Chapter 8

Cricket

The next few days are tedious. Long sunstrides, few decent villages for hot meals, and not a single town with a warm bed for rent. So we make do with camping under the stars, pretending to get along—or actually getting along.

It's hard to tell the difference.

My magical stalker hasn't left my side, and though I'd prefer to be alone, I have to admit Julian isn't terrible company. When he's not being an ass, that is.

He's definitely a better forager than me and keeps us stocked with every sort of nut and berry the forest has to offer, which is good because I'm reluctant to hunt around a man who doesn't eat meat.

His magic is handy, though he frowns if I ask him to use it for anything more than showing off. I don't see why. He uses it freely in front of me regularly, heating our drinks, changing clothes, even untangling Slinger's messy mane, all done with a tilt of his head or a flourish of his hand.

Though he'd called Slinger an old nag when they first met, he's quickly become attached to the ornery pony. He dotes on her like a grandmother with her first grandchild, spending his money on sugary fruits and peppermints and murmuring compliments into her big, shaggy ears.

And she returns the affection by sneezing all over his fine jacket.

At present, Julian is using their newfound bond to attempt to coax her across a temporary bridge, and she's having none of it. I'm in front, but tugging on her lead is more likely to make her stop than move.

Julian pushes her forward with his hands splayed on her rump, disguising the guidance as scratching, all the while cooing encouragements. "Atta girl."

"Not so scary." Pat, pat.

"You can do it." Scratch, scratch.

"Just a wee bit more, lass." Boop, boop.

She's on to him, but if the way she swings her rump closer to his hands is anything to go by, she's milking the experience for everything it's worth.

The soldier standing guard laughs at us. "You're not the only ones through here with a spooked horse. Give her time. She'll figure it out."

The main bridge to Rutherton over the Dulas River was destroyed during the recent battles. A crew of men, fae and human alike, some wearing the colors of the royal army, are building a new one as we speak. But for the time being, a temporary floating bridge has been erected.

And Slinger doesn't trust it.

I don't blame her.

The wooden boards move with the current until the ropes tying them together stretch to their limits, and the whole construction springs back into place. Not to mention that the boards sink a bit with every step taken, despite the air-filled buoys beneath them. Railings keep people and horses from falling, but the bridge both looks and feels tenuous.

Travelers have crossed before us, and more wait to cross after us, as if it's perfectly normal to traverse this floating atrocity, so onward we press.

"You could help, you know," says Julian.

"I know, but watching is more entertaining." That and the nausea threatening deep at the back of my throat keep me from riding. Despite coming from the coastal town of Irondale, I've never been much for boating. Makes me queasy, a lot like what standing on this bridge feels like. A little boat being tossed around by the mighty sea.

Slinger takes her first tentative steps onto the decking and snorts.

I click my tongue, encouraging her to follow. "We don't have to like it, girl. We just have to do it. Come on."

Julian pats her rump. "That's it. Go on."

At a snail's pace, we make progress. Me, feeling woozy in the lead, Slinger, whale-eyed and grumpy in the middle, and Julian, ever hopeful, bringing up the rear. Slow and steady.

Until an argument breaks out behind us.

"The bridge isn't made for a wagon of that size."

"It'll fit."

"No, it won't."

"Watch me."

"You'll have to go 'round."

"That's three days' time. Time we ain't got. Roll on, I say."

"Don't dare."

As the voices grow progressively louder, all three of us glance back to see what's going on. A huge covered wagon with four heavily muscled draft horses pulling it is poised to make the bridge crossing. Seeing as the wagon is almost as wide as the bridge, I doubt it'll make it.

"Hurry." Julian prods us along. "Before they do something stupid."

Too late. In a commotion of horse flesh and fury, the cart driver urges the beasts forward, even while the posted guard yells at him to stop.

The bridge rolls and bobs under their combined weight. Our section lifts in response, sending Slinger into a panic. She tosses her head, snorts her displeasure, and rears onto her hind legs.

