7. SEVEN

seven

HORNWOOD

I’m out of food. I should be used to the feeling of hunger, but it scrapes at my insides, blurring what little mental coherency I might have left after the long days of walking.

The gods must be smiling down on me because a faint outline of a town breaks the horizon in the distance. A few hours later, I paused on the outskirts. Judging by the tattered and worn roofs and the position of the town from Dragon’s Back Ridge, it’s Hornwood. I watch the townspeople shuffle back and forth between the streets, my hands sweating at the thought of having to dare into town.

If I get caught—Daeja and I are both dead. But if I don’t go, I’ll starve.

Dead again.

I swallow against the knot building in my throat and flick a glance toward Daeja perched on my shoulder. Her wide, white eyes meet mine. She dips her head low, and I pull my cloak’s hood over me. Daeja falls into silence as I tuck her back behind the fall of my hair. As if she somehow understands what’s at stake.

I’m hoping the cover of my hair is enough to conceal her. Praying she has the sense not to wiggle or chirp as we pass through the crowds.

I try to quiet my nerves as we near the huddled buildings. Large gaping holes filled with murky water litter the roads. The townspeople zip by, muddy footprints scattered across the cobblestone road. Every lingering stare of passersby spikes my heart rate. I push by fast, tucking my head down as I go.

I watch where each of my steps land, trying to avoid any lifted cobblestones, pits in the ground, or water that might make me slip. Any stumble could dislodge Daeja, and then we’d both be doomed.

I find a merchant with baskets of bread loaves, their line wrapping into the busy street. I debate whether it’s worth the risk. The longer I wait, the greater the chance of getting caught. A mother with her young daughter stands in front of me. The little girl bounces back and forth, a doll hanging from her grasp.

Shouts erupt from deeper into town, and the crowd parts for a man racing through with multiple bottles held tight to his chest.

Another man appears hot on his heels, shouting and pointing. “After him! He’s stealing my whiskey!’’

People split to either side of the road as the thief sprints down the cobblestone. I jump back as the mother in front of me snags her daughter, ripping her out of the way just in time to dodge the thief. But the quickness of the movement knocks the doll out of the young girl’s grasp, landing on the ground a short distance away.

Daeja growls as the thief rockets past us, and the mother’s eyes find mine. I smile nervously, grabbing the doll off the ground after the thief disappears.

“Must have been my stomach…” I mutter, handing the doll back to the little girl.

The mother mouths her thank you, and they turn back into the line. When I make it to the front of the line, I fish out a coin and place it on the table. The baker frowns with a shake of his head. This would at least buy me one loaf back home. I slide him another to be met with the same response.

“Are there any other bakers in town that might have something I could purchase? Even if it’s spoiled…I’m traveling, and I can’t afford anything more than this.”

His eyes soften. “Unfortunately, our taxes have nearly tripled to pay the King for repairs to the town. Everything is expensive here, but if you go south to Groveden, you might have better luck. It’s a four day trek from here.”

“What about Blackfell?” I ask.

“That’s maybe another four or five days east.”

My heart sinks. I’m not sure we can last another four days, especially at our pace. I nod my thanks and turn back to the road, my heart and hope sinking with each step taking me out of the town.

A tap pats my shoulder, just under where Daeja lies. I turn, in part to avoid any further touching that may expose Daeja but also to see who it is.

The little girl with the doll presents me half a loaf of bread, then she scurries off back to her watchful mother. The woman smiles at me before dipping her head. The two of them disappear into the crowd.

I swallow against the tightness in my throat from such a kind gesture.

I tear off a piece of bread as I lean back against a boulder, offering a piece to Daeja who wrinkles her nose at the smell. With a shrug, I pop the piece into my mouth as I watch the distant outline of Hornwood from the shelter of the forest.

Four to five days until Blackfell. If I push myself, maybe I can get there faster. Maybe three, if I can start tonight.

Daeja must have slipped off. Because a few moments later, she bounds toward me with wide eyes and a dead mouse hanging from her mouth. She drops her kill on my lap as I squirm and shuffle backwards, its limp body flopping to the floor.

She waits. Watching me expectantly with a tilted head. Her gaze shifts back and forth between me and the mouse.

