Ever the Hunted (Clash of Kingdoms #1)(11)

My hands curl into fists, missing the curve of my bow. “Well, then, I’ll let you know when I need to piss.”

Leif’s brows rise.

Tomas cackles.

Thankfully we load up and continue the hunt.



The next morning I’m stiff and groggy. It takes another day to reach the end of the Evers where the pines are replaced by the firs of the Bloodwood Forest. The mountains under the crowded firs settle into foothills cut with valleys. Where the black bark trees choke the way, we ride through the river until reaching the flat stretch where logging has left knee-high stumps to wither under the sun. Eventually, after two days, the Bloodwoods dwindle to rockier ground. Piles of boulders lie haphazardly between trees like a giant child’s been playing with rocks.

Captain Omar rides up alongside Tomas, who has had the lead during the sun’s good light. “Most of Lord Freil’s men have left for Fennit. Still, I want the royal colors posted,” he tells the fox-faced guard. The guard complies, setting the pole and banner against the leather hold on his horse, so the deep red material flaps as we ride. Lord Freil’s men are rumored to be the fiercest in Malam and do not tolerate intruders. For once, I am glad for my companions.

Our search of the valley demands crawling over boulders that block the path. Tracks aren’t easy to spot among the rocks, and after an hour my frustration peaks. At first, the sound of Leif’s whoop of surprise puts me on guard, thinking he’s spotted one of Lord Freil’s men. Until I notice he’s pointing at the ground. I dart around a massive stone and scramble to his side. A crescent indent is a whisper in the dry dirt.

“Look there, Britta.” He beams. “I found one too.”

Over the last couple days, he’s been kind, even helpful, while the captain remains cold and aloof, and Tomas malevolent. If it were not for his red coat, I might consider the auburn-haired, muscled wall of a man an ally.

The boyish excitement plastered across his oak eyes reminds me of Cohen from years ago, when we were green at tracking, and every discovery was a gift. “Well done.” I whisper the words Papa would’ve told me. Captain Omar turns up to silently peruse the print, and I shuffle away. The man nods once, and Leif’s so proud of himself that he lights up like a sunrise.

I drop my chin so the boy’s cap hides my frown. I should’ve found those prints. Fighting the needling worry, I return to tracking, moving quicker than before, telling myself that a couple missed tracks do not mean the captain will think me worthless.

After a while I notice Leif in my shadow, studying my movement much closer than usual. When I pointedly stare back, his teeth shine through a wide grin. “It’s Captain’s orders to keep tabs on you.”

“Can you not do that more than a step away?” I hold up my manacled wrists. “No risk of escape here.”

He chuckles, and then his voice drops low so only I can hear. “I’m studying you, hoping some skill will rub off on me.”

I smile inwardly at his secret confession and continue searching till finding a wilted yellow flower on a bent narcissus plant.

I point out the find to Leif. He moves in for a closer look and startles me when he props his tree-trunk arm on my shoulder. The unexpected touch, combined with my uneven balance from hunching, sends me sprawling forward, elbows and knees cracking against the rocky ground.

Leif helps me to my feet and mutters a red-faced apology, but not before Tomas notices and tramples the wild flowers to reach us.

“You oaf, that’s not how you touch a girl,” Tomas says, voice leering. I ignore him and show the tracks to Captain Omar, who leaves his position beside his horse to study the broken stalk. The captain’s approval comes when he pulls keys from the leather satchel at his waist and removes the manacles.

I rub my free arms. If only the captain would throw the iron bands into the stream so I never have to see them again. “Thank you,” I mutter, unsure of what else to say.

He dismisses my gratitude with a terse nod. “I’ve only done what’s fair,” he says, and then commands the others to move on.

Even though I’m glad for the freedom, so very glad, I turn back to the crumpled narcissus where it rests between rocks in an otherwise cleared glade, something nagging me.

Cohen was never sloppy. Except when it was intentional.

“You’re better at erasing your tracks,” I said.

Cohen and I had been sitting at the lookout since completing Papa’s tracking test. I passed the search portion but didn’t do well at leaving no trace.

Cohen traced lazy letters on my arm. “You’re better at tracking.”

I huffed. “Doesn’t matter, if there are no prints to follow. You could take off and I’d never find you.”

“Oh, Britt, if I were ever the hunted, you’d find me. Is that what you’re worried about? That I’ll take off and leave you behind?”

I didn’t know how much longer he’d apprentice. He’d reached marrying age and, though it hurt to admit, my circumstances would exclude me. He could have the daughter of a lord.

“Dove?” His hand covered mine.

I fought the sudden longing that swelled in my chest. “You’ve got your family. They rely on you. You’re gonna leave sooner or later.”

“True. I’ll work for the king eventually, but I’ll always return.”