"Whoa, girl. Whoa." Her front feet land with a heavy double thwack, and water splashes on both sides. She looks at me as if I'm the idiot for holding still and waiting for her tantrum to be over.

At least now she's ready to move.

I put on a burst of speed, hoping to win as much distance as possible between us and the wagon. With Slinger on my heels, obviously thinking the same thing, I might make it across unscathed.

A yelp, followed by a big splash, rends the air.

What in the seven seas…?

Slinger whinnies loudly in my ear. We make it to glorious dry land and whip our heads around, searching for Julian, but our sorcerer isn't there.

Not on the bridge at least.

Because he's in the river. Specifically, he's spluttering and struggle-swimming from the center toward the bank, where we wait with twin slack-jawed expressions.

"You fell in," I say stupidly as he drags himself out of the water, bringing half the river with him.

"I was dodging her hooves." He waggles an angry finger toward Slinger, who looks about as sorry as a toddler with a piece of birthday cake. If a horse could chuckle, that's what she'd be doing.

Julian takes off his black outer jacket and wrings it out.

Laughter roars from deep inside me, spilling over like the foam of an overpoured ale. "You fell into the river!"

"Nothing gets past you, Cricket," Julian mutters, stomping murky water from his boots.

I have to clutch my stomach, I'm laughing so hard.

"Oh, come on." He grabs Slinger's reins, not harshly, and leads us away from the bridge and the small audience of people who'd seen him fall. He must be embarrassed.

Perhaps I should feel bad for him, but I can't stop laughing. "At least you know how to swim."

"Ah, yes. Thanks for that. Would hate to leave this miserable world behind me so soon."

"Cut the sarcasm. Nothing's hurt but your ego."

He shoots me a glare that says I should quit while ahead. I press my lips to a line and smirk. He shakes his head and continues down the road so quickly I have to trot to keep up with them.

Before long, we're alone again. "Why didn't you magic your way out of falling?"

"I was worried about Slinger, not me. I didn't think that I'd actually go over the side." He glowers at his sopping wet clothes and muddy boots.

"Didn't think you were capable of losing your balance like us lowly mortals, eh?"

"You have fae blood, do you not?"

"Why do you want to know?"

"Because you don't want to tell me. Isn't that enough of a reason?" With a snobbish toss of his head, sending his hair back behind his shoulders, he"s dried off. Completely and in an instant.

I gape at him. "Well, if you could do that, why didn't you do it right away?"

Julian brushes nonexistent dirt off his sleeves. "And risk letting the crowd at the bridge see how strong my control of magic is? I think not."

Risk? What risk? I don't understand. "Wait, is that dangerous?"

"Of course it is, Cricket." He rolls his eyes. "People will seek to take advantage. They always do. Best they know nothing of me."

I catch up to him so we can walk shoulder to shoulder. "So, how do you make friends?"

"I don't."

"Oh, come on, surely, you have friends?"

He stares blankly.

Wow. "You really don't have any friends?"

"No. Nor do I want them. More trouble than they're worth."

The sinking feeling I'd gotten rid of from the bridge returns in full force. A heavy sadness I can't shake off.

I think of my community back home.

No family to speak of, not anymore, but many, many friends.

There's Auri, who taught me to fish from the shore so I didn't have to board a stupid boat. And little Button, whose favorite fruit is fabamelons that I could only steal from the highlands. I made special trips to get those melons for him. The memory of his blue-stained lips and tongue as he gave his thanks makes me grin. Kite, my mom's best friend before she died, who tried her best to take care of us after. But she had four kids of her own, all of them as hungry as we were. Roslyn, who's always been like a grandmother to me and to anyone else who needs one.

And so many more friends I couldn't count them all.

Huh. No friends.

"Don't look at me like that."

I turn my gaze forward. To think I'd been feeling sorry for myself since the revolution made my life's work irrelevant. Equality for all means no need to steal. No need of me. But no friends?

How lonely Julian's life must be.