She blinks rapidly, looking a bit stunned by my unexpected affection, but says nary a word as she starts herding me toward the door. I manage to snag my dagger off the nightstand before I step into the hallway and am half shoved down the stairs into the dim, empty tavern.
There are no pockets in the red dress, but my new cloak hasseveral to choose from. I’m dreaming about all the potential weaponry I can stash on my person when I step out into the cold predawn morning. Jac, Mabon, and Uther are already there waiting astride long-coated draft horses.
“Finally, she deigns to appear.” Jac’s eyes narrow on me, stripped of their normal playful light. “Any longer, we’d have left you behind.”
I pause, brows lifting along with my hopes. Perhaps escaping from Penn is merely a matter of dawdling in my dressing chamber until he is so annoyed, he goes on without me…
“Of course, without our protection, you’d be killed within the hour,” Jac adds lightly.
Of course.
My stomach clenches. “What’s happening?”
“Reavers,” Mabon mutters bluntly, as though that single word is explanation enough.
“The same ones your unit has been clashing with?”
Jac nods distractedly. “A few of their associates were in the tavern last night while we ate. Spotted us—spotted Penn—and sent out word. Luckily Uther overheard some of their chatter, otherwise we’d have all been dead in our beds before daybreak.”
My breath catches in my throat. I take two steps across the porch, suddenly wanting as little distance as possible between me and my heavily armed traveling companions. “Where are we going?”
“We’d planned to escort you to the Apex Portal and send you through to Caeldera, but there’s no chance you can use it now. They’ll be watching it. Expecting it. We’ll have to take the long way around and hope they don’t follow.” Jac scowls, as though this is a grave inconvenience. “My unit is two days’ ride from here. Three, if we take the Widow’s Notch to avoid detection.”
“Your unit…” I echo, struggling to follow.
“An armed escort to the border will send a message, loud and clear. A show of force. You understand?”
I don’t—not remotely. But a far more important thought occurs to me. One that makes my breath catch. “What about Farley?”
“He stays here.” Jac’s eyes scan the abandoned square, as though on high alert. “Can’t ride with that leg. We’ll send a wagon in a few days.”
“Oh, he’ll love that.” Mabon chuckles. “Jolting back to Caeldera like an expectant mother.”
“But we can’t just leave him,” I cry. “He’ll be a sitting duck!”
“Relax, Ace. He wasn’t with us in the tavern last night. They don’t even know to look for him.”
That is a slight relief. “Still, he shouldn’t be alone. Not in his condition. If the bones shift or he spikes a fever, I need to be here to treat him.”
“No, you don’t.”
My head jerks around at the sound of Penn’s voice. He appears from the shadows, helm on his head, bridle in hand, Onyx in tow. A pelt-lined cloak drapes his shoulders. His eyes are on me but he, like the other men, looks as though half his focus is monitoring our surroundings for an invisible threat.
“But—”
“The healer will be back by tomorrow.” Penn plows over my objections. “And Edwynna has run this outpost for longer than you’ve been breathing. She’s seen her fair share of battle wounds and bar scrapes. I think she can handle one cantankerous redhead for a few days on her own.” He pauses, extends a hand toward me, and flicks his fingers impatiently. “Come.”
Swallowing down any further objections, I hurry to his side. As soon as I’m within reach, he practically tosses me up into the saddle. I have less than a single breath to settle before he vaultsup behind me. One arm snakes around my waist, hauling me back against his body. The other gathers the reins and, as he spurs Onyx into motion, steers us across the empty, snow-packed square, around the low-burning firepits, and beyond the limits of Vintare.
We ride likethere are a hundred hungry cyntroedi on our heels, stopping only when the sun is high in the sky to give the horses a brief respite from our punishing pace. Unlike Onyx, the borrowed mounts do not have a ceaseless reserve of energy and require regular watering from crisp mountain streams.
I’m grateful to be out of the saddle, even if it is only for a few moments. My aching muscles need relief. The instant my boots hit the frozen ground, I race for the line of scraggly pines, in dire need of a different sort of relief altogether. There had been no time to use the chamber pot before our hasty departure, and I’d spent the past two hours in increasing discomfort. I pray Penn hadn’t felt my thighs clenching against his as I squirmed and shifted around the saddle, battling my full bladder with each jolting hoofbeat.
My headlong rush for the woods is thwarted when a large form steps into my path. I swallow an infuriated scream as I pull up short.
“Where the hell are you going?” Penn is scowling.
“To spill secrets to your enemies, of course,” I retort, scowling right back at him. I latch on to my anger to cover the deep fissure of humiliation cracking wide open within my chest. I cannot—will not—beg permission to relieve myself like a morose hound scratching at the door, waiting for its owner to take notice.