But then what? It was clear that Tzsayn didn’t want him around, and he had no idea what Catherine wanted. She cared for him, he was certain of that, but what could he offer her? Nothing in comparison with what the prince of Pitoria could.
They rode on for a while in silence before Catherine said, “I need to tell you something. I’ve been thinking about my father and the reasons for his invasion. I believe your sister may have learned something of his plans.”
Ambrose replied without thinking: “She knew of the boys at Fielding, and they seemed to know about the invasion.”
“What? What boys?”
Ambrose told Catherine about his doubts about the reasons for Anne’s execution, his journey to Fielding, and the boys’ camp. He ended by asking, “But what makes you think about Anne?”
“She gave me a message at her execution. Three signs. I couldn’t see the last one properly, but the first two were the words “demon smoke’ and “boy.’ Do you know what the third word might be?”
Ambrose shook his head. ““Boy’ must relate to the boys at Fielding. But “demon smoke’? Is that even a real thing?”
“My father bought some. I believe it is real. Though I still can’t quite believe in demons.”
“But I can believe Anne knew something. That’s why she was in Fielding.” Ambrose looked at Catherine. “It was nothing but murder. She knew something and Aloysius killed her because of it.”
“Her death has not been in vain though, Ambrose. She gave me the message. Because of her, you went to Fielding, and because of that you learned about the invasion.”
“Small comforts.”
“Yes, small comforts.” She leaned over and put her hand on his arm. “I wish I’d known Lady Anne.”
Ambrose smiled, tears in his eyes. “I wish it too.”
That second night they rested at an inn, paying for their stay with one of Catherine’s sapphire earrings, probably worth more than the building itself and everything in it. Catherine didn’t seem to care. She said, “Make sure there is enough food for everyone and the horses too. And for our journey tomorrow.” And she disappeared into a room with her maids.
Ambrose took his turn to guard and patrol the perimeter of the building. No one had caught up with them from Tornia, so it was impossible to know if King Arell was alive or dead, if Lord Farrow was in control, or if his men were riding in pursuit of the fugitive princess, but Rafyon and Ambrose agreed that they should take no chances.
On the third night they made camp away from the road. While the food was being cooked, Tanya and Jane sat with the men they had befriended over the course of the journey. Catherine sat a little apart and Ambrose went to her, saying, “We’ll arrive in Rossarb tomorrow.”
“You’ve done well to get us here safely, Ambrose.”
“I can’t say I’m happy about it, Your Highness. Your father’s army has advanced quickly. We’ll be closer to the fighting than I’d hoped. But Rossarb is where your husband is.”
“Prince Tzsayn is not . . . We are still only betrothed, but . . .” Catherine turned her head aside. “Prince Tzsayn has released me from my obligations. He says he still wishes to marry me, but only if I’m willing.”
Ambrose was surprised. “And are you?”
“He’s an honorable man. I confess . . . I like him. I admire him.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
Ambrose heard the hardness in his voice and hated it. But he hated still more to think that Catherine even liked Tzsayn. Honorable Tzsayn. Admirable Tzsayn. The prince and his horrible habit of doing everything well.
“I need to think. All my life I’ve known that I’ll marry the man my father chose for me. Now suddenly I’m free to choose for myself. It’s a strange feeling. And in truth I’m not sure I feel free at all. There is a war. I’m running from Lord Farrow.” She paused. “But if I was truly free to choose”—she blushed and looked down, then back up again, her eyes meeting Ambrose’s—“there is no one more honorable and true than you, Ambrose.”
“You’d . . . choose me?”
“There is no one that . . . I mean, being with you these few days has been . . . Oh dear, speaking of love is difficult.”
“Love?”
Ambrose was lost for words. Without thinking, he lifted her hand and kissed her fingers. He kissed each one, wanting to kiss her hand and arm and more.
Catherine pulled her hand away. “Please, Ambrose.”
He gazed at her. “Speaking of love is difficult, I agree. Kisses are easier.”
“Really?” And Catherine lifted his hand and kissed the back of it. And then each finger and his thumb.
And Ambrose leaned forward and whispered in her ear, “There is no one that I love but you, nor will there ever be.”
CATHERINE
ROSSARB, PITORIA
Honor and Fidelity
Motto of the Prince’s Troop
THE CLOSER they got to Rossarb, the more people they encountered fleeing south, each providing increasingly alarming news. The best was that Prince Tzsayn had reached Rossarb and was fortifying it; the worst was that Aloysius’s army was established on Pitorian soil, advancing on Rossarb and burning and killing all in its path.
Catherine wondered again why her father was doing this. The land she was now riding through was poor: a few scattered houses and villages, small fields with stubby crops. Was he truly coming because of the demons? Or was her father himself some sort of demon, bent on killing and destruction for its own sake?
Rafyon came to ride beside Catherine. “We’ll reach the coast soon, Your Highness, and then you’ll be able to see Rossarb. It’s a fishing port, really. There’s a small castle and an old walled town round it. If the town is under attack, the troops will barricade the streets and remain within the walls. If they can’t hold the town, they’ll fall back into the castle. I was stationed there once. Not one of my most exciting deployments.”
Catherine gave a mirthless smile. “Unfortunately this visit is likely to make up for that.”
As the road approached the coast, the thin sea mist that hung in the air thickened into a fog. Soon Catherine couldn’t see more than twenty paces ahead. The air was still and silent, but she was sure she’d glimpsed a dark figure run across the road ahead of her, then another, and then a few more. Catherine tried to tell who they were from the color of their hair, then realized they were wearing helmets.
Brigantine helmets.
For a moment the fog parted and Catherine made out many small boats pulled up on the beach, with tens, maybe hundreds, of soldiers spilling out of them.
“Brigantines!” she cried, pointing.
Ambrose swore. “They’re taking advantage of the fog to get a foothold on this beach and cut off the town. The soldiers in Rossarb may not even know they’re landing. We have to warn them.”
The gap in the fog had revealed the soldiers, but it had also revealed Catherine’s small group. Some of the Brigantines were already running toward them.
Ambrose drew his sword. “Whatever happens, Your Highness, ride as hard as you can to Rossarb. Don’t look back.”
Catherine urged her horse on, but more Brigantine soldiers were already pouring on to the road ahead. Ambrose galloped forward, slashing at them and forcing a passage through, but then his horse squealed and fell, a spear jutting from its neck.
Ambrose rolled free, shouting, “Keep going! Don’t stop!”
And Catherine galloped through the gap he had forged, Jane and Tanya on either side of her, Rafyon and Geratan behind. She glanced back and saw another man running at Ambrose before they were lost in the thickening mist.
She kicked her horse on, fear choking her. Ahead she saw the dark gray outline of a stone building. Where was she? Was this Rossarb? Surely it had to be. Her horse stumbled and slowed with exhaustion and Catherine looked around, but the mist was thick behind her and she could see no one, not her maids or her guard or Ambrose.
Her horse came to a halt at the wall and shuddered. It wouldn’t even turn, so she dismounted and ran forward, shouting for help.
A blue-haired head appeared over the top of a stone parapet.