Page 5

Chapter three

Nerys

N erys awoke from a cold stream of air moving down her face and neck, her body shivering under a ceiling of boughs and nestled on a bed of pine needles and dried leaves.

Her eyes creaked open, revealing the hazy gray of morning.

Yet another dawn, beckoning another of lonely travel.

A day of cold meals consisting of scavenged greens, no fire, and silence.

Nerys rolled over.

Her sister’s bloody face greeted her, glossy dead eyes staring. Adilette’s mouth was open in agony, revealing stumps of missing teeth and a torn tongue that hung on by a thread.

Screaming, Nerys thrashed, hitting her head on branches. She closed her eyes, debris showering around her. Pine needles dug into her hands, fighting her attempt to right herself in the boughs.

Adilette—why was she here ?

She was dead. Dead.

She opened her eyes.

Gone.

Nerys let out a breath, letting her shoulders relax. Adilette was gone. She was alone.

Sitting back on the ground, Nerys groaned and rubbed her eyes.

Oh, Living Gods, that was the second time she’d seen Adilette, the first being a vague shadow following her in the woods the night she left Raven’s Crest. Then she had thought it was her imagination, a frantic mind creating her worst fears.

Now, there was no other option—Adilette was a ghost, one that did not want to leave.

Nerys lacked the sight that was gifted to some of those with eyes of stone, but even the sightless could see the freshly dead at times.

Nerys blinked back tears and steadied her breath.

Maybe after Nerys killed Cefin, that would be enough to give Adilette’s soul rest. Hopefully—she had heard of it being done before.

“Come on, Nerys,” she muttered, “you’ll accomplish nothing by staying here. ”

Careful to avoid being further pricked by the pine needles, she stretched, stood out from under her shelter, and started walking.

The road wasn’t going to walk on itself, and unfortunately, Cefin would not pull out his own entrails and hang himself with them.

That was a good thing—Nerys was going to enjoy that task.

Maybe she’d tie them in a bow. Or maybe she’d hog-tie him with them and hang him.

Men had lots of entrails, and she had lots of options.

And thanks to the time she had spent hunting with her father, she had lots of practice as far as entrails were concerned.

A grumbling stomach bellowed for attention, making her inspect the surrounding woods.

She couldn’t handle another day of eating only greens—her own entrails were ready to cease working out of protest. If she came across a traveler—and they didn’t look like the murdering type—perhaps she’d buy supplies from them.

If she found one. People weren’t inclined to frolic during wartime.

Just when she resigned herself to another day of walking and munching on dandelions, she spotted two cows led by a man and woman. Probably local farmers.

“Hello,” Nerys said once she was close enough for them to hear. The couple wore battered, patched clothing and weary expressions. No, they were likely not the murdering type—more like the crawl into bed and nap sort.

“Good morning,” the wife said, eying Nerys warily as they stopped walking. “Not a good time for a young woman to be alone.”

“I won’t be for long.” Nerys stood up straighter. “My aunt lives nearby—her name’s Tera.”

“Tera.” The wife nodded. “You’re one of Brodric’s?”

Nerys nodded. Why, yes. Yes, she was. For the next few minutes.

“How is he?” the wife asked.

“We’ve all seen better times,” Nerys said solemnly, in case it was a trick and Brodric was known to be ill, insane, or dead. The wife frowned and a soft expression crossed her face. Good, Nerys picked the right answer.

“Then you don’t have far to go,” the husband said. “Still, it’s too dangerous.”

“I’ll manage. ”

“No—Bull’s Breath’s just a mile away,” the husband said. 12 “Stop at the inn and ask for Olian—tell him Jethran sent you. He can send someone to guide you the rest of the way. Soldiers passed through not too long ago—last thing you need is to come across some followers.”

“Brutes and whores,” the wife muttered.

“Thank you, I’ll ask for him.” She wouldn’t. Still, that was wonderful—a village meant she could buy supplies and eat something other than weeds. And now she had the name of a few locals should she need to embellish her story. And even better—she had confirmation she was following Cefin’s path.

She said farewell to the couple and resumed walking.

At this rate, she’d catch up to Cefin soon.

Her best guess was that she was going to make it to the army in a couple days.

Thus, her revenge would be soon, and she could join her family as a content corpse, or so she told herself.

