Nightblade: A Book of Underrealm (The Nightblade Epic 1) (7 page)

“I do not, my lady. He seemed eager to part ways, and I have no reason to think that may have changed in the day since.”

“And did
he
give you that kiss upon your face?”
 

Loren shook her head quickly. “No. In fact, he rescued me from . . . ” She nearly said
my father,
but something held her tongue. Damaris did not need to know, and doubtless did not want to.
 

Instead she said, “I was trapped. Xain provided my means of escape. I know not why he left but bear him no ill will.”

Damaris nodded. “Very well. If Cabrus be your destination, our paths lie upon the same road. You will travel with us, at least for now.”

Loren swayed on her feet. “I would not be a burden upon you, my lady.”

“No. You would not.” Damaris turned with a whirl of her dress and left, Gregor close on her heels.

The daughter remained. Her eyes gazed wide and white, striking Loren again with their intensity. Dark brown irises made the whites seem to scream.

With her mother out of earshot, the girl stepped forward. “I am Annis,” she said.

Loren bowed. “I am Loren, of the family Nelda. Well met.”

“I know who you are,” said the girl, giggling. “You told mother.”

“Still, manners are never out of place.”

Annis’s smile dampened as they roved Loren’s face. “I don’t think the one who gave you that eye had very good manners.”

Loren’s hand rose to her left eye, brushing gingerly against the dark bruise. “No, he did not.”

“Are you a great fighter? Have you killed many men?”

“With this?” Loren laughed and pointed at the bow. “This is no bow for fighting, nothing worthy of a great name. Squirrelbane, you might call it.”
 

Loren felt keenly aware of the dagger on her belt and drew her cloak closer. She did not think anyone had seen it, and it might be best to keep it that way.

Annis giggled again, oblivious. “You’re funny. Come. You may ride with me in my carriage.”

Loren followed the girl toward the caravan’s head. Nearing the front wagon, she felt a keen gaze upon her. Glancing up, Loren saw Gregor’s dark and solemn eyes fixed upon her. She met his look, but he did not turn away.

nine

The caravan rang with the shouts of men preparing to leave. Annis had a carriage near the front. Loren balked at the sight, all stained mahogany and well crafted.
 

“I do not wish to impose on your mother’s hospitality. Surely, she would rather ride with you alone.”

Annis only laughed and showed Loren inside, where she found the carriage empty.

“I have my own carriage. I do not ride in Mother’s unless I want to. But it’s terribly boring. Mother and Gregor speak only of the road south, while Mother and Gretchen talk of nothing but the books and how much profit they’ve made upon the road.”

“Have you traveled far upon it?”
 

Annis shrugged. “This is my first journey. I do not know how far is far, you might say. Only this summer has Mother consented to my presence on the caravan. I have lived upon the High King’s Seat all my life.”

“The High King’s Seat?” Loren couldn’t stifle her surprise. “I have heard it is a place of wonder. Are the streets laid with marble?”

“Goodness no,” said Annis with a titter. “Only cobblestones, like any city.” Then her mouth twisted in doubt. “Well, like I imagine any city would be. We have only passed two upon the road, and one reeked of plague. Mother did not let me open my window, much less leave the carriage.”

Loren shuddered. She had never known plague, but some of the village elders had told tales. A great plague had swept across Selvan in her grandparents’ youth, and the Birchwood had not gone unscathed.

“But I speak too much of myself,” said Annis. “Mother and my tutors say that is always my way. Tell me of yourself. What do you seek in Cabrus?”

“I come from the Birchwood,” Loren said, her guard rising. “It is a great forest, the greatest in Selvan.”

“Odd,” said Annis, turning to look out the window. “I have not heard of it.”
 

“You have seen it,” said Loren, “if you rode along the Melnar or the King’s road. It runs north from the High King’s Seat until the road crosses the river.”

“Oh, I think I remember.” Annis nodded, her eyes still out the window.

“You could not have helped it,” said Loren, feeling her hackles rise.

“And how did you come by that?” Again, Annis pointed to Loren’s black eye.

The girl’s manner seemed overly frank, her questions brief and to the bone. Rather than answer, Loren said, “How old are you?”

“I have seen twelve years.”

Loren smirked. “Ah. Still a child, then.”

It worked. Annis straightened on her bench, her brows drawing together and her lips pinching in an angry scowl. “I am not a child! I am nearly full grown, for our women do not grow tall. And I am half again as clever as any of my tutor’s other pupils. He has told me.”

Loren leaned against her cushions and raised her hands, smiling easily. “I meant no offense.”

Annis’s face relaxed. Feeling more at ease, Loren decided she might as well answer the child’s question. What could it matter? Father lay in their house, now far away, no doubt nursing the wound in his thigh.
 

“As for my eye, my father gave it to me,” said Loren. Annis’s mouth opened into a small
o.
“He did not take kindly to my desire to leave home. He pursued me into the forest and offered this gift when he found me. And more.”

Loren twisted in her seat and lifted the edge of her tunic to show the girl her ribs. Black bruises stood bold against her pale white skin. Other, older bruises shone yellow, older gifts from her father’s meaty fists. Loren raised her shirt higher, until Annis could see the bruises that painted her chest and back.

Annis squeaked and leapt across the carriage to yank Loren’s tunic down. She released the garment like a snake and withdrew, sinking into purple cushions.

“What is wrong? I did not mean to frighten you.”

“Frighten me?” squeaked Annis. “I . . . why not just strip naked?”

Loren blinked.

“What, do all the peasants of your village simply walk nude beneath the sun? Are you savages?”

