Ever the Hunted (Clash of Kingdoms #1)(12)
I rolled my eyes. “You don’t know that.”
He twined his fingers with mine. “Nothing could keep me away.”
I study the tracks once more, waiting as the guards move out of earshot.
“Cohen,” I whisper to the broken branch. “Is that what you want? For me to find you?”
The last time I saw Cohen, he promised to return the next day. Only he never came back. Why, when the king’s guard are after him for Papa’s murder, would he leave a trail? Why would he want me to find him now?
As the sunset fades to gray, I’m thankful for the cloak of night. It hides how I worry my lip. I cannot shake the feeling Cohen is leading me somewhere. He must have his reasons. I just wish I knew what they were.
I’ve no choice but to find Cohen and turn him over.
If only it didn’t feel increasingly wrong the closer we get.
Chapter
5
ON THE FIFTH DAY WE’RE A WORN-OUT, soggy-looking bunch from a sudden downpour that came on earlier. The sun is balancing on the horizon, a flame bobbing above the silver arrow-tops of the forested hills in Lord Conklin’s fiefdom.
Captain Omar stops at a pile of horse manure and then shouts for Leif to set me down to do the inspection. Dung beetles and crows have ruined most of the droppings that haven’t washed away from the rain. A portion breaks easily in my fingers, reminding me of how Cohen used to offer to check dung for me when we tracked together.
“Maybe two days old,” I tell the captain before rinsing my hands in the stream that hugs the low hill. My eyes are unfocused while my thoughts wander, always returning to him. Which is why I don’t immediately notice the other side of the embankment, where the dirt has been smoothed, wiped clean of tracks. Unlike the other crumbs of evidence that have led us westward through thorny silver bushes and wildflowers beneath the firs, the cleared area indicates Cohen has turned north.
I frown. Why would he go toward the main road?
Most of Malam’s towns are connected by the gravel road that runs east to west like beads on a string. It stands to reason that a person evading the king’s guard would avoid the most populated areas of the country.
When Leif ambles over, breaking my concentration, I show him the area across the stream, noticing a partial boot print in the smoothed soil. Why would Cohen clear part of the dirt but not all?
Before I can figure it out, Captain Omar is beside me, keenly studying the ground. “Headed for the main road,” he murmurs to himself, a question in his tone about Cohen’s change in direction.
The captain stands and tells Leif to set up camp and then turns to me. “Britta, you’re going hunting.”
I figured one of us was going to have to hunt soon, since our rations are meager.
“How can I hunt when I have no weapon?”
“Watch your mouth,” Captain Omar clips.
I press my lips together, frustrated that I always manage to say the wrong thing.
The captain commands me to hunt under Tomas’s supervision. Upon hearing this, Tomas’s expression sharpens; he’s a starved mountain cat ready to pounce on injured prey. I stifle a shudder at having to be alone with him, keeping a mask of calm on my face as the captain hands over the bow in its quiescent position. How I’ve missed the comfort of its easy weight.
The smooth bends of the horn-and-sinew recurve bow fight against me until wrangled into place and the string is set. A pluck to test the tension emits a tenor note that captures all three guards’ attention. Leif’s brows lift like a charmed child’s at Midsummer’s Tide.
“Seeds and stars, that was fast.” Leif’s appraisal is short-lived, cut when the captain pulls out my blade and two hands grasp for it at the same time. Tomas snags it for the win.
“You didn’t think he meant it for you, did ya?” Tomas says with relish. He tosses my dagger in the air and then catches it, hand bouncing to test the weapon’s weight. “I’ll use this to keep you in line.”
My knuckles whiten around my bow. Tomas’s threat will never be anything but empty. I’ll never let his slimy hands molest Papa’s blade. Especially not against me. The rat guard doesn’t know the damage one arrow loosed from my bow can do.
When the captain leaves, I point south. “We should go that way.”
“Jumping at the bit, are ya? We’re not gonna walk any which way. A little scouting first.”
Leif shoots me a sympathetic look.
“Scouting for tracks?” I ask Tomas. I point to the cluster of small pebbled dung a few paces south. “Like that?”
Leif lets out a snort. His broad shoulders curl inward, jerking with laughter. “Looks like a decent place to start to me.”
“Nobody asked you, filly. Go bludger off,” Tomas goads him.
I nod a silent goodbye to Leif and stalk into the woods.
Tomas trails behind with the grace of a bull stung by a bee. He snaps branches and sets off a cacophony of sounds. I put a finger to my lips and hold out a hand.
“What?” he mouths.
I point to the game trail beaten into the earth. At his bounding pace, he would’ve missed it. In the dirt there’s a cloven print that is two knuckles long. A fawn’s print. I wish I hadn’t stopped. Papa and I never hunted animals still in their youth. They’ve not lived through their purpose, he’d said.