Page 13

13

A Quest Begins

Anya

I n spite of my best efforts to not fall asleep in the presence of my would-be killer, exhaustion had gotten the better of me.

I woke to cheerful birdsong, along with the clink and thwap of leather straps being fastened. I was still clutching the paring knife I’d found amidst the guards’ cooking supplies; the joints in my hand creaked as I released the handle and pushed off the ground. My shoulders and chest muscles ached in protest, but despite the soreness of my body, I felt blessedly rested—almost hungover from the depth of my sleep.

It was embarrassing how quickly the warm fire and the adrenaline crash had swept me into the abyss of slumber.

Idris had kept his promise of not murdering me in my sleep, though. At least he had a sense of honor—and humor, dark as it was.

Perhaps I should’ve been surprised to run into him last night, but I wasn’t. The mysteries I’d noted when he visited the Possum now made perfect sense. The armor. The Oath tattoo. The suspicious wound. His secretiveness and silent exit. What was more surprising was the existence of the grotesque monster he’d slain—but he’d seemed unfazed by that.

Familiar, even.

Sitting up fully, I took stock of my surroundings. A low fog filled the clearing, illuminated by sunlight. The grasses were gold, offset by the burgundy stems of wild rose bushes clustered around the edges of the hollow. Due to a slight undulation in the land here, I couldn’t see the High Road, nor the wide valley that ran north to south alongside the Wend—but I could see the distant trees of the high eastern hills, spectacular red and orange foliage interrupting stoic green pines.

It was almost peaceful, if I ignored what I knew was behind me.

Yet when I turned, the wreckage and gore were… gone .

No more abomination. No more splintered wood. No more dismembered body parts. Even the grass—matted and muddy—appeared clear of the black slime and blood of last night. The only trace of what had occurred were patches of ash, and long drag marks leading into the Western Wood.

Fates , I must’ve slept like a fucking stone.

The crescent-shaped area between me and the edge of the forest was completely empty.

That is, except for Idris.

He stood with his back to me, fitting a saddle atop a tall draft horse. He coiled the leather strap of the cinch around one hand, fastening it tighter; the loose end slapped against the back of his wrist with a snap. The horse shifted, and he placed a big palm on its neck, calming it with gentle strokes. I hated that the hands destined to drown me were so…pleasing to watch.

And capable , judging by the overabundance of weaponry on his person.

His sword hung casually at his hip above black fitted trousers. Straps crisscrossed his shoulders and back in a harness that held more blades: knives of various sizes, plus a small axe. I wondered how often he used them all. His cloak, breastplate, and vambraces rested atop a rucksack nearby, and without their bulk on his body, I could plainly see the muscle beneath his loose-fitting black shirt. He wasn’t lean like a ranger, nor functionally fit like the average knight; he was broad and powerful, burly like a…monster hunter.

I recalled our conversation at the Possum. Are you a mercenary? I’d asked. Something like that , he’d said, flashing me his tattoo.

“You’re awake,” Idris noted, swiveling toward me.

He sleeves were rolled up, showing off the veins in the backs of his hands and forearms. His puncture wound was bandage-less, still black but much improved; he must’ve been following Hattie’s instructions with the salve.

“I’m awake,” I confirmed, rising shakily to my feet; my right ankle was still sore, but I could put more weight on it compared to last night. “You found a horse?”

“His headstall was tangled around a branch not far off,” Idris said. “I figured we’d make faster progress with a mount.”

“Progress?”

He scratched the back of his neck in a manner that briefly drew my attention to his biceps. He’d tied his dark brown hair back, adding severity to the rugged bone structure of his face. His beard from the night of our meeting was gone, replaced by a day’s worth of dark stubble; it shadowed his tentative half smile.

Hattie had been right. He was handsome. And considering he was my future maybe-murderer, I was an absolute fool to notice.

“I’m escorting you to your trial in Fenrir City,” Idris said matter-of-factly.

All appreciation for his looks disappeared. “Absolutely not,” I protested. “I’m going back to Waldron.”

“And what do you plan on doing once you get there?”

“Running my inn,” I said, but my conviction died with the words. Without Lord Haron’s absolution, I’d be a fugitive; I couldn’t run the Possum as a fugitive.

“If you go back to Waldron,” he stated, “you’ll return to jail, only to end up in another caravan.” His smile was almost boyish as he added, “Traveling with me to Fenrir is preferable, no?”

