“His men came knowing what they were getting into, and they left the same way. But the lord protectorate isn’t even conscious enough to defend himself,” I say, limping for Haven. “Just seal the entrance enough so the bolcranes can’t get him. Please.”
Colin doesn’t bother responding. He simply lifts me onto Haven before turning to thrust his hands over the snow-speckled ground, drowning out all noise with an earthquake. A thick wall of dirt shoots straight up, and within seconds the entrance is mostly covered. The bald boy lunges for his mount, pulls himself up, and tugs Breck’s arms around his waist.
My mutter of “Thanks” is claimed by the wind as our horses take off in lengthy strides, ears flattened, dirt flying.
A wail from the charging bolcrane, and suddenly the treetops are flapping in a forward motion, and glimpses of enormous black leather flash between the white and green branches we’re rushing past. The monster is keeping pace just inside the forest edge.
He’s hunting us.
I put out my hand and jerk down four lightning bolts in succession. Breck says something I can’t understand as I watch the bolcrane slow, then stumble and appear to fall. I turn my attention back to Haven and, putting my head low, follow Colin close to the mountain wall, praying the gradually climbing space we’re in meets up with a path soon. Or that the wall tapers down enough for him to cut a trail.
His attention stays trained on the sheer-faced mountain where green tufts are sprouting out and farther ahead is an overhang of snow. The air begins getting colder and eventually the cliff drops down until it’s only fifteen feet above us before quickly turning into a slope that eases upward into a tree-spattered, steep meadow.
Colin veers off to guide us up through the clear space, which increasingly narrows into an actual path. We push the horses, leaning forward as they fight for their footing on the snowy ground, and over the next couple of hours, Colin has to hop off multiple times to create a line of ridges deep enough for their hooves to dig into. In between those pauses, I find myself slipping into semiconscious sleep on Haven’s heated neck until, finally, we reach the lowest peak and I force my head to clear.
I’m home.
That is my first coherent thought.
I push it away. I don’t want to imagine it. I don’t want to think it or care about it.
But the sickening in my stomach stays.
I peer around to distract myself and see the sun is almost at center sky even though it’s doing nothing to warm the frigid air. The rain-washed atmosphere is already showing new, thin lines of smoke drifting in from the entire southern border, and more trailing in from the west. A low hum echoes across the mountain range. At first I think it’s from bees, except it has a distinct metallic ring.
We’re nearing the pass.
Another ten minutes of riding, and the sparse smattering of trees becomes thicker with snowdrifts caked to them.
I press forward to where Colin’s riding. “How you holding up?”
“Tired. But I’m not the one riding with an injured leg. You?”
I hold out my water skin to him. “Fine. As long as we keep moving.”
His breath comes out in foggy puffs as his face morphs into a grin. He gulps mouthfuls and hands the bag back as, behind him, Breck snores with her hooded face ducked onto his back.
He squints at my eyes. My trembly hands. And clicks his mount to keep up with mine. “So, you gonna tell me what’s really goin’ on between you and Master Bolcrane?”
I shift in my seat. “Doesn’t matter.”
“It does to me.”
“It shouldn’t.”
“Anything botherin’ you matters to me.”
My eyes well up for no blasted reason. I lift my chin and smooth the crack in my throat. “It’s fine.”
“Maybe I should be the judge of that. Especially if there’s somethin’ I need to know.”
Fair point.
He waits.
I let him, until it becomes awkward.
“Eogan is King Odion’s twin brother,” I finally say in a steady voice.
His head whips around. “He what? Did he tell you that?”
“He and Isobel.”
“Yet he fights for Faelen.”
“So it would appear.”
Colin’s gaze turns challenging. “What, you think he’s a spy?”
“You don’t?”
“No,” he says without hesitation.
I look away.
Me neither.
“But that’s not what’s bothering you. Yer upset ’bout somethin’ else.”
I glance up at him. Open my mouth. Close it. And there it is: the admission that this bald boy knows me better than I have ever given him credit for.
He watches me in silence, and for whatever reason I recall that night at Adora’s party when he told me about his mother and father and Breck and his home. When he told me his story.
Something in his eyes says now he’s waiting for mine.
But apparently I’ve not been paying attention to where we’re going because the trail abruptly splits in two, and just as we set in on the higher one, we round a bend and a boulder and emerge near an enormous field. It’s surrounded by fir trees and snow and a mossy stone outline of what used to be the foundation of an estate house.