The Queen's Assassin (The Queen's Secret #1)(38)

I can tell Cal is thinking the same thing—that maybe the forest was a mistake—but for now, he doesn’t say anything. We’re forced to slow down due to the darkness and the condition of the path—the horses have to step carefully over half-buried branches and deep ruts. I can feel the eyes of the hidden wildlife watching as we go by. The horses are on edge. Out of nowhere something large flaps right past my head, spooking the horse and making it rear up. I stop to calm him. “Shh. Shh. It was just a bat.”

Cal snorts.

“The horses are tired. I think we should stop and rest them when we get to Alvilla,” I tell him.

“Of course you do,” Cal says under his breath.

My nostrils flare. “It’s close to the border. And we can’t push the horses that hard. What do you think we should do?”

“I think we should have taken the main road and gone straight into Montrice. And now that we’re here . . . I still think we should go straight through.”

“Do you? Or are you just saying that because you want to disagree with me?”

“Look, I don’t think it’s a good idea to stop in town. People will be looking for two fugitives.”

“But we need to stop in Alvilla. For the horses,” I say, even though that’s not quite the truth. The truth is I’m hungry and tired and I need to rest. Casting that spell took a toll on me, but I don’t want him to know how weak I am. I don’t want him to win.

Cal shrugs in response. We don’t speak again for a while.

A bit farther on I hear something. “Wait.” I put up a hand as I try to make out what it is. It may just be something wild, but I need to be sure. I listen intently, beyond the sounds directly surrounding us, into the distance. “Horses,” I say softly. “And armed men.”

“Looking for us?” Cal asks me.

I focus on the sounds, but it’s too far to hear clearly. Not that we need to. Armed men don’t usually enter the woods at dawn. This is my fault. We’re being followed just like Cal said we would be.

Worse, they have tracking dogs. I can hear their barking more distinctly as they draw near. We can’t outrun them once they pick up our scent. They’ll just keep coming and coming until eventually . . . I close my eyes and try to think, and then I hear something else. A great rumble coming from the other direction.

“We need to outpace them,” Cal says.

“I have an idea,” I say, opening my eyes. “Follow me.”

If I’m right, there’s a crossroads ahead. If I’m wrong, we’re in real trouble.

“We can’t ride too fast; I don’t want to risk making too much noise. The guards may not pick up on it, but the dogs will,” I tell him. We go at a steady pace but I hear the dogs getting louder, closer. I also hear the thundering noises getting louder from the other side. I begin pleading: Please let this work. Please. Please. Please. It has to.

Finally we come to the crossroad in the woods. “Which way?” Cal asks.

“Straight ahead,” I answer. “But not yet. Wait.”

“Why?”

“Trust me,” I say, as much to myself as to Cal. I close my eyes again. From one direction, I still hear the guards approaching; from the other, the commotion I’d heard barreling toward us. “On my word, we bolt down the path.”

He assents.

We get ready as if for a race, bent low, prepared to bolt. The two forces get closer and closer . . . there’s a clamoring of hooves, boots, and steel behind us; the dogs are coming right around the bend, and a clash of a horde booming from the other direction, just as loud and unstoppable. Cal doesn’t need my extrasensory strength to hear either one anymore.

Nearer still. Cal looks at me, his eyebrows knit together. I shake my head. He doesn’t look convinced but he doesn’t move either. The dogs are so close. They can definitely see us at this point. Cal looks like he’s about to go with or without me.

“Wait!” I shout over the noise. The clamoring gets louder. “Now!”

We take off down the road just before the dogs lead their masters right to us—just as a stampede of deer charges across the trail directly in front of them, blocking their path.

I hear men yelling and dogs barking furiously. The deer stampede continues, giving us the distraction we need to get away. The confusion should mask our scent and throw the dogs off our trail.

Once we’ve put enough distance between us and the hunting party, we slow the horses down to a trot. I don’t hear our pursuers anymore. “That was close.” I start laughing and can’t stop. I’m so relieved that it worked.

But if I’m looking for praise or thanks, there will be none from him. “Best to get where we’re going without any more excitement,” Cal says. “I’d like to survive the rest of the way, if you don’t mind. We’ll ride until we get into town.”

“You’re welcome,” I say, unafraid to hide the annoyance in my tone.

Cal says nothing. Just clops on ahead of me.





CHAPTER NINETEEN

Caledon

ALVILLA IS A TINY BORDER village nestled in a valley, the last proper town before crossing the invisible line between Renovia and Montrice. It’s typically populated by a mix of local farmers, shopkeepers, trade merchants, and diplomats, as well as some unsavory types; a place accustomed to outsiders and unusual people. So nobody pays much mind to two strangers on horseback.