“Pssssst! C’mon, get up, lazy head!”
“Go away,” I snarl to Breck.
Somebody pokes my side, his voice deeper. “Maybe she’s a heavy sleeper.”
I shove my head farther beneath the covers. “Leave me alone.”
“Nah, not Nym,” Breck says. “She ’ardly sleeps at all. Dumb thing jumps at the squeak of a rat.”
“I swear I will maim you, Breck. Go away.”
Another poke. “Well, maybe we shoulda brought a rat, then.”
“What the bolcrane do you want?” I pull the blanket off my face to find Breck’s round cheeks inches from mine.
She straightens. “Ah, there she is. See. Told ya.”
“Go dump yourself in Litchfell Forest,” I mutter, but I go ahead and sit up so I can glare at her from a better position.
Colin is squatting beside me on the bed.
What the—? I yank the covers back up to my neck. “What in hulls, Colin? Get out of my room!”
He laughs. “You’re funny when you sleep. You don’t look so crabby.”
“Get. Out.”
He jumps off the bed and keeps laughing as Breck leans down. “Colin and me is sneakin’ up to one o’ the High Court’s common houses, yeah? An’ we wants you to come.”
“Go without me.”
“We’re goin’ to hear what’s being said ’bout the war.”
Considering he and I have practiced every day in the sun and rain for the past eight days since my arrival—and most of my late evenings have been spent in the library or watching Adora’s wretched parties—hiking anywhere in the middle of the night sounds akin to death. “Go without me.” I start to lie back down.
“Ah c’mon, Nym.” Breck pouts. “Adora’s only gone for tonight. We won’t get another chance for weeks! And then you’ll be sorry for not takin’ us up when we offered.”
She has a good point. Rumor has it Adora is rarely gone.
And Adora would never allow us to go.
“Fine.” I reach for my clothes at the end of the bed.
“Now there’s a good, dull-headed girl, yeah?” Breck’s round cheeks puff into a grin. “Colin, get outta here so she can dress.”
As soon as he’s gone, I change under the covers, which proves ridiculously difficult—thanks to my achy, crippled fingers—as I try to keep the freezing bedroom air off my bare skin. I’m shivering by the time I’m done because even though I’ve started to thicken a bit from the frequent meals, it’s more muscle than insulation.
Breck fetches me a gray, hooded cloak I didn’t even know was in the armoire while I tug my boots on. Then she’s hustling us both out the door.
By the time we’re downstairs and out into the moonlight, Colin is standing next to two saddled horses that nicker as we approach.
I stall midstep.
“Are you insane, Colin?” I grab Breck’s arm and put myself between her and the animals’ mouths. So far we’ve ridden the beasts four times in the week I’ve been here, but always when Eogan was holding their harnesses so they couldn’t twist around and bite our heads off. And here Colin is thinking we’ll just take them out for a romp.
“They’re the plow horses, Nym.” He tosses me the reins to the closest animal and goes to help Breck onto it.
The mare nuzzles my arm, showing me he’s right. These are smaller and friendlier. Although the warm, damp nose against my fingers makes my throat tingle for a second with the recollection of the warhorse’s teeth.
I swag my cloak and get ready to climb onto the saddle in front of Breck when Colin is suddenly behind me, his hands on my waist.
I spin around and shove my elbow against his throat.
“Hey, whoa! Just tryin’ to help you up.”
I drop my arm. Something about the too-playful way he says it freezes in my chest. Or maybe it’s the close distance between us. I step back. Has his smile always been so flirtatious? Abruptly I’m hot and uncomfortable.
“Hurry up, you two!”
I clamber onto the mare and Breck hooks her arms around my waist.
“Ready?” I say. With a low click of my tongue, the two of us are off in an awkward, arrogant gallop onto the main road before Colin’s even mounted.
When he finally catches up to us, he’s laughing and hooting, and Breck joins in with a merriment that invites me in. As does the balmy breeze, which is full of promise for a free night in the High Court after days spent trying not to take the world out in a hailstorm or punch the lights out of Eogan. What would he think if he knew we were breaking the “never leave the estate” rule? We’d be in trouble for weeks.
Which somehow makes the night trek more satisfying. I can picture the disapproving look in his green eyes. The clenching of his mouth. The surprise at thinking he knows me so well only to discover he hasn’t a clue. Poor overly serious man. He could do with a little letting loose one of these days.