Ever the Hunted (Clash of Kingdoms #1)(58)
I remain still, working out a way to extract myself with minimal humiliation as dawn crawls across the forest floor, grayish light slipping between the shadows of the trees.
Cohen stirs. Yawns, but doesn’t wake.
Slowly, I shift out of his hold until I’m an arm span away. A breath sifts between his lips. I study the thick lashes on his cheek to check that he’s still asleep, and then I turn away, unable to suffer the sight of him because it slams me with a slicing dose of rejection.
Cohen didn’t say anything I hadn’t already planned on saying. Even if he didn’t think kissing me was a mistake, what would I have done? After this ordeal is over, he’ll return to his family or continue bounty hunting, and I’ll go home. He was made for greatness, to be an esteemed man in Brentyn, to one day have a beautiful wife and family, to be accepted at court. Even if the high lord gives me Papa’s land and cottage, I’ll always be the daughter of a Shaerdanian. I cannot change who I am.
Cohen and I could never be right for each other. No matter what my heart wants, our partnership is inevitably going to disband. It would be a mistake to let myself think other-wise.
I lie down and shut my eyes, hoping for a few more minutes of rest to settle my thoughts before we start the day.
“Britt,” Cohen is saying moments later, or what feels like only seconds. “Wake up.”
I push my eyelids open to discover the sun is higher in the sky than before, the gray light and shadows pushed back by the day’s brightness. A yawn slips out as I stretch, hardly believing I slept.
“Time to go.” Cohen stands up and tugs his bag over his shoulder. He gives me a look that screams impatience, like he’s irritated with me or something.
I grumble, lurching to my feet. “Give me a moment.”
He doesn’t say anything more as I dig into my satchel for a water skin. After swishing out the stale taste in my mouth, I take a long drink and then splash the remaining water on my face. My morning cleanup is just about finished when the forest comes alive with the flapping of hundreds of birds. A flock lifts up and out of the green tops, sweeping overhead and continuing southward, away from Celize.
Cohen and I share a look, his sharp eyes mirroring my sudden alertness.
Any awkwardness between us is forgotten as we fall back into our old natures, prepared to defend. My dagger is unsheathed and in my hand, my bow and quiver slung across my back. Cohen’s fingers rest on the hilt of his sword. He appears casual, though he’s anything but relaxed. I know him well enough to know he’s as ready as a nocked arrow. I take the first step, moving toward Siron, when Cohen’s hand flicks out, palm to me.
“Stay,” he mouths.
Then he continues stealthily toward the origin of the birds’ movement.
I stare at his back, angry and irritated he doesn’t grasp that we’re in this together. If he thinks I’m going to stay here and wait for him, he’s sorely mistaken. Let the fool think he can manage on his own. I keep him in my sights as I follow. We haven’t gone far when I hear a low rumble echoing from the east. Cohen stops a dozen paces ahead of me, having heard the noise as well. Whatever is making the racket is far enough away; we’re in no immediate danger.
It’s then that Cohen turns around and notices me. His eyes blaze and then taper into dark beads as he crosses the space between us in a blink.
He moves so close, I’m tempted to step back so I don’t fall over, but his mouth lowers to my ear. “I asked you to stay.”
The ache, stirred by his nearness, gets shoved into a neat little box. Then I slam the lid on it. “You didn’t ask anything.”
His breath against my skin is tormenting. “I’m sorry. Will you please stay?” His voice is barely more than a sliver of sound. When I don’t respond, he changes his approach. “I can go alone and stay out of sight. It’s safer that way.”
It isn’t safer for us to split up, not when there’s a bounty on our heads and the entire town could be on our trail. When will he accept we’re better off watching each other’s backs? I put my hand on the center of his chest and push him back. Cohen’s pulse hammers beneath my palm while his face is stone-like. I’m certain he’s about to argue, but surprisingly he nods his agreement, and then turns and continues toward the rumble in the distance while I walk alongside him.
As we travel toward the road, clanks and grunts and whacks fill the air. We scale the trees beside the road, about a quarter league from the city, to discover the source.
More than a hundred soldiers in brown and blue uniforms move eastward along the packed dirt and rock route. Shaerdan’s emblem, a blue and gold bird, whips around a flagpole, carried by men covered in partial chain mail. I wonder if they’ll make the two-week trek to the border in that garb. It won’t be easy. Some soldiers, polished and clean, travel on horseback, while others tend carts and march. The men, some with faces younger than mine, pass by, and I find myself wondering how many will suffer in this pointless war.
Wagons filled with armor and weapons, food and tents, pass one after another. The last three wagons are loaded with pieces of wood and metal, tied together in a way that resembles a giant insect. Catapults. In my lifetime, war has never come between our countries, and so I’ve never seen the damage a catapult can cause. Even so, I don’t doubt it will be destruction on a grand scale.
Dust kicks up in the wake of the soldiers, swelling to a massive cloud, an apparition following the men until they’re specks on the horizon. Papa risked his life to break the Spiriter’s bind. Which means his death will be for nothing if there’s war.