I shake my head with a muffled laugh as I realize what she’s asking. “No...thank you. I umm...you have it.”

She slurps up the mouse, taking two quick chomps before she swallows it whole and slides herself into my lap. I absent-mindedly run a few fingertips between the horns crowning her head down to where her shoulders meet her spine. In the amount of time we’ve been together, she is already nearly the size of a kitten.

I trace interlocking circles over her back, lulling her into a slumber as I flip open my father’s journal.

The first few weeks at the castle have been quiet. I was reassigned from my post at the library to deliveries, due to the previous guard breaking his ankle. I was thankful for the slow pace of the early weeks—it gave me enough time to settle my nerves. To get into the routine. I learned the only way to write in private is if I excuse myself for the bathroom. Any other moment is full of watching eyes or fading footsteps in the hallways.

During my first shift on deliveries, a batch of crates arrived with ‘FRAGILE’ written in large letters across the wood. As I took the deliveries into the castle, a liquid sloshed inside the crates with each footstep.

My lead directed me to a new hallway and down a spiraling staircase. Halfway down the staircase the temperature dropped, and the humidity rose.

The castle sits atop a mountain, built into a towering cliff side. And with how many steps it took to get to the bottom of the stairs, I guessed I was in the basement, if there was such a thing.

No windows lined the walls. No doors. The only light to chase away the shadows came from the torch my lead held. We walked in darkness and silence until he came to a stop.

The hair on the back of my neck stood up, and a thick, electric tension hung in the air. Something I couldn’t quite put my finger on. He opened a large door, having me place the crates inside the dark room behind it. Collections of empty bottles and vials lined the walls and shelves.

It dawned on me, slowly. Wine. They were storing imported wine and beer. It all made sense—the King liked to throw extravagant balls and parties. Or so I had been told. But a party of this size would only indicate a large event…like a victory.

Like if you had won a war.

Today I asked another guard if it was only the King we guarded here. Or if anyone was assigned to guarding the royal family. He shushed me, his eyes wild as he looked around to make sure no one else was listening.

He gripped my elbow, his fingers sinking into my flesh as he pulled me into him. “You must never speak of them around the King.”

The guard admitted the King fathered many bastards and hadn’t married since his first wife. Apparently, our voices were hushed to protect the shame of the King’s children out of wedlock. Nobody knew of the King’s first wife, who she was, or what happened to her.

I learned the King had been alive for a long time when I was apprenticing in the Dragon Lands. He had ruled for almost one hundred and fifty years. The King’s lifespan was unheard of across the entire realm, and those in the kingdom had been spoon-fed a story that he was appointed by the gods to rule them. But few of us knew the truth of it.

I squint to read in the fading daylight, until I finally give up and close the journal. Fighting a yawn, I gather my belongings, place Daeja on my shoulders, and walk east. As I near Hornwood for the second time, the lights of homes flicker off for the night as people turn in for bed. I keep to the outskirts, slinking slowly between the trees as I watch the town’s perimeter.

As I pass the northern side of town, a shuffle breaks the silence of the night. I squint through the dim starlit forest, making out a group of men gathered near the town’s border.

I drop into a crouch behind a bush, and Daeja stirs against my neck with the sudden movement. Holding out a finger to silence her protest, I strain to listen.

From this distance, I should at least be able to pick up indistinct chatter. Slowly, I peek up over the top of the bush. Men slink through the shadows without a word among them, exchanging cryptic hand gestures and nods.

They’re speaking to each other in...sign language?

Their torches cast wicked shadows across their dark leathers. They break into smaller groups and spread out around the surrounding homes. Using rope, they tie double knots around the door handles, securing the other end to a wagon stacked heavy with boulders in the center of the road.

Horror grips me as several of the men drag their torches around the perimeters of the homes. When they finish, they throw their torches onto the roofs and disappear into the night.

Rebels. They’re trapping them!

I scramble for a plan and begin to weigh my options. When the last of the men disappear into the night, my moment of opportunity presents itself. I have to help them. Smoke snakes in the sky, and distant shouts pierce through the quiet. I run for the nearest house, my satchel slamming against my hip, and Daeja’s talons sinking into my shoulders. I pause once I reach the front door. I’m instantly brought back to that night at my home. To how helpless I felt.

I push through the overwhelming emotions.