“Not if you kill me.”

His jaw ticked. “I already told you, I won’t bring you any harm.”

“But the Mirror—”

“Could be wrong,” he finished. “Anya, I assure you, I have no nefarious intentions.”

I ignored the flutter in my stomach at the breathy, patient way he’d said my name. “How can I be sure?”

“I would remind you that I did save your life last night. That has to count for something.”

“You didn’t know it was me until after the saving.” I considered his offer. “This trip. What’s in it for you?”

“If not the pleasure of murdering you?” He seemed amused.

I narrowed my eyes.

He handed me the horse’s reins, then walked over to his pack to retrieve his breastplate. “It’s my duty,” he said. “All knights are, in one way or another, bound to protect the realm and its citizens. Seeing as the Mirror outed you as a vicious criminal, I can’t in good conscience allow you to run free, wreaking havoc.”

I folded my arms, scowling at his jibe, even as I wondered what sort of Order he belonged to.

Idris smiled, nestling the breastplate against his wide chest, his deft fingers making quick work of the buckles. The tooling around the plates’s edges was surprisingly delicate, a silvery floral pattern etched into the black metal; it was unlike any other knight’s uniform I’d seen.

With the ornate piece of armor in place, he returned to me, looking even bigger and more formidable. “Besides,” he continued. “I have reports to deliver. I’m heading there anyway.”

Monster reports? I thought grimly. Did the Lord of Fenrir already know about them? Idris certainly did, but was that what his Oath’s duty pertained to? Questions piled like logs damming a river, rendering me silent.

“There’s something you need to know before we depart.” Idris fastened his silver vambraces onto his wrists, then pointed at the clearing. “What you saw last night—”

My heart leapt into my throat. “The monster—”

“ Bear ,” he amended. “Rabid bear.”

I shook my head. “I know what I saw, Idris, and that was no—”

“What you saw,” he enunciated slowly, forcefully, “was a rabid bear. Nothing more.”

I pursed my lips, considering the implications of what he was saying. In all my life, I’d never heard even a rumor about something resembling what I’d seen last night. It seemed Idris wanted to keep it that way, but why ? Shouldn’t people know about such horrors? Perhaps that’s why Idris was going to the capital. To allow Lord Haron to decide what to do.

Idris took another step toward me, entering my personal space, and it took effort not to flinch at the pent-up energy radiating off him. Not threatening…but definitely not comforting. “Do you understand?” Idris asked.

I bit my lip, nodded. This close, I had to tip my chin up to meet his blue-green gaze.

Then my mind was racing, taking me back through the events of last night and the nights previous, the familiar whine of the “rabid bear” and the similar sound I’d heard the same evening Idris arrived at the Possum.

“Is Waldron safe?” I asked. “From…bears? I thought I heard one—”

“Let’s just say I’m not the only bear hunter in these parts,” Idris said. “Now, do you know how to ride a horse?”

“Of course, I do.”

“Good,” he said, turning away again.

I did not wish to travel with him, but he had a point: his company seemed preferable to being detained and imprisoned in another wretched caravan. At least I could keep an eye on my killer; perhaps even endear him to me and change my Fate, after all.

Reins still in hand, I held our horse steady as Idris fitted already-packed saddle bags, a roll of pilfered blankets, and both our rucksacks into place behind the saddle. In addition to burning the wagons and hauling the iron into the cover of the woods, he must’ve looted the camp while I slept, too. It was smart of him. Practiced, even.

Fates above , it was alarming how hard I’d slept to miss all that.

When he finished his preparations, he took a knee in front of me. It seemed for a moment like he was proposing, or perhaps offering some sort of fealty. I wasn’t sure. With his head level at my sternum, he looked up at me through dark eyelashes, those riverlike irises catching the morning light. My gaze sank from his, catching on his full mouth, only to land on the thin black tattoo that ringed the base of his neck.

“Well?” Idris rasped.

I blinked, cheeks heating as I noticed he’d laced his fingers into a makeshift sling.

To give me a leg up.

Onto the horse.

“I’m assuming you need help up, what with all the…” He gestured at my skirts, which were indeed cumbersome. The draft was also quite tall, the horse’s shoulder higher than the crown of my head. It was kind of Idris to help me up in this manner—to let me step on his hands, instead of hoisting me by the waist or bum.

“We’re leaving now ?” I asked, suddenly feeling quite physically and emotionally unprepared. “Can I—can I go off into the woods, first?”

