Ever the Hunted (Clash of Kingdoms #1)(38)

His confession makes me think he wants me to know that Leif and Tomas paid for what happened the other day and I will too. I grit my teeth and focus on the wall of the carriage.

“Perhaps you understand now how far I will go to see that you and your Cohen are rightfully sentenced.” The captain pulls out my dagger and twists the ivory handle in his leathered hands. “A nice blade. Good weight. Sharp. Showy.” He touches the tip of the dagger to his finger. “I might keep this as a token.”

He’s goading me, and yet, despite knowing this, watching him fondle my father’s weapon enrages me. In a measured tone, I manage, “When this is over, I’ll have my dagger back.”

“Your dagger? When you betrayed the king, you forfeited the few rights you had, including your property.”

My spine could be forged with iron for how straight I sit. Everything inside me rallies to act on my anger, but I need to be smart if I’m going to escape. It’s clear the man has a firm sense of what he believes to be justice. My back itches at the memory.

“I would never side with a murderer,” I say, hoping to draw on that sense of justice now.

The dagger is in midtoss. Omar catches the handle and pauses.

“I could’ve led you off course,” I go on. “There were tracks I could’ve overlooked. If my goal was to run off with Cohen, I would’ve escaped the first night you left me unshackled.”

His eyes narrow to slivers, barely containing the man’s loathing.

“But I didn’t. I led you to Cohen because I believed he was guilty. You must see that. I only went with him because I found out he didn’t kill my father.”

“You say he’s not guilty. Yet you’re running away from Brentyn.”

“We weren’t running away—?we were running to somewhere,” I say lamely, not wanting to divulge our secrets. Again, he gives me a look of disbelief. I have to offer something because our only option is to gain the captain’s trust. “We were headed to the place my father was killed to find the real murderer. Or, at the very least, clues.”

“Celize,” he says.

“Yes. And I wouldn’t have told you if I were trying to hide a murderer,” I add, hammering on the fact of Cohen’s innocence.

Captain Omar watches me, his scrutiny fierce and unwavering, like a predator’s. Though his expression seems void of the usual dislike, his thoughts are a mystery. A scant seed of hope starts inside; it’s an indigo drop of dye tinting a vat of boiling water.

The carriage jerks, jostling us and breaking the man’s attention. “Don’t speak again unless you want me to gag you.”



When night falls, the carriage rolls into the small village Cohen and I avoided before we stopped at the well. Having woken earlier, Cohen has said very little. He didn’t so much as grunt when Tomas punched him for moving too slowly back to the carriage after we’d stopped for a privy break.

When he meets my gaze, his dark eyes are heavy with disappointment. No word has been spoken about Kendrick, but Cohen is shrewd and has likely worked out his friend’s betrayal. I offer a thin smile in return.

The captain finds an empty inn. When he enters with Cohen and me in tow, he plays the part of a Shaerdanian soldier as he orders the keeper to give us his largest room.

Tomas manacles me to the bed while Omar and Leif tie Cohen to a chair at his ankles and wrists. Considering the injuries to his head, his night is sure to be hellish.

Later Tomas unties one of my hands and places a meager meal of bread and broth in my lap, while Cohen isn’t given anything.

“Eat it,” Tomas says.

The rounded loaf would usually set my mouth watering, but it has no appeal. It doesn’t sit well with me to eat in front of Cohen.

Cohen must sense my dilemma. “Britta, eat.”

Reluctantly, I take a bite of the bread. It coats my tongue like ashes. I chew. Swallow. Think about how to get free.

“You’ll listen to the murderer but not me?” Tomas sneers.

I should ignore him, but I cannot let the comment go.

“He is no more a murderer than you are a gentleman.”

The back of his hand whips my cheek, snapping my head to the side. I’ve been hit in the same spot so many times that the skin below my eye socket smarts as if stung by a hundred bees.

Cohen lurches in his chair. “Don’t—”

“Shut yer mouth.” Tomas points his knife at Cohen. “I’ll kill you now.”

My eyes meet Cohen’s, pleading silently for him to say no more.

Tomas squats in front of me and grabs my chin, pinching the skin between his dirty fingers. “Now you’ll talk to me, eh? You liked to think you were above me. The whole time we were traveling together, you didn’t have nothing to say to me.” His spit flicks my cheek as his hot breath cascades over my face.

My stomach roils. Over the guard’s shoulder, Cohen’s lips form a thin line and his eyes flash murderously, his once-unreadable expression now a promise of pain for the vile guard.

“You’re an ugly thing.” Tomas laughs to himself and taps my nose. He angles his body so Cohen no longer has a clear view. I squirm in an effort to gain precious space. “Too much freedom has given you ideas. I should teach you a lesson.”

I shudder to think what his lesson entails.