A scowl twisted Loren’s features. “I can say at least that we are not partial to insults. What is the matter? We are women both.”

Annis stuck her nose in the air. “In civilized circles, we do not go around parading our bodies. It is unseemly.”

Loren snorted. “Very well. I shall not trouble you with my savage customs and peasant’s body.”

She pushed away from the bench and opened the carriage door, striding out onto the grass. After a moment, the carriage door slammed shut again.

Loren walked through the day’s remainder. The caravan moved without hurry, horses plodding along at an easy pace. Soon, she forgot her annoyance with Annis and enjoyed the sights of the strange land around her. The ridge she had crossed soon turned into a low mountain range that ran south, following the road’s course—or, Loren supposed, the road chased the mountains.

Every so often, Loren looked back toward the caravan to see Gregor studying her from under his gleaming helm. Soon, she had to make up her mind to ignore him. How could she blame the man for being suspicious of a mysterious girl pursued by constables?

Eventually, the sun kissed the mountain tops, and the wagons pulled to a stop. Unlike at the midday meal, this time they pulled into a tight circle by the side of the road. Guards dismounted and erected a large, purple tent amid the wagons. Loren did not need to guess who would sleep there.

She decided to head for the trees while some light remained. Damaris had offered food, but Loren did not want to endanger her hospitality by burdening supplies. And if Annis spoke to her mother, they might want Loren to leave. Before she could set off for the woods, she heard footsteps behind her.
 

Loren turned to find Annis, hands clasped at her back and eyes on the ground, looking for all the world like a village child waiting to be chastised. Loren almost smirked.

“I am sorry I insulted you. I didn’t mean it. Only . . . we are not so free with ourselves as you.”

“No apology is necessary,” Loren said, feeling gracious as she bowed. “I should not have presumed to be so forward.”

Annis looked up at last. “You are not angry with me, then?”

Loren sighed inwardly. She could not help the thought that Annis would anger her again before the road ended. But she smiled. “Of course not. I make for the woods to catch myself dinner. When I return, would you sup with me?”

Annis’s eyes widened, as they had when Loren first saw her. “Of course! I would be delighted!”

Loren left her with a smile and made for the woods. She soon saw a squirrel and a rabbit, but her shots went wide and she lost an arrow. Then she spotted a quail as the day’s final light died in the sky. Her arrow flew true. She gathered the bird and brought it to camp.

Loren built a small fire and plucked her bird by its light. But before she could prepare her quail for the fire, she felt a presence in the darkness. She looked up and squinted. Damaris’s dark face appeared, eyes glinting in the flickering flames.

“Did you find our provisions unsatisfactory? I could have had one of my men fetch a bird, if you wished.”

Loren laid the quail down and stood quickly to bow. “No, of course not, my lady. I did not want to impose upon your generosity any more than I already had. Free passage south is a great gift. I would not ask you to feed me as well.”

“Yet you do not even take our passage. For you spent much of the day on your feet.”

Loren blushed, feeling somehow off balance. Had she delivered some insult? These people had strange customs, and she seemed to break them at every turn. “I have never been in a carriage, and I found the motion disorienting.” Loren did not think it would help to say that Annis had called her a savage.

“I shall tell the driver to be more gentle, then.” Damaris’s voice betrayed no emotion, yet Loren felt as if she had angered the merchant.
 

“I will happily ride tomorrow, my lady.” Loren bowed low. “And I apologize if I offered any insult.”

“Oh, do not trouble yourself. Now, Annis has taken it into her head to sup with you. I told her that you likely wished to be left alone.”

Annis appeared behind her mother’s legs, like a goblin leaping from the dark. “She does not, mother! She
asked
me!”

“She would be most welcome,” said Loren quickly. “I did offer. But I would never think to pull her from your company.”

“Oh, I think it is good for her to spend time with others. Indeed, I often have trouble prying her from my side.” Her stern look seemed to melt away, and a warm smile spread across her features. Loren felt more unsettled than reassured.
 

Annis squealed and leapt forward, sitting on the ground beside the fire without a second thought for her fine purple dress. Damaris vanished into the darkness.

“What did you catch?” said Annis, leaning forward.

“It is a quail. It will be ready soon.” She picked up the bird and resumed her plucking.

“Are you a good hunter?”
 

“I can feed myself. But I learned from a boy in my village whose skill dwarfed my own. He can bring a stag down at full sprint. He . . . ”
 

With memories of Chet came a lance of pain. Loren stopped talking and bowed her head over the quail, pretending to work.

Annis did not notice.
 

“Tell me about your forest. Did you like it there? I have only ever seen the Seat. This is my first time in the wilderness.”

Loren would hardly have called the tame land a “wilderness” but thought better than to say so.
 

“The forest was a good home to me. But the people within it were less kind. My parents notably so.”

Annis’s face fell. “Were they very cruel? They seem like the wicked stepparents you hear tell of in stories.”

Loren snorted. “In stories, the parents lock the daughter in a high tower to keep her from true love. They do not beat the daughter for failing to chop enough logs. Or whip the daughter for mussing her dress.”

Loren’s fingers had grown tight around her hunting knife. She forced them to loosen.

“How could you stand it? I would have gone mad.”

Loren smiled. She looked into the darkness to either side of her as though searching for an eavesdropper.
 

“I might have done. Did you ever think of that, my little lady?”
 

Loren flipped her knife over the back of her palm, and drops of blood spattered the dirt.

Annis squealed. “How did you learn to do that? I wish I could flip a knife!”

Loren chuckled and turned back to the quail. She carved off long strips of its flesh and propped them up to cook over the fire. “That little trick, and a fair few stories, I learned from an old man named Bracken.”