Idris unlaced his fingers. “To run off?”

“No?” I said, drawing out the vowel in the hopes he’d get it.

He did not. “Why, then?”

“To”—my voice dropped to a whisper, as if that might make this less awkward—“do my business?”

“Oh.” With slow effort, he rose to his full height again, towering over me. “Of course. Feel free.”

I handed him the reins and scurried off into the woods to quickly relieve my bladder. Shrouded in the cover of the trees, I wondered if I ought to run off, after all—but aside from the fact that Idris would no-doubt hunt me down, I felt strangely fine in his presence. I didn’t trust him, but didn’t feel a warning twist in my gut, as I did around threatening customers at the Possum or when I had boarded the prisoner caravan and saw Beady Eyes.

That had to count for something.

When I was done with my business, I took a moment to wipe my teeth against my sleeve and re-braid my hair into one thick plait so the loose strands no longer tickled my neck. My dress was filthy with mud, grass stains, and red spots of blood that I didn’t wish to ponder—but at least I hadn’t gotten any of the beast’s black sludge on it.

When I returned, Idris had donned his cloak and was loitering by the horse, his cheeks tinged the faintest mauve. “Apologies,” he said when I neared. “I’m not accustomed to traveling with…”

“Women?” I supplied, as if my femininity were to blame for my basic needs.

“Anyone,” Idris amended good-naturedly. “Now, a leg up?”

I nodded, gathering my skirts into a wad by my knees. Idris bent down again, and I stepped unsteadily into his palms with my left foot. He lifted me with surprising ease, and I gripped his shoulder—firm and warm, even beneath his cloak—with my non-skirt-holding hand, swinging my right leg up and over the horse’s back.

I adjusted my seat, arranging my skirts into a bundle by the pommel. I probably ought to have changed into something less cumbersome, but the layers of my dress were warm and comforting.

Idris looped the reins over our mount’s head and handed them to me. Then he stuck his foot into the stirrup.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

Idris paused. “Getting on?”

“We’re riding…together?” When earlier he spoke about traveling together, I hadn’t really considered what that meant.

“It’s nearly a three-week journey to Fenrir City,” Idris said, “do you really want to delay by having one of us walk?”

Before I could protest further, he swung easily up behind me. The horse shifted under the added weight, and I tugged the reins, keeping our mount still. Idris had found quite a large saddle, but it was still a tight fit with the two of us; the front of him pressed firmly against the back of me, seat to spine. I was glad his breastplate kept me from feeling the shape of his chest and torso underneath.

“You’re not going to strangle me from behind, are you?” I asked, shifting awkwardly in the saddle, trying to alleviate a pinching sensation in my thigh.

“We’ll find out, won’t we?” The rumble of his voice was devastatingly close to my ear.

I tried not to shudder. “Very funny.”

“I thought so.”

“Don’t Oaths prevent knights from lying?” I asked.

“I can’t lie to my Lord,” Idris drawled, “but I can lie to you all I want.” Though he sounded positively devilish, his heart thudded quicker now that we were in such close proximity. I couldn’t begin to guess why.

“That’s not very reassuring,” I said.

“Let’s get one thing straight.” His tone remained low, gusting over the shell of my ear, distracting my magic from the sound of his pulse. “My duty isn’t to reassure you, or kill you, or befriend you. My duty is to escort you safely to Fenrir for trial. Got it?”

I jerked my chin in a quick nod.

When he spoke again, the intensity in his tone had dissipated, and he was back to his unique brand of congeniality—assured but unassuming. “Ready?”

“Yes,” I choked out. “Do you want the reins?”

“I’ll kick, you steer,” he said, knocking his heels gently against the horse’s sides.

I reined us toward the northeast, where the High Road snaked just beyond this secluded clearing. The draft horse’s gait was long and languid, rocking us against one another. I could feel Idris’s breath breezing against the back of my neck, warm enough to give me chills.

“What should we call the horse?” I asked, trying to distract myself from my own nerves and the sensation of the man behind me.

Idris seemed to consider my question seriously. “I’m not sure—but he does deserve a name, doesn’t he?”

I stared down at the horse’s wheat-colored neck and flaxen mane. A few light brown briars were tangled in the creamy strands, and I reached forward to pick them out. “How about Briar?”

“Briar,” Idris repeated good-naturedly. “I like it.”

And with that, our quest began.