Ever the Hunted (Clash of Kingdoms #1)(41)
“We’ll be returning to Malam soon,” Cohen says in a definite way that causes me to think he has plans other than what we’ve discussed.
“Anything else you need?” Jacinda’s hand squeezes mine.
I’m startled by the gesture, and my arm locks at the elbow. But I don’t yank away like I might’ve done with anyone else. “You’ve done more than enough. More than anyone else would’ve ever done.”
A genuine earnestness fills her face, dark brows arching over her bright eyes. “After what you did for me, I couldn’t look the other way when you were in need.”
What I did for her? I still don’t understand it. This may be my only chance to ask what happened with the dog. “I could tell he was close to death. And I know I helped him . . . but how?”
“You—?you don’t know?” Her disbelief sets me on edge.
I step back and cross my arms, torn with wanting to ask Jacinda questions and wanting to leave well enough alone because I’m afraid to know the truth.
She covers the space that I just took, studying my face as she crowds me. “You’re not from around here.” It sounds like a question, but it’s not. And somehow, from an answer I’ve not given, she appears as if she understands something more than before. “Don’t know much about you, Britta, but what you can do is a gift.”
My focus drops to my scuffed boots to contain the clash of apprehension and interest jangling through me. “Like—?like your gift with the water?” I make myself ask. My heart is a firefly trapped and fighting to get free from the jar of my rib cage.
“Not quite—”
Her answer is cut off by the creak of the door. Cohen looks at both of us and then cocks his head. “You’re certain the sleeping concoction will last eight hours?” Oblivious to our conversation, he approaches Tomas’s side and nudges the guard with the toe of his boot.
“Aye. Perhaps ten if you’re lucky,” Jacinda tells him.
“Then we’ll plan on riding hard for the next eight hours. Doubt they’ll be any friendlier when they wake. Do you have anything left for him? Sleeping draught? Or death serum?”
A smile flashes across Jacinda’s face. “Forgot the death serum at home,” she says as she pulls a small vial from a pouch at her waist and kneels beside Tomas. “But I’ve got enough draught.”
Cohen huffs out a disappointed sigh. “That’s too bad. Thank you once more, Jacinda.”
I jab him with my finger. “You don’t want to be acquitted for one murder only to be charged with another.”
He leads me to the door and throws a glance back at Tomas. “If it were his, I might not mind.”
I try to give him a chastising look, but it’s broken when I snort a laugh.
Cohen is walking down the hall when Jacinda calls me back into the room. “What you asked about . . . You should be prepared: with a gift like yours, there will be people who won’t understand. Won’t welcome it. Be careful. Even here in Shaerdan.”
In the little she’s said, there’s much to be heard.
I cross the room and squeeze her hand. “Thank you for everything.”
We claim our weapons from the captain’s carriage, where they’ve been locked away. After slipping my dagger into my boot, I toss the keys into a nearby pile of hay and start to untie the guards’ horses while Cohen readies Siron.
“No, leave them,” Cohen says.
“If we leave them, it’ll only help the guards get to us faster.”
The joking side of him gone, he looks haggard from days of not shaving now complemented with purple bruising. “True. But we have to think ahead. Once we find out who killed your father, we’ll need the guards to believe us. Not charge us with another crime. Sometimes it’s hard to look past a grudge to see the truth. Captain Omar will be spittin’ fire when he wakes from the draught and realizes we escaped a second time. Hell, the man will be wanting blood. If we add theft to the charges, Omar will make certain we’re both hanged.”
“Except they’re not really his horses. He stole them and their uniforms. He’s more a thief than I am.”
Cohen rests a hand on one of the stolen mares, rubbing along the animal’s neck. “I doubt he’ll see it like that.”
True enough.
“Besides,” he says, “the guards don’t know where we’re headed. These horses are better suited for the carriage. Not a chase. They’re no match for Siron’s southland pedigree.”
That’s true as well—?Siron is a far stronger and faster horse; however, Cohen doesn’t know of the conversation I had with Captain Omar. I chew my lip. Study the pile of hay. “They don’t need to track us. Captain Omar knows we’re headed to Celize.”
Cohen’s hand slips from the horse. “What? How?”
“I was trying to reason with him,” I explain. “You were unconscious, and I thought they might kill you. I was doing what I could to plead our case, hoping he’d understand, perhaps let us go. Or at the very least, let us live.”
His jaw pulses under the wild twining of his short brown beard.
I lift my chin. “I did what I thought was best. Captain Omar is a man of reason. He’s bound and determined to see justice served. That’s why I explained we were looking for the murderer. It wouldn’t make sense for us to go to Celize if you were really a murderer on the run.”