Year of the Reaper

She said something he did not hear, probably for the best.

Neither spoke as he untethered the mare and climbed on. A glance in Lena’s direction painted a forlorn picture. Saddlebag hanging from one hand, cap in the other, head bowed. Bits of grass stuck out from her braid. Much as he wished to, he could not leave her here. He had meant what he said about the lynx. There could be more about.

He leaned down and held out a hand. His words were brusque. “Are you coming or not?”

Her head came up. Hope lit her eyes. “You’ll take me with you?”

“I just said I would, didn’t I?”

“No,” she said slowly. “Not precisely . . .”

Cas looked at her, a hairsbreadth from changing his mind. She must have seen this. Hastily, she put her cap on, then took his hand. He hauled her before him so that her back rested against his chest and her cap fit snugly beneath his chin. He wondered at his decision to help her, to have her share his horse, for one thing he had come to understand about himself was this: He no longer cared to be touched. Not in anger, not with affection. Not in any way. Even now he could feel the cuffs at his wrists and ankles, chafing, his skin rubbed bloody. Too many bodies in too small a place, making it hard to breathe.

Breathe.

Cas released a long, pent-up breath. Silently, he took her bag and tied it with his own. She did not flinch from the arm he anchored around her waist, but twisted around to look up at him with a smile. “Thank you! This is very kind of you. I don’t know your name.”

He stared straight over her head. “Cas.”

“Caz,” she pronounced. “For Caspian?”

“No.”

“Caspar?”

“No.”

Exasperation tinged her voice. “Well, then, what—?”

“Your clothing is too big for you.” He took in the folded-over sleeves of her blue tunic and her gray leggings, so loose he knew no self-respecting tailor would have approved their use. “You’re as much a royal messenger as I am. Whose livery are you wearing? It’s borrowed too, I suppose.”

“I—” Her mouth clamped shut. Her glare held an understanding. He would ask no questions if she would do the same. She faced forward and said no more.

Satisfied, Cas set off on the road to Palmerin. Where he would learn if his brother remained with the living. Or wandered among the dead.





3




It turned out his horse thief was as fine a traveling companion as he could have asked for; she slept the entire way. If Cas drew a long, shaky breath at his first sight of the keep, if he scrubbed stinging eyes with a fist, she had not been awake to see it or hear it. Small mercies. Slowing the horse to a walk, he savored the sight before him.

The mountain fortress of Palmerin had been built in a valley surrounded by steep, snow-capped ranges. Rose-colored walls protected its inhabitants, the original deep red faded over the centuries. It was the safest city in Oliveras in large part because it was so remote. Narrow passes, inhospitable winters. If that wasn’t daunting enough, it was the ancestral home of the celebrated military commander Lord Ventillas. Most gave Palmerin a wide berth, seeking out easier prey.

To enter Palmerin, one first had to pass through the gates and pay a toll. Cas waited at the end of a queue a hundred long. The closer to the city, the more crowded the roads had become, with others flocking in from outlying farms and villages. Men on horseback, families in carts, women with lace headdresses and enormous straw hats, their skirts full and brightly colored. The boy in front of them, six or seven, drove a wagon filled with baby ibex. On his way to the main square, Cas guessed. Today was market day.

It was midafternoon, the sky clear, the air crisp. A beautiful day. But something was not right. The soldiers guarding the gates wore the king’s blue, just as Lena did. Where were the soldiers in red? His family’s men?

Cas did not bypass the line or skip the toll, though he could have. Palmerin Keep was his home. But today of all days, dread slowed his pace. Truth lay beyond those walls, and part of him did not want to know, with certainty, what had become of his brother. With doubt, at least, there was still hope.

“When were you last home?” Lena asked, making him jump. She glanced around long enough for him to see clear eyes and an alert expression.

“How long have you been awake?” he demanded. His face burned.

One shoulder lifted. “I wasn’t asleep. I was contemplating.” A pause. “You’ve been gone for some time, I think.”

They had an understanding. No questions. Even so, Cas found himself answering. “Three years.”

He felt her surprise. “Do you have family here? A grandmother?”

“My brother. I don’t know if he’s still here.”

“Oh.” Lena touched his hand, on the pommel, and Cas snatched it away in startled reflex. She went still. Her spine straightened so that her back no longer rested against him. Even worse, she raised her hands, palms outward. Just as he’d done earlier when trying to calm his frightened horse.

“I’ll go now,” she said quietly, and swung off the mare, dropping to the ground on light feet. She tried to undo the knot on her saddlebag, fumbling it.

Cas dismounted. She had meant only to comfort him. His reaction was not normal. He was not normal. Words gruff, he said, “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

Her head came up. “You startled me. It’s not the same.”

“Let me.” Untying her bag gave him reason to turn away. Hand her the bag. Send her on her way. But he wondered at her traveling alone. Wondered how she had lost her horse and had come to be in possession of a royal messenger’s uniform. What was so urgent here in Palmerin that she would accept a ride with a complete stranger? He could have been anyone. He was anyone.

Cas held out the bag. “Are you in some sort of trouble?”

A small laugh. She took the bag he offered. “Oh yes. But I’m in no danger.”

He reached into his own saddlebag and pulled out the gold coin she had left behind when she had stolen his horse. When he offered it to her, she refused.

“It’s yours,” she said.

“Keep it. For when you need to borrow another horse. Lawfully, next time.”

A smile at this, rueful. The coin disappeared into her pouch. She cast a glance to the guards by the gates. “I have to go.”

Cas nodded, saying nothing.

Lena slung the bag over a shoulder. “Farewell, Cas, only Cas, with no other name. I hope you find your brother.”

previous 1.. 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 ..69 next

Makiia Lucier's books