The Sweetest Spell (18 page)

At any moment, I expected Peddler to rush into the cave, grab me, and wrap another chain around my waist. The urge to flee was overwhelming. But in our village, even murderers and thieves were granted the right of burial. And if anyone found this cave, they’d take all of Lara’s treasures—the only things she had.

I didn’t move her, fearful of the disease. I covered her face with a new scarf, then set all her treasures around her—save for a few things I needed from the burlap bag. The nightfrock I’d worn since being kidnapped was torn and ragged. The white dress fit well, as did the soft boots. I used the handkerchiefs to cradle my curled foot. Lastly came the bonnet, which was loose enough to hide all my hair.

I piled beach rocks around and over Lara’s body and her treasures. The grave would do for a while. Hopefully Peddler would return and bury her with a proper gravestone. I’d done my best.

I decided not to take the steep path. Knowing my luck I’d walk right into Peddler’s gnarled hands. So I said a final good-bye to Lara—a daughter like me, who only wanted to help her father. I would hold no grudge against her for her part in my captivity. I hoped the Thief of Sleep had found her and was escorting her to the hereafter, where her body would heal. With the cliff on my left, the sea to my right, I headed down the beach.

I soon passed two more signs painted with the same word, each guarded by a human skull.
Leper
. I didn’t expect to find a village or
even a house nearby. Peddler would have chosen this place for its seclusion.

While I wanted desperately to return to Wander and make chocolate for the Oaks, I knew the only way to free my father and my people was to find someone powerful, someone who could talk to the king on my behalf. My plan was this—to get myself to the Baroness of Salt. I possessed what she wanted, so therefore I’d be able to negotiate for what I wanted. I would make chocolate for her if she bought my father’s freedom, my people’s freedom—and if she found Peddler. All those days and nights imagining him swinging at the end of a noose for what he’d done to Owen, for what he’d done to me, and it turned out he’d only been trying to make his daughter’s life better.

But he’d killed Owen, and for that, he’d earned my eternal hatred.

As I walked into the late afternoon, I came to a place where the cliffs gradually dipped down to meet the beach, stretching into a field of tall grasses. My stomach clenched with hunger and my right leg throbbed, but I didn’t stop to rest. Freedom was a powerful force, as if hands were pushing me from behind. A ship sailed in the distance, its three sails looking like clouds that had been captured and tied to posts. When the ship turned toward the shore, I smiled hopefully. Maybe there was a town nearby.

I froze at the sound of shouts in the distance. A man with a knit cap pulled over his ears was running through the field, followed by two more men—soldiers. I dropped to my stomach, peering over a tuft of grass. They looked exactly like the soldiers who had come
to the Flatlands, with their white swan crests and yellow tunics. “Stop in the name of King Elmer,” the lead soldier cried.

I felt sorry for the man they were chasing. The poor guy looked terrified, his legs pumping wildly as he tried to outrun them. But they were gaining fast. I pressed close to the ground, my heart pounding. The last thing I needed was to be caught by soldiers. I’d stay right there, wouldn’t move an inch until they’d passed by.

But suddenly the man turned toward me.
Go the other way!
I wanted to scream. His face clenched, his arms swinging, he stumbled. The lead soldier reached out and grabbed the man by his hat, pulling it off just before the man ducked out of reach. A mass of red hair tumbled free, falling to the man’s shoulders.

My heart nearly stopped beating. As the soldier unsheathed his sword, the red-haired man stumbled again. He was going to die. The soldier clutched the sword in both hands, raised it above his head. I cupped my hands around my mouth. “Griffin! Watch out!”

Griffin Boar darted just as the blade swooshed through the air, missing his shoulder by mere inches. Then he spun around, kicked out his leg, and tripped the soldier. The sword flew from the soldier’s hands. Griffin grabbed it and, with a swift motion, plunged the sword into the soldier’s chest. I grimaced as Griffin pulled the sword free, its blade glistening with blood. The soldier lay motionless.

The other soldier, slower and fatter than his dead friend, stopped in his tracks. He held his sword but did not approach. His gaze darted fearfully from Griffin to the blood-streaked sword. Then, with a whimper, he turned and ran in the opposite direction. I sighed with relief. It was over. But Griffin, who’d seemed so
desperate to escape these men, followed, and when he caught up to the second soldier, he took him down with a slice to the man’s neck.

