“We’ll wait here,” Kai explained as he dismounted. “I’ll keep watch while you rest, then in the morning we will scout for the others.”
Finn climbed down and waited as Kai tied the reins of their stolen horse loosely to a small fir tree. She wished he would glance at her so she could catch his gaze. Had he truly meant what he’d said in the storeroom? Did he love her, or was Malida mistaken? And if he did actually love her, did he mean in a romantic way, or did he love her like a sister?
She watched as he began searching the few satchels tied to the back of the saddle. Next, he moved to the bedroll strapped at the saddle’s base, near the horse’s gray dappled rump. She felt a little bad for the soldier that would have to do without, then corrected herself. He was probably dead. She had never seen Maarav in battle, but Iseult claimed he was just as fast as he, and she knew Anna could take care of herself, and Sativola too. They would all escape, and would find her and Kai. They had to. Preferably before they had time to finish their storeroom conversation. She needed time to figure things out.
Suddenly, something came crashing toward them. Kai threw himself in front of Finn, dagger drawn, but there was no need. As soon as Finn gathered her wits, she recognized the horse trotting toward them, and its riders. Finn had always thought Rada was one of the prettiest horses she’d ever seen with her black and white coat.
Heaving a sigh of relief at the sight of Kai and Finn, Bedelia climbed down from the saddle, then helped Ealasaid do the same.
“We’re lucky there’s a full moon tonight,” Bedelia began, “else we would have never been able to track you.”
“Which unfortunately means An Fiach will be able to track us,” Kai added. “We should keep moving.”
“We should wait for the others,” Finn protested.
Ealasaid stepped forward sheepishly, pushing her frothy mess of hair away from her face. “I agree, we should wait. If An Fiach should find us first, I’ll create a . . . distraction.”
Bedelia smirked. “You can trust what she says. She’s quite good at distractions.”
Ealasaid looked at the ground, embarrassed.
Finn wasn’t sure what was going on. Iseult had mentioned that Ealasaid had magic, so she assumed she’d used it to aid in her and Bedelia’s escape.
Noticing Finn’s unsure expression, Ealasaid stepped forward and took her hand. “Don’t fret. I’m sure the others will be along shortly. Maarav and Iseult are excellent fighters, faster than any I’ve ever seen.”
“That’s not saying much, coming from a village girl,” Kai joked as he took Rada’s reins to secure her beside their stolen horse. “I still think we should move on,” he continued, “but I know better than to argue with three women at once. You all should get some rest while I keep watch.”
“I will keep watch as well,” Bedelia offered.
Kai finished untying the bedroll from the saddle, then pushed it into Finn’s arms. “Sleep with your boots on,” he advised. “We must be prepared to leave quickly.”
Nodding, Finn turned with the bedroll in her arms and searched for a place to lay it. She felt uneasy, like her journey was once again about to become greatly derailed. Beyond that, she could not shake what the little Merrow girl had told them. All must fear the Dair. All must fear her. Kai would be a fool to love such a frightening creature as herself, like a sister, or otherwise.
“I know they passed through here before,” óengus stated coolly, aiming his icy glare at the diminutive, aged bar mistress. He’d tried kindness initially, but the woman had somehow seen through the act.
“And how would you know that?” she replied just as coolly. Though she was small in size, with muddy brown hair, and numerous missing teeth, a keen intelligence shone out of the woman’s eyes.
óengus knew Kai and Finn had stayed with the woman previously, and were likely hidden away somewhere in her home, along with the others. Still, he’d stationed half his men at the gates, just in case. He had no desire to chase them further down the Sand Road.
Suppressing a growl of irritation, both at the bar mistress, and at the thought of the men of An Fiach, he turned away from the bar. Though he was used to commanding others, he wasn’t impressed with the soldiers in his contingent. Most of them were mere peasants who’d never held a sword until the day they enlisted.
He strode through the double doors of the establishment without a word. The icy wind played with his short silver hair, tickling the whiskers of his neat beard, but he hardly noticed the cold. He knew there was a back entrance to the establishment. He’d take the time to post several men outside of it, then would find himself a hot meal while he waited for his quarry to reveal themselves. Just because he was now an imposter Captain of An Fiach, didn’t mean he wasn’t allowed to enjoy himself.
Before he could walk around the building, the sound of steel on steel caught his ears. He sighed. Incompetent fools. He had no doubt the clanging steel came from his men battling those he sought. His men would lose, and their quarry would escape. Of that he had little doubt.
Taking long, confident strides, he walked past the townsfolk trickling out into the streets to observe the commotion. He resisted the urge to cut down the curious onlookers getting in his way. He would be too late to catch those he sought, and it would take time to gather all his men and give chase.
Keiren would not be pleased.
Another day had come and gone while they waited outside of the Archive. Anders had expected more Travelers to join them, but none had shown themselves. Instead, he was stuck with Niklas, eating meager portions of a grouse he’d snared, along with a few foraged roots, all boiled in a pot with no seasoning. While it was no fine meal, Anders ate it with abandon. Since he’d started traveling with Niklas, his breeches had grown loose, and the occasional reflections he caught of himself in ponds and puddles showed gaunt cheeks and sallow skin. His parents would hardly recognize him, if he managed to see them at all.
He couldn’t help but wonder where he’d be if he’d stayed with An Fiach. He’d never gone hungry after joining, and had even felt almost safe with Radley and the other men at his side. He’d even briefly envisioned returning home after finding his sister, a proud man in uniform, his life sworn to protecting the weak.
Unfortunately, protecting the weak wasn’t what An Fiach was really about. He would never be able to clear from his mind the battle with the refugees, and Ealasaid’s conviction that he had somehow been involved in destroying her village, murdering her kin. Though he’d had no involvement in what happened to Ealasaid’s family, the dead of the ruined city in the North would haunt him forever.
He shook his head and glanced at Niklas, who stood immobile, staring at the distant Archive. While Anders was terrified of the Ceàrdaman, they weren’t going around slaughtering entire villages or attacking refugees . . . at least, not to his knowledge.
“There,” Niklas pointed.
Anders squinted past his outstretched finger. A woman dressed in fine black silks conversed with a guard at the main entrance to the Archive. Her long, fiery red hair stood out in contrast, even from a distance. “She is not one of the Archive scholars, unless someone new was appointed after I left.”
“Not a scholar,” Niklas replied, “but our cue to approach the Archive.”
“I told you before, even if the guards know me, they will not let one of the Ceàrdaman past the gates.” He turned to raise a skeptical eyebrow at Niklas, then jumped back in surprise.