Though, the odds of her impending death made the sights on the journey more memorable, knowing that it might be the last time she saw a particular plant or animal.

Even weeds became important in light of impending demise.

It was now just one more day—probably—before she caught up to the army. Cautiously, Nerys strode along the dirt road in the thick woods, looking behind her every minute or so. Bandits, or worse, liked to hide in thick woods. There could always be worse.

Suddenly, something shifted in the air. A chill? No. A breeze? It couldn’t be—the air was still and carried a strange heaviness. Like death. Nerys whirled around, her eyes darting up and down, searching for hidden faces peering out from the branches.

Nothing.

She took a few more hesitant steps, then paused. Her hair stood on end, like lighting was about to strike.

That was enough—Nerys had a healthy sense of self-preservation. Most of the time.

Like a startled deer, she darted off the road and concealed herself under some bushes, doing her best to rest as low to the ground as possible. With their sparse leaves the shrubs made poor shelter, but were better than nothing. She sat on the ground, crouched low, and waited.

For what? There was nothing here.

She was being ridiculous. She was hiding like a monster was going to come down the road. Though…it was better to be foolish than dead.

A minute passed. And then another. Then another.

Nerys was about to go back to the road when her ears picked up the unmistakable sound of horses’ hooves.

Nerys wrapped her arms around herself, and then her attention strayed back to her unmistakable footprints in the mud—which led right to her hiding spot. Shit—would they notice? Too late.

The pounding grew louder as the horses and their riders came into sight.

It was only two men, on two horses, one of the men bearing a smaller rider in front of them.

Their shirts were frayed and badly patched, both their faces and clothes in desperate need of a bath.

Nerys’s eyes drifted down to the swords tied to their sides, which sat in sheaths pieced together with leather thongs.

Laborers? Laborers rarely carried swords—too expensive. Robbers?

Worse.

Nerys’s hand covered her mouth and she stifled a scream.

In front of one of the men sat a woman, who was near her age.

The woman's blackened eyes were swollen closed, her hands tied in front of her.

Nerys pushed back the sudden urge to rush at them.

Stop them. She had to help her—she had to do something .

No, there was nothing she could do. Helpless.

Again.

She’d be no use to the woman. If she tried to stop them, all that would happen was that the men would have another captive to bring back to their lair, if they didn't kill her instead.

There was nothing she could do.

Nerys closed her eyes and waited for the sorry sight to leave, her heart breaking with each plod of the hooves, though she let out a guilty sigh of relief.

That poor woman… That was so close to being her.

While kidnapping was forbidden by law, it was wartime.

Th e R?ll 13 had more issues to deal with than what was happening to peasant women.

That was assuming the woman was Ca’mailian at all—if she were Cerdorani, why, some would pay a bounty for the men’s trouble.

Just as they were nearly out of sight, Nerys noted a piece of fabric poking out of one of their saddle bags. It was eerily familiar…gray with white rabbit fur—

Shaul’s.

Nerys gasped, then covered her mouth. What happened to him? Did the bandits kill him? Did he escape the village, only for this? 14

Shaking, Nerys waited under the bush until she could no longer hear the horses’ hooves. And then she waited some more. By the time she decided it was safe to move, the sun was already covering the world in a hazy afternoon glow.

Oh, Living Gods, she escaped one danger and was now walking to another.

What waited for her at the army? Her death?

Yes, that was rather the point. Though the how was up for debate.

However, there was a very good chance that whatever happened with the army would be better than whatever the highwaymen had planned for that poor woman. 15

“What’s a lass like you doing alone here?

” a farmer called over to Nerys from across the road, where he shepherded his family like a hen herding chicks.

A ragged wife and four young boys followed him, filthy and wide-eyed.

From the patched packs slung across their backs, she guessed they were fellow peasants displaced by the war.

“I’m meeting my husband,” Nerys said, willing her cheeks to blush under the afternoon sun. Did it work? It should—she’d had enough practice this last week .

“Husband?” the father put his weight on his walking stick, his gnarled hand twisting around the wood. “Where do you plan on finding that?”

“Don’t pry, Jeral,” the wife said.

Jeral waved his wife away. “Sshh, let me talk.” Jeral turned to Nerys. “Where ya goin’ lass?”