Page 17 of The Crownless Prince

They hurried toward a barn and stables standing in the field behind the inn. Beyond that rose the forest, but Marcus didn’t think he could make it that far, and Edwin’s course seemed to head directly for the barn.

“I don’t want to steal a horse.”

“Of course you don’t.” Edwin didn’t slow. “I’m hoping there’s a place to hide.”

Marcus squeezed his eyes shut, the cloudy sunlight too bright. His aching head felt weighed down by lead, and every step sent another jarring burst of agony through his skull. The pack on his back threatened to send him off-balance, and he leaned against Edwin’s shoulder to steady himself.

It was agony, but they made it into the barn. Bales of hay were stacked along one wall, a chicken coop filled the other, and two cows were tied along the third wall. Various crates and sacks were stacked around the remaining wall.

The clucking of the chickens pressed against Marcus, intensifying the throbbing in his head. They tucked themselves into a space between a pile of crates and the barn wall that was just wide enough for them to sit down.

After making a makeshift binding for Marcus’s wound using his scarf—which left Marcus’s left eye partly covered—Edwin guided his hand to press against his wound.

“Keep pressure on that. Don’t lie down. I’m going to peek out to see what’s happening. Don’t move from this spot.”

Before Marcus could answer, Edwin jogged away. A moment later, the barn door creaked, then latched shut again. Had he left the barn entirely? What was he up to?

The minutes dragged on, each one longer than the last. Marcus curled against the wall with his eyes closed, his head angled to keep pressure on the cut. What if Darius had hurt Edwin, or worse? What was taking him so long? He considered going to look for him, but when he moved, a wave of nausea hit him, and the pounding in his skull came roaring back.

After what seemed an eternity, Marcus could no longer wait. His nerves had frayed to the point of snapping. He couldn’t lose Edwin, too. Right as he pulled himself to his feet, the door squeaked open again. Marcus held his breath.

“It’s me,” Edwin called, his voice croaking concerningly, but at least he was alive.

Relief turned Marcus’s legs to jam, and he almost collapsed. But he straightened his spine and slipped out from behind the crates. “What happened? What took you so long?”

He swept his gaze over his friend, frowning. Blood stained Edwin’s clothes, but he didn’t see any wounds, and there was also fresh dirt and mud.

“You’re dead,” Edwin said. He cleared his throat. “I borrowed a horse to go to the woods beyond the field…where I buried you. If anyone digs it up, they’ll find a sack of dried beans stolen from the barn, so hopefully no one does. Then I returned to the inn, where thankfully Darius still was—”

“Thankfully?” Marcus’s throat went dry. “You idiot! What if he’d killed you?”

“I gambled that he wasn’t told to kill me, and it doesn’t seem he was. Besides, he was still arguing with the innkeeper to untie him. Seems the innkeeper was so incensed over the damage done to his floors, he’d gagged the assassin and was planning to send for a sheriff. The assassin worked off the gag, but the innkeeper wasn’t buying that he was sent by the new king.”

Marcus leaned against the stack of crates. “So…you told him he’d succeeded?”

“I acted like I wanted to attack Darius, then made a scene of cursing him and mourning you and drinking and talking about burying you in the forest.” He smiled, but red rimmed his puffy eyes. “I regretI had to lose more of our things to cover the drink, but I needed to look convincingly distraught. It wasn’t difficult, thinking about seeing you unmoving in a puddle of blood.”

It took a moment for Marcus to speak. He couldn’t imagine how he would have felt in Edwin’s place. “That was reckless.”

“Why do you think I didn’t tell you my plan?”

He shook his head, wincing at the pain that stabbed through his forehead. “Did it at least work?”

“I hope so.” Edwin shrugged. “Darius looked smug. There was so much blood on the floor, Marcus…it certainly looked like someone could have died. Darius paid for the damage and left. I checked the stables before coming back in, and one of the horses is gone. He seemed convinced, but we’ll need to keep you out of sight for a bit, just in case. Now. Let’s find some light and get a look at that cut.”

Thankfully, the bleeding had mostly stopped. The wound was far smaller than either of them had expected, and Edwin decided to forgo stitches. Instead, he snuck back into the kitchen, where he stole a bowl of water, some honey, a couple of bread rolls, and even found a bit of dried yarrow.

“We have to pay them,” Marcus protested. “I don’t want to harm my own—”

“It isn’t much. Two rolls, a pinch of yarrow, and a spoonful of honey won’t ruin them, and I’ll return the spoon and bowl. But I can’t tell them what I need, or they’ll be suspicious, so I had to grab everything while no one was looking. Besides, I overpaid for those bereavement drinks. All right?”

Begrudgingly, Marcus agreed. Edwin cut a strip of cloth off one of his undertunics, despite Marcus’s protests. Placing the dried yarrow on the cloth, he used the back of the spoon to grind the herb into a coarse powder. After he cleaned Marcus’s face, the cut began bleeding again, but considerably less than before. Edwin smeared the wound with the yarrow to slow the bleeding and then with honey to protect against infection, and finally wrapped Marcus’s head again with the cloth strip. This bandage was much neater and smaller, leaving his vision unimpeded.

They ate the rolls and then dozed off and on for the rest of the day, partly burrowed into the hay in the barn. Despite being itchy, it was fairly warm. Whenever anyone entered, they covered themselves with hay. When darkness fell, they brushed the hay off their clothing, tied their blanket packs on under their cloaks, and headed out.

To Marcus’s surprise, Edwin had also managed to keep the bread the innkeeper had given them, and they split that while they walked. Although the cut still stung and he had a tender spot on the right side of his head, Marcus was fine—at least physically.

Inside, he felt hollow.

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