The Cursed Queen (The Impostor Queen #2)(41)
She takes a step forward, her expression smooth. Cold. “We bury him in the stones. It won’t be visible from the bluff if anyone looks down. And then we will go back to camp, tell our story, go to sleep, and get up tomorrow as if nothing has happened. You will not tell anyone of your curse, and you will use every ounce of power and will you possess to suppress it. This is for your safety and that of every member of our tribe. Do you understand?”
I understand so many things, each piece of knowledge a blade of sorrow inside me. “Yes.”
She stares at me for a long moment, letting me feel the twist of her weapon, the way my heart gives way beneath her will. “Good. Let’s get to work.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
I do not sleep at all. Thyra walked away from me the moment we reached the camp again. She stared at me coolly while she slowly and deliberately poured water over her hands, rubbed them together, and dried them on her cloak. Perhaps it was just to clean the stink of burned meat from her skin, but I could not help but think she was washing me away too, the way she’s touched me, the bond we shared, my place at her side. When she was finished, she crossed to the other side of the dying fire and laid her blanket next to Bertel.
I am curiously numb as I rise from my blanket and roll it around my spare weapons and bloodstained tunic. My muscles ache with fatigue, and my steps are heavy as I fall into line behind Thyra and a group of warriors who are loyal to her—today Sander is among that group, and Jaspar hikes at the front with the warriors he brought from Vasterut. However, they seem more like one tribe, the distance worn away by the shared journey, talking and teasing as we slowly make our way up a sandy trail that winds along between grass and forests and dunes. The sand is marbled with black, and the Torden is smooth and blue as the sun arcs over us. The wind bites at our ears and the tips of our noses; the snow will come any day. In a fog, I find myself wondering if the weather is the same here as it is in our northern camp. I hadn’t lived there all my life, but it is the only place I truly remember thinking of as home.
The realization that I will never see it again brings on another numbing wave that fills my head from ear to ear. This is how it felt under the waves during the witch’s storm. Knowing I was going to die, and only wondering how and when. It crosses my mind to simply decide and do it myself, but there is something in me now, hard and unmovable, that crushes that thought as soon as it forms. Maybe that’s the curse being willful. Or maybe it’s the tiniest spark of hope—Thyra didn’t banish me, and it was well within her power to do so. Perhaps, if I’m strong enough, I can find my way back to her.
That’s the thought that lifts one foot and places it in front of the other, that draws air into my lungs, lifts my chin, and points my gaze to the west. Somewhere out there is the Kupari peninsula, the home of the one who tried to strike us down. My heart roars at the thought of delivering her filthy witchcraft right back to her threshold.
Someone pokes my shoulder. “Obviously you’re very busy daydreaming at the moment, but I was wondering if you wanted to ride out and see if we can’t hunt up something for noonmeal. Several flocks of wild turkeys call the woods home.”
I blink at Jaspar, who has dropped back into step with me. “Me? Why?”
He glances up at Thyra, who does not turn around and acknowledge us. “Well,” he says quietly, “I get a bit bored when I hunt alone, and I do remember you are a keen shot with a bow.”
“I haven’t hunted in a while.” I was focused on gaining my prizes and food through the plunder of two-legged prey.
Jaspar holds out a fine bow of black ash with a string of hemp. It’s not very big—clearly made for small-game hunting and not for battle, which is good because that’s the only kind I’m strong enough to shoot. “Will this do?”
I touch the taut string. “Maybe.”
Jaspar gestures up to his horse, which has been freed of the load of rations it had carried at the beginning of our journey. He leans down to whisper in my ear. “Let’s get out of here, just for a little while. It’s our last chance before we reach the city, and I’m feeling lucky today.”
I soak up the friendliness in his tone like a sunflower thirsty for water and follow him to his mount. I get on behind him, wrapping my arms around his lean waist. He might not be a bulky, muscular warrior, but he is solid and sure, and I hold on tight. He chuckles. “Either you don’t trust my horse, or you’ve missed me.”
I need it too much to let go. “I’ll let you figure out which.”
Thyra’s request to get closer to him echoes in my memory, and I glance over my shoulder at her. As she so often does, she looks up as if she feels my gaze. But her eyes are solemn as she turns away to say something to Sander.
I fight the ache in my chest with hope—perhaps following her order to become Jaspar’s confidante will help me regain her trust. “Are you eager to be back within city walls?” I ask as Jaspar gently kicks his horse’s flanks and turns its nose toward a wood about a mile to the south.
“Yes and no. I had missed sleeping under stars, but it’s hard to beat a stone hearth and fresh bread. You’ll see when we get there.”
“Will there be enough shelters for all of us?”
He shakes his head. “For tonight, the andeners and many of the warriors will camp outside the city. My father has been preparing for their arrival, so there will be food and blankets aplenty. I’ve already discussed it with Thyra. She and her most senior warriors will be welcomed into the castle. I hope you’ll find it to your liking.”