When the door opens, it’s Katallia, not Lirra, who appears. Her gaze flicks to us before she says, “Lirra’s assured me you can be trusted. Is that so?”
I glance at Leif. He’s been quiet since the Archtraitor’s daughter left. No doubt he must have a hundred questions. Thankfully he nods, understanding that we’re dead men if we don’t agree to secrecy about this location. I do the same.
Katallia’s hands steeple together before she touches her fingertips to her lips. “There’s no easy way to tell you this, but word has come from Brentyn that Castle Neart was attacked.”
What? No. She must be mistaken. The place is a fortified stronghold.
Leif shoves his chair back and approaches the woman. “What have you heard?”
“Two nights ago at the Winter Feast, the king’s own men turned on him. Townspeople are saying they had to cart bodies out by the dozen.”
Oh gods. Britta. Finn.
Please don’t let it be so. The rumors must be exaggerated, if not entirely false. I twist the edge of Omar’s blanket in my hands, wanting to rip it apart. “Why would the guards start a rebellion? It makes no sense.”
“She’s only reporting what she’s heard,” Lirra says from the doorway. “Don’t raise your voice. Besides, you’ll injure something more.”
I couldn’t care less about myself right now. If what Katallia’s said is true, it means a world of worse things than my own bloody injuries.
I hate that my body isn’t in good working order and I cannot rush back to Malam. I know Britta can take care of herself. But knowing doesn’t ease the pain that pierces through me at the thought of her or Finn injured.
Katallia explains that the members of the Guild will be convening in this home tomorrow. She says something about them using their combined powers to heal Omar. She asks for our assistance in return. But I’m still caught on the attack on Castle Neart.
“What kind of help?” Leif cuts in.
“The kind that returns our daughters,” she says. “We want you to swear an oath that you’ll hunt down the men of Malam who have kidnapped over thirty girls from Shaerdan.”
That captures my attention. For Omar we have no other choice. Also, considering what’s happening in Brentyn, swearing an oath to these women might have dual benefits.
Chapter
36
Britta
AS WE RIDE AWAY FROM HAGAN’S HOME, I THINK of Gillian and Finn and wonder if Papa felt this fearful when he left me alone for weeks at a time. My guts twist around my stomach with worry. I press my fist to my navel. Having never experienced this sort of wrenching apprehension for another, I have to wonder if life isn’t better alone. On my own, there’s only myself to fend for.
Then again, there’s only myself to pass the hours. I shiver and scoot closer to Aodren. That sort of solitude taunts me with the same menace as the pillory in Brentyn’s market square.
We’ll find Cohen, I tell myself. He’s alive and well.
All this worry is turning the insides of my mouth raw. I sit up taller and relax my hands so they rest loosely on Aodren’s waist as we ride his horse northward. In the woods, we’ll be safer. It’ll be easier to stay out of sight.
Once we’re in the forest, Aodren puts Gale on a course westward. Our plan is to swing around Brentyn, cut across the road, and turn south to where Cohen and Omar were last headed.
Soon the rising sun will give us more visibility. For now, though, we make use of the slow dawn and how it cloaks the forest in shades of gray. Shapeless shadows blend, hiding us. As we travel, I listen to Gale’s steps crunching the ground cover. Then it occurs to me that his movement is all I hear. My hair stands on end.
Gale’s ears flick back.
Aodren twists in the saddle, looking around at the same time I do.
Three guards on horses peel out of the darkness, riding toward us from the east. No. Aodren takes in a cut of air. He digs his heels into Gale, pushing the horse to sprint. While the king focuses on what’s ahead, I watch the rear, but I don’t see the hounds until I hear them howl.
Four dogs bolt past the riders, coming for us like shot arrows.
“Go, go, go!” I shout.
Gale leaps over a fallen tree. The dogs bark.
I know the Evers as good as or better than anyone. We can lose them. But doubt screams over Gale’s jarring run, telling me it’ll be much harder to lose the riders with bloodhounds on our tail. How are we going to lose the dogs? They’ve got our scent.
It’s good that they’re following us because that means they’re not pounding down Hagan’s door. Gillian and Finn will be safe. Better us than them, right?
Keeping one hand on Aodren, I take Hagan’s bow from the holder and count the arrows in his quiver. There are only six. I cannot waste a single shot.
I’m a good shot, but on horseback, sprinting through the woods . . . perhaps not so much. Focus. Papa’s words come back to me: Focus is a weapon as much as your bow.
My pulse rockets in my veins as I draw my first arrow and set it to the bowstring. When a hound surpasses the others, I take aim and shoot. The pup yelps and rolls in the dirt while the others fly past.
I wince, wishing there was another option. But the men are all single riders, and Gale is laboring under the weight of two. They’re gaining on us.
Clenching the back of the saddle with my inner thighs, I grab two more arrows, shooting them one after another, taking down two horses with arrows to the neck. The animals stumble and their riders fall to the ground.
I aim for another hound—
An arrow impales my upper arm. A scream, mixed shock and pain, bursts out of me. The bow tumbles out of my grasp, hitting the forest floor.
“Britta? Britta, what happened?” Aodren is pure panic.
“Got hit. Arrow to my arm,” I manage, despite the fire radiating through my right arm. My shooting arm.
The hardened dirt trail winds to the left, climbing the mountain, but Aodren yanks the reins in the opposite direction, sending us on a sudden course downhill. Gale runs and stumbles, crashing through a small riverbed.
I fight to hang on to Aodren with my left arm, my face pressed against his back as we jolt and bounce in the saddle. Stabs of pain come from each movement. For a moment, hounds and riders disappear from sight.
“To throw off their scent,” Aodren yells over his shoulder at me. “Stay with me.”
Shards of icy water flick our feet and ankles.
In the distance, the bark of the dogs and shouts of men sound again.
The arrow has gone through my dress sleeve and the fleshy part of my arm, sticking out the other side. Though it hasn’t hit bone, the jostling of the horse is killing me. It’s causing more damage every time my arm bangs against my body or Aodren’s.
Regardless of where Cohen and Omar may have gone, our goal at this point is survival. I need to get the arrow out while Gale’s gait is relatively smooth.
Clenching my jaw and holding my breath, I bite one side of the arrow, then wrap my fingers around the other side of the shaft. On the count of three, I bear down and snap the wood in half.