Page 4 of A Court of Truth and Thorns
We leave Samuels—whoproved quite talkative when left alone with Calvin—tied to a tree. Grabbing supplies off the dead roses, we gather ourselves together and put as much distance between us and the battleground as we can before our strength gives out completely. According to the sergeant, his was the only patrol sent this way, though others will likely follow when the men fail to return. A small window of relative safety. Small and brittle.
We stay put for the darkest part of night and move out onto a mountain path with the first dawn rays. No one speaks. Trace’s promise of a higher-ground advantage and a cave large enough to offer shelter is all that keeps us moving, however slowly.
Jasmine, her broken arm bound to her chest, stumbles so much that Luca passes his arm around her and half supports,half carries the girl along. Wil carries a sword. I carry my knives and the slimy sheen of my own uselessness.
The images of Leaf flash in my mind’s eye again. An endless, exhausting loop of horrors, any of which might be real. Might be happening this very moment. Leaf. My fragile, brilliant, loving, thoughtful, defenseless Leaf. Alone and suffering, waiting for me to come for her, not knowing that I’m getting farther away with each step.
I couldn’t go back for Leaf now even if I wanted to, and therein lies the greatest horror of all: In the pit of my gut, Idon’twant to. Because I’d die if I tried. I could barely save myself when Viva attacked, much less protect Wil and the girls. Stars, the prince took down as many attackers as I did. And I needed Trace’s help. This isn’t a scuffle in a remote town, where I decide if and when to engage. This is war.
“Here,” Trace says, halting before an unimpressive mountain face amidst a thinning tree line. Before anyone can summon strength for a question, he moves several stones aside, revealing a crack large enough for a man to fit through. “It’s one of the waystations on the path to Everett. Many whisperers have stayed the night here. We’ll be safe enough.”
Luca squeezes himself through the opening first and has a lantern glowing by the time I maneuver in after him. The cavern is large enough to house our group comfortably, its ceiling allowing me to straighten in the center, though Trace and Luca must stay hunched. A fire ring in the corner holds a few pieces of charcoal and a beat-up cooking pot.
“Stars,” says Wil, twisting his slender frame in a full circle. His once-splendid clothing, accented with bits of velvet and subtle embroidery, is covered with caked dirt and dried blood. The prince’s gaze is still glassy beneath his long lashes, but at least he is moving. Talking. “I never imagined a cave feeling more luxurious than the Delta Royal Palace.”
Alexa and Luca help Jasmine inside and settle her onto a blanket. The girl’s moans send my eyes toward Trace’s neckline, where the depleted healing crystal hangs beneath his shirt, useless. If Trace hadn’t had to use all its magic on me, Jasmine would be better now. Not that anyone but Trace and me knows he is a healer. Or that I—the guardsman trainee they know as Kal—am a girl named Kalianna.
“Master Luca?” Alexa’s voice is thin as a thread. “Jasmine has a fever. I can’t get her to drink any water.”
Wil crouches beside Jasmine, brushing the girl’s hair from her face, then looks up to survey Trace, Luca, and me. “I’m sorry,” he says, his throat bobbing. “Not just for tonight, but for every day that I made the likelihood of you getting hurt to protect me more likely.”
“Let’s live through the day, then we’ll talk,” Luca says, trying for a hint of a smile and failing.
Wil nods.
Kneeling before the cooking pot, Calvin empties his pockets of the plants and herbs he collected during our trek. He selects several for the pot and pours our remaining water over the plants. I fetch the flint and start a fire for him.
“What now, Your Highness?” asks Calvin. In my fatigue, the duality of the address nearly makes me giggle.Which prince did you want, Calvin—Dansil’s or Everett’s?
Wil rubs the back of his head. “You heard Samuels. Bahir has declared Dansil a sanctuary of the Goddess and me a disciple of the Dark God. It appears he’s been preparing this coup for a while now—the Order certainly took the capital with little effort. I imagine it will be some time before I can return to Delta.”
“And do you plan to return, Your Highness?” Calvin sets the pot atop the flames, seeming for all the world to be fully engrossed in making tea rather than guiding a kingdom’s rulerthrough planning his destiny. I glance around the cavern, curious as to how many others picked up on the questioner’s ways, and find Trace watching the prince intently, his muscles tense.
“Yes,” says Wil, his voice ringing between the stones. The prince is just as sixteen as he was yesterday, but it’s an older sixteen now. A harsher one. “Yes,” Wil repeats, “but it will be a different Dansil and a different court.” He pauses, drawing a breath, and surveys our little band, holding each of our gazes in turn. “And it will not start with friends held against their will. Trace, do not try to stop Kal from leaving again if he wishes. Or anyone else. You’ve all done more for me than I deserve, and you should make your own choice of path now. I’ve no expectations that you’ll continue on with me.”
Free to make my own choices. Never has freedom had so many shackles.
“Continue on with you to where?” Alexa asks from the corner.
Wil rolls his sword hilt in his hands and nods to himself. “Everett. They are no friends of Bahir’s. Perhaps they will stand with me.”
Trace snorts, straightening to as full a height as the cavern allows. “You are ready to hike to Everett alone?” he demands, whatever leash he had on his temper during the trek snapping like a dry branch. “Had you ever spent a night outdoors before yesterday, Your Highness?” He waves a hand in the air. “You thinkone dayof reality has granted you some untold wisdom and skill?”
Wil puts down the sword and stands. Hands in his pockets, he rolls back on his heels and regards Trace coolly. No two men have ever looked more different. Smaller, younger, with a bit of feminine beauty beneath the grime and blood, Wil is asapling bending in defiant survival amidst a storm. Trace is granite, solid and unwavering.
One a prince discovering himself a warrior; the other a warrior hiding his birth as a prince.
Wil breaks the stare-down first—not through surrender, but rather a shrug that dismisses the whole process. “I’ll manage. Everyone else can do as they wish.”
With nothing more to be said, Trace retreats into a brooding silence and the group beds down for the night.
3
VIOLET
Something was happening. Violet knew it from the sudden influx of acolytes into the abbey dormitories and underground intake rooms, and the hurrying Children, and the never-ending stream of work that left her no time to sleep or eat or rest. Each time she tried to inquire, her sisters’ answers ranged from vague to condemning.
The Goddess triumphs.
