The third day of the journey began well before sunrise. Kelsea rose when she heard the clink of arms in the darkness outside her tent and began to dress, determined to break down the tent herself before one of the guards tried to do it for her. She was about to light the lamp when she realized that she could already see. Everything in the tent was lit with a thin, sickly glow, and she easily spotted her shirt in the corner. But her shirt looked blue.
She looked around cautiously, seeking the source of the light. It took two complete turns before she realized that she was casting no shadow on the tent walls, that the light was coming from her. The sapphire around her neck was glowing, giving off its own light, not the cobalt glitter that it always reflected in firelight but a deep aquamarine blaze that seemed to come from within the jewel itself. She clutched the pendant in her palm and made a second discovery: the thing was giving off actual heat. It was at least twenty degrees hotter than her body temperature.
Uncovering the stone, she watched the blue light dance across the canvas interior of the tent. The sapphire had lain around her neck all of her life, and other than its annoying habit of popping free of her clothing, it had never done anything remarkable. But now it was radiant in the darkness.
Magic, Kelsea thought wonderingly, staring at the cerulean light. Like something out of one of Carlin’s books.
Reaching down, she grabbed her cloak and dug into the pocket for the other necklace. She pulled it out eagerly, then sank back in disappointment. The companion jewel looked exactly the same, a large blue sapphire in the palm of her hand. It gave off no light.
“Galen! Help me saddle!”
The voice outside, a gruff rumble that Kelsea already recognized as Mace’s, brought her back to herself. There was no time to marvel at the light; rather, she needed to conceal it. She dug in her bags for her thickest, darkest shirt, burgundy wool, put it on and tucked the necklace beneath, then pinned her hair into a tight bun and covered it with a thick knitted hat. The jewel lay like a tiny warm coal between her breasts, radiating a pleasant heat that cut into the bitter cold of early morning. Still, it wouldn’t keep her warm all day; she donned an extra layer of clothing and her gloves before venturing outside.
The eastern sky showed only a thin line of cornflower against the shadow of the hills. As Kelsea approached, Galen broke from the group packing the horses and brought her several pieces of half-cooked bacon, which she wolfed hungrily. She broke her tent down alone, pleased that no one came to help. Carroll gave her a nod of greeting on his way to the small copse that held the horses, but his face was still shadowed, and he looked as though he hadn’t slept at all.
Kelsea packed the tent onto Pen’s horse before turning to her own saddlebags. Even May the mare seemed to have softened toward her overnight; Kelsea held out a carrot from a pile that Mace produced, and May seemed content to eat from her hand.
“Hawk, sir! Two of them on the eastern horizon!”
Kelsea scanned the lightening sky but saw nothing. The stillness was unnerving. She had grown up in a forest filled with hawks, and their high, savage cries had always chilled her blood. But this silence was worse.
Carroll had been tightening saddlebags onto his horse. Now he stopped and stared at the sky overhead, mulling something over. After a moment he called, “All of you! Over here now! Pen, finish getting that fire out!”
The men gathered around, most of them carrying supplies. Pen came last, his face smudged with ash. They began to distribute the supplies among the various saddlebags, but Carroll barked, “Leave them!”
He rubbed his bleary eyes. “We’re being hunted, lads. And my heart tells me they’re drawing close.”
Several of the guards nodded.
“Pen, you’re the smallest. Give the Queen your cloak and armor.”
Pen’s face tightened, but he nodded, unclasped his cloak, and began to shed his armor. Kelsea reached into her pocket and grabbed the second necklace, burying it in her fist, before drawing off her own cloak. They began to buckle Pen’s armor onto her body, one piece at a time. The iron was incredibly heavy; several times Kelsea had to stifle a grunt as each new piece settled upon her frame.
“We’ll split up,” Carroll announced. “They won’t be a large company, and we have to hope they can’t track us all in force. Go in any direction you please, so long as you don’t go together. We regroup on the Keep Lawn.”
He turned to Pen. “Pen, you’ll trade horses with the Queen as well. If we’re fortunate, they’ll put all their energy into tracking the mare.”
