The Queen's Assassin (The Queen's Secret #1)(43)
I let my horse run for a while, and leave Cal behind.
Then I hear him galloping up next to me, pulling up so we are riding side by side.
“What?” I say.
He scrunches his eyebrows and blinks a few times. “Apprentice. Right. Then let me remind you that it is I who am the captain of this ship, so it is I who will issue the orders. For now, I’d like to keep my head. I’d even like for you to keep yours. It would be a shame to lose such a pretty face. And yours isn’t too bad either.” His eyes are shining in merriment.
I clench my jaw and shake my head. “You are definitely . . . something.” I wonder if there’s a shred of truth in his words . . . but I refuse to be distracted by flattery, especially when it is of a backhanded sort.
He looks at me out of the corner of his eye. “Funny. I feel the same way about you.”
I turn my gaze away toward the trees so he doesn’t see my cheeks flush pink. From a distance, wolves begin to howl, and I’m thankful for the distraction.
“We need to stop soon,” Cal says. “We won’t make it across the pass before nightfall.”
It’s the second time we agree.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Caledon
WITHOUT SHADOW, CAL HAS TO admit to himself—though he won’t admit it to her—we wouldn’t have made it back there. He knows he wouldn’t have stood a chance against that many men alone. The problem is, while he’s come to the grudging realization that she may be useful, it’s clear that as much as she might admire him, she also finds him deeply exasperating. So he isn’t quite willing to allow her the satisfaction of being right so she could hold something over him.
After an hour of searching, they locate a cave where they can sleep for the night. He’d expected her to say she doesn’t want to stop, maybe to prove something to him, but she agrees straightaway. Good thing too, because if she doesn’t get some rest, they’ll be in jeopardy. The echoing howls of the nightwolves likely helped her decision. Neither of them was looking forward to facing that pack again.
They’re relieved to have found a cave not too far from the road, especially one so dry inside. When they settle in, Cal sets to building a fire, using one of the scraps of wool from his blanket, and a flint from Shadow. Then he tends to Shadow’s arm. She’s reluctant to let him at first. “It’s fine. Much better already,” she says.
“No, it’s not. It’s worse than I thought,” he says, touching the area around the wound gently as he inspects it.
She abruptly pulls back, away from his hands.
“It would help if you stopped yanking yourself around like that,” he chides.
She rolls her eyes a little but allows him to continue his examination. He gingerly cradles her arm in his lap and tries to assess the damage by the glow of the flames.
“Mage blood,” he says, noting the blue-black color.
She nods, trying to be modest about it. Blue blood is prized in the kingdom.
“The gash was deep. It may feel better but that doesn’t mean you have full use of your arm yet. And you’ll need it for us to survive these woods. So we need to stop and let this heal before we go any farther. No matter how long it takes.”
She pulls her arm from him again, but slowly this time. “I told you, it’s just a scratch. I’ve had worse.”
“Take it from someone who knows, Shadow. It’s more than a scratch. Listen, I don’t want to have to cut that thing off for you if it rots. I’ve done it before and it is not pleasant. The flesh is one thing—I can get through it easy enough—but the bone is another. I’ll have to use a sword to cut it off. I’d prefer very much that you keep your arm instead. I’m sure you do too.”
Shadow suddenly looks ill, and Cal wonders if maybe he overdid it. “We won’t let that happen,” he assures her. “But you do need to let it heal.”
She nods. “Fine—but we can’t afford to sit around. The longer we wait, the more likely someone catches up to us.”
Cal is glad he’s persuaded her to agree to his plan—even as he makes new plans of his own. The queen should have known better than to send him such a novice. Once they get to Montrice, he intends to part ways with her. He has never taken on an apprentice before. The work he does, he does alone. He can’t keep worrying about her recklessness—not to mention her injuries; it will only distract him.
He gathers some herbs, clay, and fresh water from a mountain spring near the cave and brings it back to set Shadow’s wound. The salve always worked for him; every scrape and cut his father treated with it healed seemingly overnight. It should do the same for Shadow.
Once he mixes it, with Shadow looking on curiously, he has her sit, leaning against the rocky wall. He kneels next to her.
She winces when he touches her arm this time, proving that it does hurt much more than she admits. He’s glad they didn’t try to push on through the night. As soon as he applies the paste, she exhales. “Better already, isn’t it?” he asks her. She nods, eyes closed.
He wraps her arm with some large gunnera leaves and tells her they’ll see how it looks in the morning. She nods again and he takes a seat next to her, leaning his head against the wall. It may be the toll of such a harrowing day, but with the soft moonlight on Shadow’s face, he notices how elegant her features are, the length of her neck, the delicate slope of her cheek; suddenly he’s not sure how he ever thought she was a boy.