Ever the Brave (A Clash of Kingdoms Novel)(40)

“She cannot stay at the guards’ quarters for long. It would just be until I can locate her friend and then return her safely over the border.” Cohen’s voice lowers. He glances over his shoulder at the bedroom door where Gillian’s disappeared. “Lirra’s the Archtraitor’s daughter. You met her at Enat’s home.”

Oh. The memory brings a smile and then the sharp pain of grief.

“I don’t want Omar to find out who she is,” Cohen is saying. I blink, coming fully back to the present. “He’d throw her in the dungeon without a second thought. I’d take her on the road with me, but it puts her at risk of getting caught. She’d be killed if that happened.”

So why’d he bring her to Malam? I ask him as much and he says, “Because she’s stubborn, and won’t leave till she finds her friend. The girl’s so stubborn that she insisted I make arrangements for her to stay in my empty quarters so she could follow up on servant gossip about a girl who was found in the woods. Doesn’t matter that she’ll be poking around under Captain Omar’s nose.”

“Seeds, she’s definitely going to get thrown in the dungeon.”

Cohen huffs. “Here’s hoping she hasn’t been already. That’s why I need to get her out of Neart after I meet with Omar.”

“Who’s going to throw whom into the dungeon?” Gillian reenters the room.

“A little privacy, please.” I break out a pleading look.

“Can that be had in a one-bedroom cottage?” Gillian inspects her nails and then flicks her hand in the air. “I think not.”

Cohen chuckles.

I sigh. “Yeah, I’ll make room for her here.”

“Thank you, Dove,” he says, his tenor soft and sweet. His fingers hook mine, and he tugs me to him. “Come to the castle with me.”

My choice is made. The six weeks of separation was torture. Yesterday’s reunion had too many rough edges to be satisfying.

I hurry into the room to hide my trousers under a skirt and tuck my tunic into my waistband. Gillian’s comb smooths my hair, and I braid it into a plaited length. After cleaning my hands and face in the washbasin, I tuck my dagger into my boot and belt one of Cohen’s old rapiers at my waist. I wave goodbye to Gillian.

Cohen stands beside Siron, hand on the horse’s withers. “Ride together?”

I consider it for a moment, but shake my head. To get to the castle, we’ll have to ride through Brentyn. Cohen cannot help but draw attention from adoring townspeople because he’s the king’s bounty hunter. Especially the female population. It’s been years since we rode together in Brentyn. I’m ashamed to admit, I’m still self-conscious about the fact that Cohen could be with anyone.



I look at the castle’s sword-like spires that protrude from the tops of the evergreens. Maroon flags stain the tips of each gray peak. Castle Neart is supposed to be the heart of the Malam Mountains. Today, though, it seems to have taken on a darker aura, like each spire is a giant sword impaling a great green beast.

We garner a dozen glances and half a town’s worth of hushed gossip as we ride through the royal city.

I’m a landowner, unlike most of the townspeople clogging the market. I’ve a right to be here as much as they. I repeat this to myself as we pass the church and the pillory, where, yet again, a woman is manacled to a cross of cedar and shame. I fight the temptation to sink low in the saddle and let my shoulders slump forward. Holding my head high, I own the road all the way to Castle Neart.

The outer yard of the castle is bustling with servants. At the sight of Cohen, a stablehand scurries across the yard to retrieve our horses. All throughout Malam, Cohen is regarded as a hero. Once his name was cleared, the townspeople rallied around him. Once more their beloved bounty hunter.

I’m relieved. Having never felt the country’s judgment before, it must’ve been hard for Cohen.

Once our horses are stabled, I follow Cohen through the inner keep and down the stone stairwell to the guards’ quarters. We’ve barely stepped onto the training yard when a vision of Cohen at fourteen comes barreling toward us.

I stumble back, happily surprised at the welcoming reception. “Well, hello.”

“Finn,” Cohen barks. The rest of his words are lost to the arms flying around me, snaking me in a headlock. Or a hug. I cannot tell.

“Get off her.” Cohen yanks me free.

I take in the boy with big fawn eyes and a sloppy grin.

“I’m Finn.” He lifts up on his toes and then settles into his heels. “You’re Britta, Cohen’s girl.”

My brows shoot to my hairline and I laugh. Cohen sputters out a cough. The scene draws Captain Omar’s attention away from the guard he’s sparring with. The captain sheathes his sword and stalks across the yard to greet Cohen.

“You’re thinner than I thought you’d be,” Finn says, snagging my focus from the men.

Cohen stops talking to the captain to swat the back of his brother’s head. “Not how you start a conversation with a lady.”

Color like a ripened peach overtakes Finns cheeks. He ducks away from his brother, stepping closer to me and dropping his voice. “I’m not saying it’s bad. I just thought, by how Cohen described you, ya might look more like those guys.” He throws his thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the sparring guards, strapping and muscle-bound. Sweat dampens their tunics. Metal clashes. Their faces contort as they grunt and parry blows. “But you’re decently pretty.”