Kelsea swayed slightly as Mhurn settled a breastplate against her shoulders. It was flat, made for a man, and her breasts throbbed painfully as he began to buckle it in the back.
“Who goes with the Queen?” asked Dyer, looking as though he prayed it was anyone else.
“Lazarus does.”
Kelsea looked up at Mace, who stood behind Carroll at the edge of the group. His expression was as disinterested as ever; Carroll might as well have instructed him to guard a particularly important tree. Some of Kelsea’s doubt must have shown in her face, for Mace raised his eyebrows, clearly daring her to argue.
She didn’t.
Carroll smiled bravely at the group of men, but his face was haunted; Kelsea felt death on him, could almost see it as a black shadow that waited over his shoulder. “This errand is our last together, but the most important. The Queen must reach the Keep, even if we fall seeing it done.”
He made a sign of dismissal, and the men turned to leave. Kelsea summoned as much force as she could. “Hold!”
“Lady?” Carroll turned back, and the rest stopped on their way to their horses. Kelsea looked around at them all, their faces hard and resolved in the ashlight of morning, some of them hating her, she knew, deep down where their honor wouldn’t allow them to admit it.
“I know that none of you chose this errand, but I thank you for it. I would welcome any of you in my guard, but either way, your families will be taken care of. I swear . . . for what it’s worth.”
She turned back to Carroll, who was watching her with an expression she couldn’t read. “We can go now, Captain.”
“Lady.” He nodded, and the men began to mount their horses. “Lazarus, a word!”
Mace stomped up to the two of them. “You’ll not take my horse, Captain.”
“I wouldn’t dare.” A small smile creased Carroll’s face. “Stay with the Queen, Lazarus, but distant enough that you’ll not be tracked as a pair. I would make for the Caddell and then follow it to the city. The tide will cover your tracks.”
Mace nodded, but Kelsea had an odd flash of intuition: he’d already evaluated and rejected Carroll’s advice in a heartbeat, choosing his own direction instead.
“You’ve no time for stories, Lady, but our Lazarus is a renowned escape artist. If we’re lucky, he may perform his greatest trick.”
Kelsea’s armory was complete. Pen shrugged her green cloak over his shoulders, where it sat tightly. “Godspeed, Lady,” he murmured, then was gone.
“Captain.” Kelsea thought of Carlin and Barty standing in the doorway of the cottage, their dreadful false optimism. “I’ll see you shortly in front of my throne.”
“No, Lady, you won’t. I’ve seen my own death on this journey. Enough for me that you sit there.” Carroll mounted his horse, his face drawn with a terrible and hopeless purpose. Mace reached up a hand, and he grasped it. “See her safe, Lazarus.”
He spurred his horse into a trot and vanished into the forest.
Kelsea and Mace were left standing alone. Their horses’ breath steamed the air, and Kelsea realized anew how cold it was. She picked up Pen’s grey cloak, found a pocket inside the breast, and shoved the second necklace deep inside before putting the cloak on. The camp around them seemed very empty, nothing but a pile of dead leaves, the wisps of smoke from the fire, and the skeletal branches of trees above their heads.
“Where do I go?” she asked.
“Through that treebreak to your left.” Mace helped her mount Pen’s horse, a deep brown stallion a good hand taller than her mare. Even with Mace’s help, Kelsea groaned at the effort to haul both her body and Pen’s armor into the saddle. “You’ll ride north for only a few hundred feet, Lady, and then circle back east until you ride due south. You won’t see me, but I’ll be near at hand.”
Feeling the great size of the horse beneath her, Kelsea admitted, “I don’t ride very well, Lazarus. And I’ve never really ridden fast at all.”
“I’ve noticed, Lady. But Rake is one of our gentlest stallions. Ride him with a slack rein and he won’t attempt to throw you, though you’re unfamiliar to him.” Mace’s head whipped up sharply, his gaze fixed above Kelsea. “Go now, Lady. They’re coming.”
Kelsea hesitated.
“Christ!” Mace slapped the horse’s rump and Rake leaped forward, the reins nearly jerked from Kelsea’s hands. Behind her, she heard him call out, “Dolls and dresses, Lady! You’ll need to be tougher than this!”
Then she was off into the woods.