Using my dagger, I try to shear the rope, pushing the blade hard and fast against the thick cord. But it doesn’t budge.

Fuck! This isn’t working.

Sweat begins to coat my hands, my neck, everything. The blade is far too slippery in my hands, and I’m not strong enough to cut the cord.

The door shudders and stills. Shudders and stills. I spot a small window to the top right of the door and push onto my toes to look in.

My eyes widen when I see her: the little girl from the market. That same doll gripped tightly in her small hand. Her mother holds her and speaks to a man. He pulls and pushes feverishly against the door, as if testing the lock. I slam a fist against the window and the hot glass nearly splits the skin on my knuckles. The three of them whip their attention toward me.

“The door is tied off!” I scream over the sound of roaring flames.

They stare at me, trying to decipher what I’m saying. I shift my focus to my surroundings for something to break the glass but only find small rocks the size of a coin.

The door thuds again, and as I peek back into the window, the father is ramming into it with his shoulder.

“It won’t work! We have to get you out through the window!” I point repeatedly at the window.

They shift their gazes to each other. The father disappears into the thick smoke of another room, returning with a chair. I back up in time for him to smash it against the window. The second attempt splinters glass everywhere. The heat of the fire swells, and I wipe away the sweat that trickles down into my eyes from my forehead.

I stretch my arms into the window. “Here! Climb through, and I’ll help pull you out!”

They lift their daughter first. Her arms outstretched with the doll clasped in one hand. As she gets close, the father’s grip falters with a wicked cough. I slingshot forward, broken glass scraping the undersides of my arms as I try to grab for what I can. My fingers close on the soft fabric of the doll, and the girl falls just out of my grasp. Her body hits the ground with a thud that makes my stomach sick.

I shove the doll down into my bag to free my hands once more. “Again! Again!”

But the mother and daughter’s movements are sluggish, and the father is unresponsive on the floor. A thick fog of smoke clouds the room, burning my eyes.

“Hey! What are you doing?” A man charges me with a sword from the left, stealing my attention for a moment.

By the time I look back into the window, all three of them are on the ground.

Motionless.

I’m not sure if they’re unconscious from the smoke. Or worse. I can’t think of worse right now—

“Wake up, wake up, wake up !” My throat burns at how hard I scream. But they don’t move. Black smoke spills throughout the rest of the room, clouding my vision of them.

The man’s silhouette in my periphery grows larger and larger. My gaze is pulled away from the window, and I back pedal as the space between the man and I closes quickly. Hesitantly, I turn and run for the trees. Daeja hisses in one ear as my heart pounds in the other. A cough sputters my breath, and I slow because of it. The racing footsteps close in. A hand grabs the back of my hood, and I spin to try and dodge him.

“Daeja!” I cry.

I turn to face him head on as he narrowly avoids grabbing where Daeja lays. Before I can act, her weight leaves my shoulders as she lunges off me and onto him. He screeches in surprise, his sword clattering to the ground, and his grip on me falters.

The man falls backwards, his body thumping heavily on the ground. Daeja’s mouth is latched onto his nose as she wriggles her body back and forth vigorously.

Swiping the man’s sword from the ground, I charge as he recovers and grabs Daeja with both hands. He rips her from his face, rolls, and pins her tight under his hands. She wriggles with a stolen cry as his hands clench around her small throat.

I don’t give it a second thought.

I sink the sword into the middle of his back. The blade slices through his flesh with a squelch I wish I could block out.

He freezes. A wheezed breath squeaks out of his mouth.

I pull the sword free and kick him off Daeja. He crumples to the ground effortlessly, stilling as he stares up at the night sky blankly.

My blood rushes in my ears, and my hands tremble as I toss the sword to the side. I blink through blurry eyes when I drop to my knees to gather Daeja in my hands.

“Are you okay?” I whisper through a tight breath.

When she opens her bright white eyes, it unlocks a torrent of relief in me. I pull her into my chest, cradling her weak body.

She saved me.

A rough, cracked purr rumbles from somewhere deep within her chest. I dig in my satchel for my water flask, and my hand briefly brushes against unfamiliar fabric. My brow furrows as I remove it from my bag. Starlight illuminates the object, and I release a choked gasp.

The little girl’s doll.