Silence descends again. Everyone is suddenly avoiding my eyes.
My brows lift. “What? Why are you all so quiet?”
It’s Penn who answers, his words a low rumble. “You needed to rest.”
My head whips around to him. “You delayed because ofme?”
He nods.
Gods.
A company of thirty trained soldiers, sitting around on their hands so that I could get my beauty rest. No wonder Gower loathes me. I would’ve loathed me, too. Mortification barrels through my chest. I jolt to my feet, spoon clattering. “I just need two minutes to grab my cloak and we can be off—”
“Sit.”
My mouth snaps shut at Penn’s command. “But—”
“Sit.”
I sit.
“Finish your breakfast. Three full days of road separate us from Dyved. You’ll need your strength.”
“I’m ready to ride.”
“Good. But that’s not why you’ll need your strength. Later, we’re going to talk about your time at the Acrine Hold. In detail.”
His eyes are two hot coals, smoldering with intent as he rises from his seat, nods to his men, and walks out of the room without another word.
I force myself to eat the rest of my porridge as Jac, Cadogan,Mabon, and Uther carry on a light conversation about which route we’ll take to Dyved. But the once-tasty oats are like sludge in my mouth, lumpy and flavorless.
Coldcross is thelast bit of civilization we see for three straight days. We wind slowly west, traveling along the base of the Cimmerians through the snow-sheathed plains that abut the Frostlands. We do not cross over into the tiny kingdom that serves as a buffer between Dyved and Llyr. Nor do I have any desire to—from what I can tell, it is an icy, inhospitable spit of glacier. When I ask Jac how people manage to survive there without fields to sow or crops to tend, he grimaces and says, “You don’t need to grow anything when you’ve got a fleet of raiding vessels to use to rape, pillage, and plunder every bit of coast across the North Sea.”
I do not ask him to elaborate further.
We make camp at night in clearings just off the road, cooking dinner over campfires and sleeping on bedrolls beneath the stars. Usually, one of the men will pull out an ocarina or lute and play a tune as we eat. There are the occasional after-dinner sparring bouts and arm-wrestling matches, which get quite heated but always stop short of drawing blood. Otherwise, life on the road is rather dull—a slow, monotonous march without much in the way of danger. In fact, the scariest foe I encounter during our journey shares a saddle with me.
After the first day on the road passes without Penn uttering more than a grunt in my general direction, I think—hope—he has forgotten his intention to interrogate me about my time in the clutches of his enemy. By the time I sit down to dinner that first night, I’ve begun to drop my guard. After a full helping of rabbit, courtesy of Uther, washed down with the two cups of strong mead Mabon silently pours for me, I drop them completely.
This is a mistake.
But I do not recognize it as one, even as I steal off into the dusky night for a moment of privacy in the thick shrubbery, away from prying male eyes and sharp-tuned ears. I am careful not to stray too far or stay away too long.
Jaw cracking on a massive yawn, eyelids heavier than anvils, I meander back to camp with my attention fixed on my bedroll and the sleep that awaits me in it. I nearly jump out of my skin when a massive man-shaped form melts from the shadows not ten paces from me.
“Gods!” I press a hand to my thudding heart. “You scared me halfway to an early grave.”
Penn walks to me, glowering. “You shouldn’t be out here alone.”
“There are some things that do not require an audience.” My cheeks tinge pink. “Besides, I brought the whistle.”
His eyes drop to the leather strap that hangs down over my bodice. In three short strides, he’s closed the distance between us; in another, he’s closed his fist over the whistle, so hard the wood creaks.
“And what good is it,” he asks with low menace, “if you fail to put it to use when you’re in trouble?”
“W-what?”
“This is not a godsdamned fashion accessory.”