Ever the Brave (A Clash of Kingdoms Novel)(89)

Lirra points at the bed as if to say, Lie down.

I do as requested.

“I’m going to talk to my aunt. See if I can change the Guild’s mind into helping us.”

I like how she uses the term us. It says something about Lirra, that she’s willing to fight for this cause even if her aunt isn’t.

“Hey, Lirra, I’m sorry I still haven’t found Orli. I didn’t plan for things to go this way.”

She shrugs. “Does life ever go as planned? Besides, I figure we know exactly where Orli is now. She must be at the castle since that’s where Jamis and Phelia are.”

Lirra gently lowers herself onto the mattress, so as to make it move less. I wonder if she’s doing this to spare me some pain, or if she’s suddenly feeling shy about our proximity.

The thing is, Lirra’s a beautiful girl. Her big eyes and pretty face could lure any man looking to be lured.

I’m not.



Someone shoves my shoulder, and ache runs through my torso. Nothing as bad as a few days ago, but it gets me to crack my eyes open.

The room’s dark. Moonlight’s pouring in through the window. Lirra’s on my bed, kind of hovering over me.

I rub my eyes. “What’s going on?” A yawn stretches out my words.

“Word just came. A man and a woman matching Britta’s and Aodren’s descriptions were sighted earlier today by one of the Guild’s confidants not far from here, just off the road through the woods. Maybe a few leagues away.” Her voice is a quick roll of words, one tumbling out after the other.

I sit up with a jolt and, damn, pain cracks me under the armpit. I shake it off and stand, searching for my boots. “Let’s go.”

I knew Britta would make it out. “Get Leif,” I tell Lirra.

Leif comes striding in, looking sleepy but ready to go a couple of minutes later. Five more after that, the three of us are out the door, saddled up, and riding east.



Following the directional tip Katallia received from her confidant, Leif and I keep our eyes peeled to the woods. Snow has dropped as deep as my knees. Knowing most of it fell overnight, I doubt Britta would’ve risked traveling. Since there are no caves in these hills, Britta most likely looked for a tall tree that has some branch coverage against the storm. We press on, keeping our eyes open for a camp setup.

We don’t risk calling out for them in case they’ve been followed. Wouldn’t want to alert Jamis’s men.

The horses cut through the fresh snowpack easily enough, but the dense white seems endless. Siron tips his head up, ears flicking forward.

“What’s there, boy?” I rub his neck.

He runs straight at the trees and then slows. I lean on my good hand to slide off the saddle so I can take a look around. As soon as my boots hit the ground, I see the flap of a tarp by the base of a tree, where the snowfall is lightest. She was always the smarter one of us when it came to survival.

Emotion burns my throat. Must be the overwhelming relief at finding her after all we’ve both been through. I take the ten strides to the tent in five steps. I crouch, peel back the tarp, and—

“What the hell’s going on here?” I gawk, not understanding what I’m seeing. Tucked up to the king’s back, Britta’s got her arms around his body and her nose against his neck. Her eyes crack open, and she looks at me blearily as Leif moves behind me.

“Cohen?” Britta sits up, and as she does, the bedroll splits open, giving a view of her fancy underthings to me, Leif, and King Aodren, who’s slowly waking up beside her. The royal bastard. Royal Naked Bastard. The dress that I bought her, tattered and covered in muck, is piled on top of them, along with a man’s tunic and trousers.

I shake my head, confusion rolling into disbelief spinning into anger.

The king sits up without a speck of clothing on and puts his arm in front of Britta as if he’s shielding her from us. From me.

Something snaps.

The dagger’s in my hand and I’m pointing it at the bloody king of Malam. “Get. Out. I’m going to kill you.”





Chapter

42


Britta


NO ONE TALKS.

Not even after I dress and saddle up behind Cohen.

Not the entire time Siron carries us into Tahr.

Rigid and welcoming as iron armor, Cohen has effectively shut me out. I should explain that we were combating winter exposure and frostbite. The wind was relentless. I thought the king might freeze to death.

I hate the way Cohen reacted without asking questions. Now, anger has me tongue-tied.

The horses break from the trees. Below, drifts of white span the valley from mountain to mountain. I allow myself to glance back at Aodren, who gives me an apologetic smile.

Everything I’ve been holding back for days presses on me—the pain and horror of so many deaths, the struggle to escape, and now this. The exhaustion whispers at me to drop my head against Cohen’s back, to wrap my arms around him and find comfort. But I’m not that girl. I don’t need an arm around the shoulders, or a We’ll get through this.

We ride up to a country cottage that is easily three times the size of mine. Icicles hang under the lantern-lit windows, giving this home a cozy, welcoming touch.

I dismount and remain beside Siron. I cannot walk away from Cohen without explaining. Even though I’m upset, it would be foolish to let him continue to misunderstand what he saw this morning. “Two days ago Aodren fell into the river,” I explain, words so hushed I only know he heard them because he looks at me. Finally. “He would’ve died from the chill. And last night, he still hadn’t regained full warmth. The wind was brutal. We had to fight the cold.”