Cohen tugs on the reins and Siron stops.
“Why are we stopping?” The sun sits low in the sky, but there’s still enough light to travel.
He glances to the side, eyes raking the landscape as though he’s taken notice of something, but then turns to me with a carefree smile. “You were squirming like there’s a bug in your drawers.”
“I was not.”
He shrugs, a simple up-and-down of his shoulders that mocks my comment. “Now’s a good time to stop. Siron’s been carrying us for three days, and he needs the break. So I say we’re done for today.”
“We should go on foot, then.”
“Only a sliver of the moon’s gonna rise tonight. It’ll get dark fast. We need to use this time to survey the area.” Cohen gives me his usual unreadable look. “And we crossed a stream not far back. I don’t know about you, but I’d like to wash up before night falls.”
My gaze briefly drops to the sweat mark on his shirt and then to his full lips framed by rugged facial hair. The sight does something strange and liquidy to my insides. “I’ll, um, find the stream.”
“Take your time,” he says with a soft chuckle.
Does he need a break from my incessant staring? Oh, I’m such a fool. I hurry toward the water.
The undergrowth is thicker here than in Malam, covered in crawling vines and ferns and tiny yellow and purple flowers. I leave rock markers along my way until reaching the stream, which is more of a small river, wide and deep enough for bathing.
I fill the waterskins and drink till full. In the pool’s reflection, the grime caked on my face and neck makes my pale skin look brown as bark. After peeling off my clothes and sinking into the cool water, I use the sand from the streambed to scrub away the grime.
It’s a relief to be clean once again. The water is a needed reprieve from the long, torturous hours with Cohen. I thought seeing him again would ease the ache inside. Oh no. Having him so close only makes me think of how I’d love to curl into his arms once more.
Cohen lived with Papa and me in the winters, returning to his home in the south of Malam each year for spring planting. There he led an entirely separate life, tending to his parents’ farm alongside his brother, Finn, and sister, Imogen. His family was the reason he worked tirelessly, apprenticing for Papa. He wanted to give them a better life.
I cannot fault him for his selflessness. Still, I cannot forget that I don’t fit in his plan.
When the time came, he chose a life without me. I’d do well to remember that.
Halfway back to the campsite, a tiny pin of anxiety pricks my chest. It’s nothing, really, and yet it stops me in my tracks. I press my hand to my chest, over the seed of unease, sprouting roots that twist and tangle around my lungs and tighten.
I’m suddenly certain of one thing:
Cohen’s in danger.
Chapter
12
I TAKE OFF RUNNING, SPRINTING DOWN THE GAME trail cut between ferns and clovers as the clang of metal echoes through the trees.
Cohen and Leif are sword to sword. Tomas is on the ground, unconscious, bloody, but not dead—?a fact only obvious by the rise and fall of his torso. I don’t know what’s more surprising, that they’ve found us, the king’s two best bounty hunters, or that Leif and Cohen appear evenly matched.
And strangely, I’m frightened for both.
The scene is madness, swords clashing as I hide behind the trees, scanning for Omar. When he’s nowhere to be found, I quietly circle the area. And still find nothing. Siron is missing as well and, with him, my bow.
“Where is she?” Leif’s fierce tone freezes me in place. It sounds foreign, coming from the gentle giant of a man I’ve come to know. I press myself against a tree trunk and peer around.
Leif advances on Cohen.
Cohen swings his sword in a tight circle that hooks Leif’s and sends it back over his shoulder. “Back down, Leif. I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Where is Britta?”
“Enough,” Cohen snarls. “She’s not here. Yield. I’ve no qualms killing you.”
Leif never mentioned they had a history. Granted, my purpose on this trip wasn’t to make friends with the guard.
The fight continues, weapons clash and cross and swing, until Cohen has the upper hand. Cohen’s eyes are flat and angry in a way I’ve never witnessed. Leif grunts when Cohen’s sword slices a clean line through the arm of his shirt. Blood darkens the bold blue material of Leif’s Shaerdanian commoner clothing, turning my guts inside out. Bludger.
“Stop!” I jump from hiding.
Cohen’s chin jerks in my direction. His eyes go dark and flat. He seems furious with me. It’s no more than the span of a heartbeat before Cohen’s attention returns to Leif, but Leif uses the moment to his advantage and puts space between their swords. I might feel a touch bad for distracting Cohen, if I weren’t relieved for Leif.