“You undermine your Father’s mission.”
“What if I said I was acting on his orders?”
“And what if I said I’m marrying the girl?”
I step back as far as his grip allows. “Marrying her?”
“Yes, when she’s old enough.” He smirks at my skepticism. “Listen, Lieutenant, the tree may be corrupt, but the apple still looks fine to me. Don’t bruise my apple.”
That’s rather disgusting. But I saw him in Norvenne “sporting” with his lady friends as it were, so it’s not a surprise he’d find some kind of reward in this mess. When Sinora’s brought down, where else would the Princess go?
Something guilty nips inside.
“She’d never choose you,” I say.
“She’d never have a choice.”
I yank my arm out of his grip. “Good thing I don’t like apples, Ambassador.”
“Yes, good thing.” He turns and stalks off, but not before adding over his shoulder, “Nice eye, Lieutenant.”
* * *
The Princess is waiting for me outside on the garden walkway, bag in hand and looking entirely different. Gone are the fussy gowns, replaced by brown pants and plain shirt, her hair pulled into a simple braid. Not a jewel or a pearl in sight.
She waves me over anxiously, glancing at the palace. “Hurry. Before anyone sees.”
“We’re doing this in secret?” I figured she’d tell at least one person.
She stares at me a moment, at my eye, then darts her gaze away. “Would you prefer I invited my brother?”
Her sarcasm is music to my ears. “Lead the way.”
She ducks behind the bushes of the gardens, motioning me to follow, and we slink to the stables, heads down, like there’s a sniper on the loose, but really it’s our parents that we’re terrified of. The whole thing is comical enough I almost laugh.
Almost.
She stops at a split-rail fence just beyond the horse pasture. The mossy woods are alive with sounds—snaps and rustles and feathers taking flight—and far above us the tree line gives way to rocky bluffs, sunlit and surrounded by a spotless sky. The definition of an inviting horizon.
“Here, we have to climb it,” she says, gesturing at the fence.
“Is this a trail?”
“Not officially, but you wanted to climb that mountain, so here we are. And there’s less chance of running into anyone this way.” She removes her bag from her shoulder. “I’ll go over first.”
“No, let me.” That’s what a gentleman does. “In case there are wolves on the other side.”
She smiles finally, a bit of tension disappearing from her brow.
I hand her my bag and hop the wooden rails. She struggles to pass it to me over the top, then gives me hers and crawls up and over.
I weigh her pack in my hand. “This is rather light.”
“Yours is rather heavy. How much water did you bring?”
“Enough.”
“How much is enough?”
“Three bottles.” Her face colours slightly and I point at her bag. “You do have water in there, right?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
She shrugs. “A sketchbook.”
“And?”
“Paint.”
“And?”
“Stop interrogating me, Lieutenant.”
“I’m not interrogating,” I say. “I just want to make sure if we get stuck up on that mountain we survive.”
“Then what did you bring?”
I shoulder my pack again. “Water, matches, food, a warm jacket. Thank God you brought the sketchbooks, though. I don’t know where we’d find anything else to burn in the middle of the woods.”
For half a second, she looks ready to give me another black eye, but I grin and it throbs.
A pleased smile appears on her lips. “If we get stranded, I trust you’ll share, Lieutenant.”
“That’s a large assumption, considering you hardly know me.”
“I’ve a good feeling.”
“Well, if it’s a risk you’re willing to take, let’s go.”
She waves in assent and leads me onward. We cut over fallen logs, through the brush, and the conversation stays polite while she follows her map in hand. She’s good at coming up with pointless topics that mean nothing—weather and palace history and the quality of my previous night’s sleep. Years at those stuffy dinners must teach you something about small talk.
“Be honest,” she says eventually, looking over her shoulder. “Did you really take top score when you graduated?”
“You’re never going to trust me again, are you?”
“No.”
I nod and raise a finger. First place. The best.
“You must be very smart,” she says with a bit of awe.
“Not very.” I point to my left eye.
She laughs. “You’re lucky to have such a gift, Athan.”
I like when she says my name. I feel like she’s really seeing me. Maybe that’s why I hear myself say, “No, I’m not lucky.” She throws a questioning look, and now I’m stuck. The real answer would take an hour-long explanation and wind up in places we can’t go. Places where she’d realize I’m not a friend at all. So I shrug. “If I were ordinary and forgettable, then I could do whatever I wanted. But like this … well, other people get ideas for you. Expectations, you know?”
She looks at me a long moment, puzzling, like she’s trying to figure me out, then she nods and studies her map again. I’d like to see what’s inside her head. A clue about what she thinks of all this would be nice. But just as quick she’s marching ahead, pushing branches out of the way while I try to avoid them on the return swing.
We’ve gone for a good ways and the earth rises sharply, the forest dense and the trail thin. Sweat begins to tickle the back of my neck.
“You’re sure you know where you’re going?” I ask.
“It’s an old hunting route. Reni and I used to explore here, but I’ve never gone the whole way.”
“And you’re sure you can get us back? Because that’s usually Cyar’s job.”
She smiles. “If you give me some of your food at the top, I’ll take his place.”
“Fair enough. You’re actually quite good at this, Princess. We could use you in the army.” A branch flings with impressive force and grazes my face. “Great aim, too.”
Her laughter echoes in the silent woods. It’s a fun game, making her laugh. It always sounds like an accident, like she meant to keep it in but couldn’t resist the opportunity, and that makes me feel funnier than I am.
Up we go, higher into the splendid wild. Pine and fir and sprawling chestnuts tower around us. When we reach the open slopes, the sun is bright but the air chillier. A strong wind stings my face, fills my ears. It’s like being in an airplane, but without the metal and glass to protect. Sea swells of air tugging and pushing.
Long strands of dark hair escape from the Princess’s braid, brushing her face while she tells her stories. “They say there are wild horses in these mountains,” she shares, pointing out at the peaks that stretch north. “Descendants of Prince Efan’s stallion, the one he rode when he won his battle for the North.”
“You should get one for yourself,” I say. “Royal horses.”
“I wish! But they’re impossible to catch. If they sense danger, they’ll run for days. They’ll run until their hooves and nostrils bleed. In the olden days, they say men would capture them and ride them into battle because they’d never stop. Loyal even to death.” A sliver of sadness appears on her face, and she turns from me.
“What’s wrong?”
For a moment, it’s only the wind in my ears and on my face. That steady rush.
Then she says, “Nothing. They might not even exist. But I saw something this summer that makes me think they do.”
I wait.
Her velvet eyes meet mine again. “I think my brother might have a horse with that blood in him. Loyal to death.”
I don’t understand, but I don’t press any further. She’s filled with something sad and strong. It’s a wholly different experience seeing her here—perched on a rock, overlooking the view, no gown, only mud on her boots. I like how the mountains bring her alive. Opening her up, even the sorrow. How I suddenly feel I have a chance at touching her skin to know she’s real as me. I remember the curves of her body beneath my hands during our dance, the heat, and find myself staring at her.
“Should we keep climbing?” she asks.