The point of Leif’s sword holds steady as his attention volleys from me to Cohen. Then back to me. “Britta?” Uncertainty turns the corners of his mouth down.
I’d assumed Captain Omar and the guards deduced my loyalty had switched. I start to explain when my name, sharp as an arrowhead from Cohen’s mouth, stops me.
Leif’s eyes narrow. It’s like viewing cogs click into place as confusion clears and dawning sets in. “You’ve joined with him. Your father’s murderer?”
I shake my head, worried he’ll think me to be the worst kind of traitor. “No. That’s not how it is.” Cohen mutters something, but I ignore him. “He’s innocent. Lord Jamis was wrong.”
Leif guffaws in his funny way, but it’s tinged with disappointment. “He’s lying.” His hand clenches around the hilt of his sword, forearm straining. “He’ll say anything to get what he wants.”
This isn’t the place, nor is this the time, to explain to Leif how I know Cohen is innocent, but I cannot leave it alone. “Someone made it look like Cohen did it. Planted evidence to make him look guilty.”
“Britta, please. Don’t be fooled by him.” Leif reaches out his free hand and then lowers it, and then raises it once more. It’s an awkward arm dance, like he’s not quite sure how to coax me to him.
“If you go with him, you’ll be breaking orders from Lord Jamis,” Leif says, gentler now, pleading. Hearing his concern knots my insides.
Tomas moans.
Leif’s attention diverts to the injured lump of a guard. “If you do this, I’ll have to come after you with force.”
Leif’s been kind to me when there was no cause for it. In spite of my crime. In spite of who I am.
“I know,” I tell him sadly. “But I need to find the real murderer.”
His face is pained.
During our exchange, Cohen has slipped away from me and maneuvered close to Leif. Without warning, he slams the pommel of his sword against the back of Leif’s head and the guard crumples.
“Cohen!” I gasp, and then scramble to Leif’s side to roll him off his back. Before I can set his body right, Cohen’s hand seizes my arm. “Let’s go,” he commands.
“Stop, Cohen. He could choke on his own vomit. I’m just setting him right.”
“Why are you pitying him? Whose side are you on?”
“I’m not . . . I just . . . It’s not pity,” I stammer, unsure of myself. “He was kind to me when he didn’t have to be. He’s my—?my friend. And he doesn’t deserve to die.”
“I didn’t realize you two were friends.” Cohen’s face pinches in a sullen expression. He stands there for a beat, his flattened hazel eyes switching between Leif and me. I’m tempted to think he’s jealous. But he’d never be. Not over me.
He sighs, sheathes his sword, and leans down to help me roll Leif on his side. Once we have the guard situated, Cohen walks away. He thrusts his fingers into his mouth and blows out a sharp whistle. Moments later, Siron appears. After we’re both seated and heading for the stream to disguise our trail, Cohen falls into a brooding silence.
“Why are you upset with me?” I ask a safe distance away from the guards.
He twists around in the saddle, his mouth a thin, tight line. “You waltzed into the clearing and announced to the king’s guard that you’re working with me. I’m not upset. I’m furious.”
That was to the point. Clearly not jealous.
I cringe and then glare at him. It may not have been wise to show myself to the guards, but his response grates. “I didn’t want to absolve you of my father’s murder only to have you arrested for another. Perhaps you should consider your own recklessness.”
“You didn’t have to run in to save me. Or Leif. I wasn’t going to kill the bludger. Now you’ve sealed your fate.”
True, he might not have meant his threat; however, intentions can change in an instant.
Cohen faces forward and prods Siron to go faster, until trees are whipping past us and the spring water is splattering our legs.
The sliver of a moon provides no light to navigate through the forest as we forge westward despite the late hour. Without Siron we’d be useless in the night’s pitch-black. There aren’t many horses like Siron, with his ability to see perfectly in the dark.
Travel jostles our bodies until we’re bruised from banging into each other—?it’s impossible to prepare for a dip you cannot see. When we reach a spread in the trees, Cohen takes a moment to check our direction from the star patterns in the sky.
His caution tells me he’s as concerned as I am. From my time spent with the guards, I know Tomas is worthless at tracking, but Leif’s skills are passable, and the captain is highly skilled. We need to make the most of traveling tonight.
When we get to Celize, we won’t have much time, if any, to track down Enat and Papa’s murderer. I wish I knew why Papa was after her. Hunting her down isn’t much different from galloping through the night, blind to the perils ahead. For all we know, Enat could be the killer.