The Liar's Key (The Red Queen's War #2)(85)

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In the town of Genova, two days out from Vermillion, I weakened and spent the last of my gold on a decent horse and tack, together with a fine riding cloak and a gilded neck chain. A prince of the realm can’t turn up looking like a footsore beggar however far he’s travelled and however many enemies he’s vanquished. I know Genova well enough and there’s fun to be had there, but with home so close I pressed on without further delay.

“Damn but even the air tastes better here!” I slapped the pommel of my saddle and took a deep breath—savouring the heady musk of wild onions among the oak and beech of the hill forests.

Snorri, Tuttugu, and Kara, sunburned and tramping along in my wake had fewer good things to say about my homeland, but Hennan, perched behind me on the gelding, tended to agree.

It felt wonderful to be back in the saddle again, a touch unfamiliar but far better than walking. My new steed looked rather nice too, a deep black coat and a crooked flash of white down his face, almost a lightning bolt jagging its way from between his eyes to his nose. If he’d been a seventeen-hand stallion rather than a squat gelding barely reaching fourteen hands I’d have been all the happier with him—though of course considerably poorer. In any event, he ate up the miles nicely and provided a good vantage point to watch Red March pass me by. My only regret was that the Norse had strapped their baggage to the beast as if he were a packhorse. Even “Gungnir” was there, wrapped in old rags to keep it from prying eyes, with just the spear tip gleaming where it pierced the wrappings.

I flashed my smile at Kara from on high a time or two but had little response. The woman seemed to be getting moodier by the mile. Probably thinking about how much she’d miss me. She was clever enough not to believe that I was coming with them to Florence and the nightmare Snorri had his sights on.

I bought us a room at an inn that night and after supper Kara found me alone on the porch. I’d been sitting there a while, watching the last traffic hurrying along the Appan Way as the day dwindled into gloom. She came to me as I always knew she would, reeled in eventually by that good old Jalan charm after the longest courtship I’d ever undertaken.

“Have you decided how you’ll stop him?” she asked without preamble.

I sat up at that, having expected some small talk before we began the old dance I’d been leading her up to. The dance that would see my passions requited at last in the hired bed awaiting us on the second floor.

“Stop who?”

“Snorri.” She sat in the wicker seat opposite, unconsciously rubbing her wrist. A lantern hung between us, moths battering against its glass while mosquitoes whined unseen in the dark. “How will you get the key from him?”

“Me?” I blinked at her. “I can’t change his mind.”

Kara massaged her wrist, rubbing at dark marks there. It was hard to tell in the lamplight among all the shadows . . . “Are those bruises?”

She folded her arms—a guilty motion, hiding the hand, and kept silent under my stare until at last: “I tried to lift it from him two nights ago as he slept.”

“You . . . were going to steal the key?”

“Don’t look at me like that.” She scowled. “I was trying to save Snorri’s life. Which is what you and Tuttugu should be doing, and would be if you were any kind of friends to him. Why do you think Skilfar pointed him at Kelem? It seemed a long enough journey for me to stop him—either by talking him out of it, or if needed, by stealing the key.” She got up and came to sit on the step beside me, composing herself and offering a sweet smile that looked good but most unlike her. “You could ask him for the key again and—”

“You! You were trying to steal the key off him in the cave that morning! He swapped it onto a chain because of you, not me! He’s been wise to you all along!” I realized I was pointing at her and lowered my hand.

“Taking the key would save his life!” She looked at me, exasperated. “Changing his mind would too.”

“It can’t be done, Kara. You should know that by now. You would know it if you’d seen him heading north. He can’t be stopped. He’s a grown man. It’s his life and if he wants—”

“It’s not just his life he’s throwing away, Jal.” Soft-voiced again. She set her hand to my arm. It gave me thrills, I’ll admit it. She had something about her, perhaps just built up after all those months of anticipation, but more than that I think. “Snorri could do untold damage. If Loki’s key falls into the Dead King’s hands . . .”

“It will be a bloody mess.” Suddenly the moment had passed, the mood soured, the darkness around us full of undead threat instead of romantic possibility. “But I still can’t do anything about it.” And besides, I’d be safe in the palace in the heart of Vermillion, in the heart of Red March, and if the Dead King’s evil could reach me there then we were all f*cked. But I felt safer putting my trust in Grandmother’s walls and her armies than in my ability to part Snorri from that key. I shook Kara off and stood abruptly, bidding her good night. I was so close to home I could taste it, practically reach out and set my fingers to it and I wasn’t messing things up now, not for anything, not even the promise in Kara’s touch. No man likes to be a last resort in any event, and on top of that, despite the wide eyes, the promise, the hint of desperation, I still couldn’t shake the feeling that somehow the woman was playing me.