I nearly vomited, closing my eyes against the horror of the spraying blood.

“Emmeline?” I looked up from my hiding place in the grass. Griffin Boar stood over me, breathing like a man who’d outrun death. “What are you doing here?”

For the second time that day, I found myself making a grave—this time for two bodies.

We dragged the bodies into the woods beyond the field. Before digging the shallow pit with pieces of driftwood, Griffin stripped the soldiers down to their undergarments. Then he hurriedly removed his own clothes—the same ones he’d worn at the husband market. They were supposed to have been his wedding day clothes. Now they were torn and stained with filth. That day at the market felt like a lifetime ago.

I had a million questions for him. “Griffin—”

“Not now. There’s no time.”

Kneeling next to me, he smelled like sweat, the sour kind that comes from fear. Rummaging through the pile of soldiers’ belongings, he picked out usable pieces. One of the soldiers was tall like Griffin, so he pulled on that soldier’s pants. They were made of some sort of animal hide that had been pounded soft and thin. Both
of the soldiers’ jackets were stained with blood so Griffin threw them into the grave, keeping one of the scabbards and one of the swords. The second soldier’s tunic was still mostly clean so Griffin put it on. After searching through all pockets and finding a single coin and a purse, which he hung around his neck, he dumped the rest of their belongings into the grave.

The soldiers had been young men. I tried not to think of their families, tried not to imagine their mothers or sisters as we rolled them, side by side, into their final resting place. We didn’t speak, the horror of the moment slithering around us. I looked away as dirt fell onto their faces, into their open mouths. Did they have wives? Children? Girls who were waiting?

“Griffin,” I tried again.

“Not now,” he said gruffly.

Once everything was covered with soil, he replanted the upturned ferns and tossed leaves and branches around to hide the grave.

We washed our hands at the beach. He crouched at the water’s edge and scrubbed the sword’s blade with sand until the blood disappeared.

“Griffin,” I said, drying my hands on my dress, once clean and white, now stained with forest dirt. “I won’t be quiet any longer. I want you to answer my questions and I want you to answer them now.” I could barely believe I was demanding something of Griffin Boar. But I wasn’t the same girl I’d been. I wouldn’t accept silence when there was so much at stake.

A chill spread through the air as the sun lowered on the horizon.
Griffin slid the sword into its scabbard. Standing with his hands on his hips, he’d transformed himself into a soldier of the realm. The only thing that would give him away was his Flatlander hair. He stared out over the water, ignoring me.

“How did you get here?” I asked, stepping in front of him. “You’re supposed to be fighting in the mineral fields.”

“I escaped,” he said, still looking past me like he always did. Then he strode back to the field and grabbed the knit hat that had been yanked from his head. He pulled it over his hair, tucking the ends beneath.

“You mean you
deserted
?” I asked, catching up to him.

“Something like that.”

“What about my father? Where is he?”

“He’s still there,” he grumbled.

“He’s alive?”

“He was when I left. Look, Emmeline, it’s not safe out here. I need to hide for a while. Where are you staying?”

“Nowhere,” I said. “I have nowhere to stay.”

His gaze drifted to the marks on my wrists. Though the wounds had healed since the days in Peddler’s wagon, two thick red scars remained. “Who did that to you?”

“A man,” I said. “A dangerous man.”

“Is he looking for you?” he asked, still staring at the scars.

“He will be,” I said. “When he finds out I’ve escaped.”

“Did you steal that dress and bonnet?”

“No. Not exactly.”

For the first time since our bloody reunion, Griffin looked me
in the eyes. His were green, like mine, and ringed with thick red lashes. I could practically hear his thoughts.
I should leave her here. She’s got someone after her
. I imagined myself curled up in the woods, sleeping beneath a shrub or hidden in the corner of someone’s barn. I wouldn’t get a wink of sleep, thinking each sound was Peddler coming to get me. I’d definitely feel safer with Griffin by my side.

