But I know these trails aren’t traveled often. In the winter, they’re mostly forgotten. The treacherous mountain passes and steep cliffs become impassable from the winter storms. The few logging towns that can be reached from this trail close down after autumn, ceasing trade until the summer months. If these are Cohen’s tracks, not only do they have a traitor—they also have someone tailing them.
We mount Gale and continue onward.
The intensity of the day catches up to me. Along with Gale’s monotonous walk, my body relaxes, to the point that I’m leaning against the king. It doesn’t register in my mind until Gale starts downward, and then when our weight shifts, I realize how comfortable I’ve been in his presence.
I straighten. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize,” he says over a yawn. “There’s not much room to move. I don’t expect you to sit with a rod in your back. Unless my damp clothes are making you uncomfortable.” Which reminds me he stopped shivering a while ago.
“Are you dry now?”
“Almost.”
Those words ring untrue. Even if I can’t feel the chill of his clothes, I can sense the ice in his words. “You’re still wet and cold?” I ask, knowing he must be suffering.
“If you lean closer, it’ll warm me up.”
True.
“Besides, the last time we were on a horse together, I’m certain you were the one holding me up,” he adds. “I don’t mind if you lean on me. Might as well make it even.”
The idea of ever being even with the king of Malam is laughable. Though I’ve known him for only a month and a half, I have to wonder if sometimes he doesn’t realize the importance of who he is.
“You rule a kingdom,” I say. “You could take my land, my home, even my life. And somehow, I’d still owe you. That’s how things work.”
He doesn’t talk for a while. “That was my father.” His tone is pensive. I’ve not heard this from him before. “He treated the kingdom like a plaything. But that’s not me. I’d hoped you would have seen that.”
I wish I could turn back time and stop myself from making such a callous comment.
“I’m sorry. I have seen that.” When he doesn’t say anything more, I switch topics. “You came back for me.”
“You sound surprised. You shouldn’t be. I care about you. I wouldn’t have left you to rot in the dungeon.”
He cares about me? I don’t need to ask because the truth of his statement warms me through. I try to keep my body relaxed so he doesn’t notice how the sensation puts me on edge. Still, I cannot leave it alone. “Because we’re bound together. That’s why you care?”
“No, Britta. Not simply because of our connection.”
Again, his truth burns through me, confusing everything I believed about the man. Not sure what to say in response, I return to asking him a dozen times over the next couple of hours if he’s all right, if we should stop, if we should set up camp and start a fire. His response is “Keep going.”
Gale maintains a quick pace until the light starts to fade. The temperature dips. Dark clouds move across the sky. The first few snowflakes start to fall.
It’s then that Aodren wobbles in the saddle. His head falls back, resting in the crook of my neck. His skin is ice.
“Aodren? You doing all right? We should stop and set up camp now that it’s starting to snow.”
“Sotiredandcold”—his words slur together.
Seeds. I go on instant alert, knowing—even before Aodren’s teeth stop chattering and his body slumps farther back so I’m balancing his weight—that we need to move rapidly. I made a terrible judgment in allowing us to continue this far. This is my fault.
“Aodren, hold on to my waist,” I command, cinching tighter around him and talking into his chilled ear. “We’re going to find somewhere to camp right now. Can you do that?”
I shouldn’t have listened to his protests when I suggested we stop. I push Gale to pick up the pace as I scan the rocky face of the mountains for shelter. An empty shallow cave would do. Even if the idea of spending a night in one brings back dark memories, I bite back my fear. The man in front of me desperately needs warmth.
Gale comes up on a cave. Aodren rouses enough to hold himself up, so I dismount and lead the horse inside with the king still in the saddle. Aodren’s head bobs side to side as I peruse the shelter. The cave goes back only a hundred paces, and there appear to be no animals using it as a residence. The ceiling is tall enough that we can safely build a fire.
Once I help Aodren dismount, he hobbles to the side of the cave and sits down, curling his limbs into himself. Worry is my constant companion as I leave him alone to gather wood and make a fire ring on the sandy floor of the cave. In our rush to leave Hagan’s home, we didn’t grab flint and steel.
I swallow back a cry of frustration. How foolish of me.
The branches have been exposed to frost for a month now. Most are too green to burn. It doesn’t help that I’m limited to my non-dominant left hand and minimal use of my right hand. My head is hazy from exhaustion, but I cannot sit down, not until we have fire.
I find a few sticks that’ll work and awkwardly grind them together, twisting and twisting as snow flurries start to float through the cave opening. My arm burns. My fingers go numb. I want to scream. The wind sings, promising a rough night if I cannot make any embers. My right arm throbs, pleading to stop, but I keep going.
A small spark and smoke plumes from the pile of woodcarvings I’ve circled around the spinning stick. Relieved, I push the carvings closer and blow into the pile, encouraging the flame to take. Once it sparks big enough to set in the dry kindling, I add bigger pieces of wood chips and shavings until the flame can support a log. For the first time since we left Hagan’s home, I feel like I can take a steady breath.
It’s not a big fire yet, but if Aodren slides close enough, he could start to warm at least his toes.
I glance up to tell him to come sit beside the fire ring.
He’s slumped on his side.
“Aodren,” I call out. He doesn’t stir.
“Aodren?” I rush to him. He is colorless. No, no, no. “Please wake up. Aodren, please.”
Nothing. Panic flares through me. I try to feel for his energy, but my hands are too stiff and numb. I cannot focus my hazy brain enough to try any sort of healing. Nor do I know if I have enough energy to spare.
I go into the survival mode I know best. I use my good hand to rip off his boots. Why didn’t I have him take those off when we first got into the cave? I run my hand over his feet and realize how wet and frozen his toes still are. A sob breaks out of me.
“Wake up.” I try again, squeezing his glacial flesh. Seeds, what a foolish mistake.
I lay the bedroll near the fire. Tear at my clothes. Bite my lip against the pain of each movement. Right now, pain is my punishment. I’ve been trained to keep dry and warm while traveling in the winter. I know the dangers involved. I should’ve demanded we stop earlier. I shrug out of the beast of a dress, crying out as the sleeve peels down my injured arm. The material can be another layer of added insulation. I toss it on the bedding and crouch over Aodren in only my chemise.
Using my teeth, I re-tie the bandage around my arm and set to work on his clothes. I push him on his side to yank off his tunic.