn’t mine. I tell myself that I’ll find a way to return what we must borrow—and besides, their owners were going to kill me last night. Surely that creates a certain moral leeway here?
It feels like we go forever, and I even catch a glimpse of the Sooths’ Temple, the craggy, gray fortification protecting those sacred women like a mountain rising up in the middle of the forest. But then the meadows to the southwest appear on the far side of the forest rim. The acreage is flat and intersected by clean streams and paths worn into the grass by hooves and feet, the plots of land separated by split-rail fences and generations of ownership.
“We’re just in time,” I say, pointing out of the branches that shield our presence. “There they are.”
Merc steps in beside me. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
I chew my lower lip. “Well, I know they’re not horses. But surely they’ll do—”
“Those are donkeys.”
Merc walks out of the trees as if he owns all the land, everywhere. Then again, he isn’t hunted, he’s a hunter. Following him out of necessity, I draft in the wake of his larger body and remind myself that I’m wearing entirely different clothes, richly adorned clothes with silver threads that would cause poor villagers to duck their eyes in deference.
“We have to be quick,” I whisper. “The other herders will be back with—”
“I don’t think the entire lot of them could carry me. So this is a waste of time—”
“Not at all.” When he glances over his shoulder, I can sense the annoyance in his expression and resent it. “We’ll just string four of them abreast, and lay your delicate self across their backs like a fallen tree. I’ll walk alongside and make sure they don’t get away with you.”
There’s a pause, and then Merc barks a laugh. The sound carries, and the fawn-colored clutch of donkeys restlessly shift in their pen, their big ears pricking nervously. Courtesy of the sound, we also gather the attention of the guard dogs, who we’ve been downwind of.
The two enormous brindle canines, which are the size of wolves, rush out from their posts to position themselves between us and their herd.
Their growling is backed up by a great baring of fangs, and smartly, they’re solely focused on Merc as the threat.
Cursing, he pulls at his leather surcoat. “I reek of balas. That’s what they’re picking up on.” He takes my arm and draws me back into the trees. “If I go at those dogs, I’m going to win, but the fight’s going to be loud, and the commotion will attract attention. Also, while I appreciate your efforts on our behalf, I have a better way to get us under the saddle. Stay here.”
Naturally, I follow tight on his heels. When he turns around to argue, I put my palm up, right in his face.