If I’m caught here, that’s it. My feet slip on the matted leaves as I sprint up the hill and deeper into the trees. I can almost hear the eerie laugh of the queen from across the Torden. Perhaps she senses what she’s done. Perhaps she knows her trap has sprung.
But I didn’t kill a Krigere. I killed one of her own. A slave. A Kupari. I have not killed one of my tribe. I double over and retch behind the fractured trunk of a lightning-felled tree. I should not feel this bad. Killing is as natural as eating or sleeping. It is the right of the victor over the conquered.
I grit my teeth over a sob and pull the collar of my tunic up against my throat with shaking hands. With my eyes closed and my head bowed, I imagine cramming the witch’s curse back inside, burying it deep under layers of dirt, covering it with stones. Despite my frantic efforts, it still managed to slip free, and I can’t let it happen again, for my sake and for Thyra’s. I have to be her wolf. I cannot be the witch’s sword.
I stay hidden in the forest until my breathing has slowed, until it is once again warm and steady, until I feel like myself again. Faint cries from several hundred yards behind me make me wonder if Hulda has been found, and thinking about it nearly makes me retch again. So does my fear of anyone finding out what I’ve done. I weave my way further into the woods, to a stream that leads down to the beach, and then I trek back up to camp that way, so no one will suspect where I came from. I return to my shelter like a wary, kicked animal, ready to dart away from the slightest hint of threat, and for the first time, I am glad that we are starting our journey today.
As far as I’m concerned, we cannot possibly leave soon enough.
*
I shiver, even as sweat trickles across my shoulders and into the collar of my tunic. We are a fog of scent and noise and grief stretched along the shore of the thunder-gray lake, slowly drifting to the southeast. I stare out at the rough waters as a cool breeze sends another hard chill down my spine.
I can’t stop thinking about Hulda’s eyes.
My stomach clenches and I forget to watch my steps. I hiss with pain as my knee strikes a rock. A hand slides around my upper arm and yanks me up like I’m a sack of grain. It belongs to Preben, his eyes like lumps of charcoal. “It’s only the first day,” he says. On his other side, Aksel lets out a grunt of laughter at the implication that I’m already struggling to keep up.
I yank my arm from Preben’s grasp. “And no matter what day it is, I can regain my footing on my own.” I quicken my steps and get in front of the two of them, my cheeks burning. Up ahead, I hear a whistle. Smoke stains the darkening sky. I shift my bundle of scavenged belongings—blanket, spare tunic, sharpening stone—on my back. It’s not heavy, but the weight of my secret bends my spine toward the ground. Hoping to relieve my burden, I slide the bundle—secured by one stretch of rope and a strip of leather I plan to make into a belt—down my arm and jog ahead to find Thyra. She’s been hiking near Jaspar all day, surrounded by his warriors and some of ours. I think she’s afraid that they’ll scheme if she doesn’t hover like a fly over a corpse.
She’s probably been wondering where I am. She expected me to hike at her back. But for the first many hours of our journey, I did not trust myself to be around other people.
Maybe I still shouldn’t, but I can’t simply disappear either. I am needed.
“Ansa!” Thyra waves from next to a circle of stones that will mark the gathering place tonight for this camp. We’ll have several, seeing as a few thousand of us are making this trek. Jaspar has assigned small squads of his own warriors to each cluster of people, in charge of making sure all of them keep moving in the same direction. We’re being herded like sheep, and we don’t yet know if our destination is lush new pasture or the butchering block.
“Where have you been all day?” She glances meaningfully at Jaspar. “He’s being obstinately cagey,” she whispers. “I thought you said he wanted to be open with me, but he’s full of smiles and smoke just like his father.”
She wants me to ferret information from him, I can tell. She has no idea the extent to which I’ve already failed her. I shiver and rub my arms, scowling at the memory of frost creeping across rotting leaves, and then across skin. “It’s been a long day,” I murmur.