Ever the Hunted (Clash of Kingdoms #1)

She eyes the bedding and then leaves, going through the doorway into her room.

The box of letters remains on the table. When she doesn’t return, I take out a few and read the lines once more. The shock from earlier is gone; a hollow ache has taken its place. Papa was all I had. How did I not know any of this? Why didn’t he tell me? I would’ve never betrayed his secret.

“I bet you’d kill to have one of those wells in Brentyn in the winter.” Cohen’s voice pulls me back. I quickly put the letters away and spin around and—?

A drop of water clings to a dark brown lock of hair that frames his scarred cheek—?his newly shaven cheek. I haven’t seen him without scruff or a beard since he was fourteen. He does not look fourteen anymore.

“There’s a washtub in here, Britta.” Enat interrupts from the bedroom doorway. For the second time in a few short moments, I wake from a trance. “Storm’s picking up. You’ll be more comfortable cleaning up inside.”

“Really, I’m fine,” I say. “You’ve already offered to let us stay. This is too much. I’m fine going outdoors, and I’ve never shied away from a storm.”

“You got so much dirt and crust on you, it’s gonna take a soaking to get off.” She points at my mud-stained clothing. My protests die when she insists. She has a point. I look better fitted to spend the night in a pigpen, so perhaps a long soak is best.

“Come, I’ll help you draw water to fill your bath.” Enat’s as stubborn as me and also oddly caring. Which I don’t mind.

I follow her to the well. The moon cuts through clouds and forest, dimly lighting our way. The canopy of branches and leaves is thick enough to keep the rain to a trickle.

At the well, we sit on the edge of the rocky circle and draw two buckets of water. Steam wafts up from each bucket. I dip my hand into the first, wanting to test the warmth.

“Is it magic?” I ask, slack-jawed at the temperature.

She chuckles. “Only one of nature’s mysteries. It’s why I put my cottage here. Not many people know about the water.”

I study her for a moment, waiting to feel the touch of truth in her words. And once again, no impression comes.

“What’s that look for?”

“Oh, nothing,” I mutter, cursing inwardly. My face always gives too much away.

She takes the bucket and the lantern and leads the way back toward the cottage. After dumping my bucket in the wash bin, I return to the well, noticing Cohen’s absence beside the fireplace. The low murmur of voices sounds in the darkness. I’m nearly to the well when I see Cohen reaching for the two buckets Enat has pulled up.

He starts toward me. “I thought you could use a hand.”

“Oh?”

“So you can get to washing all that dirt and crust off.” He repeats Enat’s words with a crooked smile. Right.

“You didn’t have to,” I mutter.

He doesn’t respond as he passes, his scent, soap and woods, trailing behind. The strangest desire kicks through me to follow him, to draw in a lungful of air and hold it.

I shake my head clear and consider smacking myself.

Wait until Enat passes me.

Then wait another fifty breaths.



I’m immersed in the steaming hot bath when a knock sounds at the door before it cracks open. “Britta?”

Even though it is only Enat, I jerk my arms protectively over my body and sink lower so only my knobby knees show in the candle’s glow.

“I forgot to leave a drying cloth for you,” she says as she slips inside.

My eyes bug out. Never in all my days has someone walked in on me bathing.

“And these were my daughter’s belongings.” Enat holds up the bundle in her arms, oblivious to my discomfort.

She shuffles to the pile of rags a few feet from the tub and wrinkles her nose. “Yours are filthy and need repair.”

There’s no arguing with that; still—?

“Mine are fine,” I protest. “I don’t need anything more.”

“I know you’re likely a girl who doesn’t take things from others, but the dress is no good to me. It would please me if you took it.” Her voice trembles as she shuffles closer to the tub. Enat wrinkles her nose at my trip-worn clothes. “It is a better disguise than the tunic you’ve been wearing. You’ll look like one of the kinswomen. I’d appreciate it if you took it off my hands.”

She doesn’t give me a chance to turn down her offer. She leaves with my stolen sailor clothes in her arms.

I wash the dirt and blood away. The well water seeps into my skin and warms me to the bones. Even in the dim lighting, my fresh-scrubbed skin shines freckled-pink when I step out of the tub.

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