The Winter Prince (The Lion Hunters:01)(59)

“One more stunt, then?” someone called. Lleu obligingly stood on one hand for a good half a minute before he flipped himself to his feet. Finally he breathed deeply and bowed, and moved to stand at my side.

The men cheered and applauded and thumped their fists against the tables, and the hostel’s keeper poured another drink for Lleu in payment for his performance.

“My thanks, master,” Lleu said as he reached for the cup, grinning still in exhausted pleasure; but instead of drinking he suddenly cried out, “Ah, no!” and threw the mug aside. He buried his face in my sleeve and mumbled incoherently, “The handle moved. I thought it was a snake.” I put my arm around his shoulders and stroked the back of his head.

The townsfolk turned their faces away, hushed, and the woman said to the children, “Now away with you.” They ran back into the other room.

The proprietor said to me in a low voice, “If I can help him in any way—do you need shelter for the night? You need not pay for it.”

Lleu raised his head and answered for both of us, refusing the man’s offer with quiet finality. “Thank you, but no. I am very tired, and we have a long way to go.”

I loaded the blankets and satchels on my back, then drew Lleu’s cloak over his shoulders and fastened it for him. The man who held Lleu’s bow offered it up to me; Lleu stood before the little crowd and held out an open hand, his gaze demanding. I surrendered the bow to him.

The other patrons moved aside so that we had a clear path to the door. As Lleu passed by the thin, tired-looking woman, she took his hand and held it to her lips in formal respect. She said quietly, “God go with you, fair one.”

It cut at my heart mercilessly. What need had he to be any kind of warrior or administrator? He was instantly beloved of his people; all he must do is turn a somersault and pet a child, and he has won them to him body and soul.

“Why did you not accept that offer?” I asked him as we left the city, following the road uphill and northward.

“Because you are with me,” Lleu answered bitterly. He spoke as he walked, plowing through the snow with his head down, watching his feet. “Because they looked to you as my protector, my guide. You could see they thought me out of my senses; if I had fought to resist you they would have fought against me, and all with the best of intentions.”

“Perhaps.” I halted, and he turned to look at me. I said, “Here we leave the road.”

Lleu prsti" aligotested passionately, dreading to return to the forest and uninhabited moorland after the laughter and warmth of the town. “No! Why? Cross the moor yourself! I dare not depend on you to show me the way!”

“You no longer have the strength to take the road alone,” I said patiently. “This way is more direct, and will bring us to Camlan sooner.”

“Why would you want to get there sooner?”

“Like yourself, I am not in such matchless physical form,” I answered.

“True,” he sneered. “You’ve been nursing a raging fever since our first night in the open.” A breathless little laugh escaped him. “To think it is you who have taken chill, not I!”

“But I’m not hallucinating,” I said softly. “No matter which of us is in control when we reach Camlan, we both need to get there quickly.”

Lleu stormed reluctantly in my trail as we walked away from the road. We climbed through the bare forest, and covered several more miles. At dusk we were close to another stretch of empty hilltop, and we stopped among the trees to make camp: this time only a small fire, and the furs and blankets spread next to it. Lleu unpacked the little dried fruit and cheese that was left, and heated wine. At first he would not let me help, but in the midst of his preparations he gasped in wonder, “My hands are bleeding.” He held out a hand, palm up, gloveless. “Look: blood running between my fingers, staining my sleeve.”

I could scarcely bear to listen to him. “Put your gloves on,” I said. His sleeve was unspotted.

After that he let me deal with the food. He avoided touching anything lest it change shape before his eyes.

When we had eaten he took off his cloak and folded it double, and wrapped it around his shoulders that way beneath the blankets and furs in which he huddled. He was nearer the fire than I, yet he was still shivering. I could not imagine being so cold; I could not feel the cold even in my hands. I sang under my breath from the dark story of Lleu’s shining namesake:

“Grows an oak on upland plain,