“We’re both in trouble,” I said quietly. “You’re a deserter and I’m …” It wasn’t the right time to tell him about the chocolate. Besides, I didn’t trust him. Not in that way. We shared the same ancestors, the same homeland, traditions, and red hair, but nothing more. He’d always treated me like the unnatural, unwanted girl. What would keep him, once he learned the truth, from selling me to the highest bidder? “I left the Flatlands and you deserted the king’s army. We’ve both broken the law.”

He turned and started across the field.

“Where are you going?” I called.

“To find a place to spend the night.”

I did my best to keep up with his hurried steps. His stride was long and determined. “Griffin,” I called. “Tell me about—”

He whipped around and pointed a finger at me. “Don’t speak my name! Not out here. Not ever again.” Then his hand dropped to his side. For a moment, his face softened. “Look, Emmeline, we need to get someplace safe for the night. There’s a village nearby. This uniform should open some doors.”

He’d said “we.” He wasn’t going to leave me out there alone. It was perhaps one of the most surprising things that had happened. Griffin Boar was being nice to me. Maybe I shouldn’t have been
shocked. We’d become two totally different people. Griffin, who’d spent his life working the land, wielding nothing more dangerous than a rake and hoe, had killed two soldiers. And me, well, I’d caused a boy’s death—the boy I loved. We were forever changed.

Not far into our walk, the field ended at the edge of a bay where the ocean water left its powerful currents behind and turned gentle. The sailing ship I’d seen in the distance had tied up at one of the many docks that jutted from the shore. Smaller boats lined the other docks. Villagers hauled baskets and barrels, ropes and nets. “Come on,” Griffin said.

“My hair,” I asked, tightening my bonnet. “Is it hidden?”

He glanced at me. “Aye. Mine?”

“Aye,” I said.

“Say nothing,” he warned. “Just follow my lead.”

A pebbled road ran the length of the bay. Wooden buildings, two and three stories tall, lined one side, the docks lined the other. Griffin’s stride changed. He slowed down, puffed out his chest, held out his chin. I was happy for the slower pace, but watched nervously from the corner of my eye as we passed the first dock. Would he be able to fool everyone? What if we ran into other soldiers? Murdering two soldiers of the realm was treason and would be punished by death, but I’d helped hide the evidence so I was equally guilty. Maybe I shouldn’t have stayed with him. But since he was the only person who could tell me about my father, the risk was worth it.

My stomach growled as we walked past baskets of fish. The little silver ones, the kind Lara had cooked for me, lay alongside large orange ones with bulging eyes. There were other creatures
for sale, bigger versions of the sand crabs that had shared the beach with me and creatures with long necks that squirted water. Gulls flew over the docks, circling and swooping as they tried to steal a feast. Crusty fishermen gutted and cleaned their catch, while merchants in green coats argued prices. No one spoke to Griffin as he strode past, his hand on his sword’s hilt, but they cast ugly glares. Some whispered, their eyes narrowed as they stepped aside. Others simply chose to ignore him. Clearly there was no love for the king’s soldiers in this village. Perhaps they had come, just as they had in the Flatlands, to take away the unmarried men.

From beneath the rim of my bonnet, I kept a look out for Peddler. My heart fluttered at the sight of each green jacket. An old man sitting on a bench caught my eye. When he turned and faced me, I took a relieved breath.

I hobbled across the street, following Griffin. My curled foot had gone numb, as if it had died sometime during the day’s long walk. One of my WANTED posters hung from a lamppost. Griffin walked right past without so much as a glance at it. We stopped beneath a hanging sign that had no words, just a bed painted on it. “Remember, say nothing,” Griffin hissed. Then he wrapped his fingers around my arm and led me inside.

The place was dark, the scent of cooked meat heavy in the air. A man sat behind a counter eating some sort of stew. Voices, boisterous and slurred, tumbled from a room nearby.

“Who do I talk to about getting a room?” Griffin asked.

“I’m the innkeeper,” the man said, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. His face was pale, unlike the weathered, sunburned faces of
the fishermen outside. “Welcome to the Gull’s Breath Inn. Soldiers of the realm are always welcome here.” His nose, shaped like a malformed turnip, took up too much of his face. His thick yellow beard held bits of his meal. “This your first visit to Fishport?”

“I want a room,” Griffin said keeping a tight grip on my arm. Was he worried I was going to run off?