up, startled.
Byrne swore softly. “Blood and bones! You’re wounded! Why didn’t you say anything? What happened?”
Raisa reached up and fingered the wound on her neck, which she had completely forgotten. Her hand came away sticky. “A near miss is all, Captain. It’s not serious.”
“I’ll be the judge of that,” he growled. “I’d better take a look. Assassins sometimes daub their arrow points with poison.” With that, he pressed his lips together as if he’d said too much. He turned her so the heat of the fire was on her back, brushed aside her hair, and poked at the back of her neck with thick fingers. “How d’you feel? Any dizziness, double vision, creeping numbness?”
Raisa shuddered. Given time, she was sure she could conjure any of those symptoms. “Do you know who they were?” she demanded. “You seem to have your suspicions.”
“Valefolk, from what I could tell. Not clan. But I didn’t get a good look at them.” Byrne produced a small iron pot, which he filled with snow and set to heat on the fire. “I don’t see any signs of poison, Your Highness. But we’ll wash it out good, just the same, and apply a poultice to draw it out, and then—”
“You said assassins, Captain,” Raisa snapped, interrupting the medical report.
Byrne released a long breath. “I don’t know for sure,” he admitted. “But I think that’s what they were. Highwaymen don’t come up here. The clan wouldn’t stand for it. Besides, there aren’t enough travelers this time of year to keep ’em in business, not a band that size. Highwaymen wouldn’t attack a triple of soldiers. We don’t carry much money, and there’s easier meat and better weather downslope. They were well fed, well mounted, and well armed. I believe they were expecting us.”
Byrne leaned over the fire, and the flames illuminated the grim planes of his face. “If I’m right, they’re still looking for us, or will be when the weather clears. And they have the advantage of knowing where we’re headed.”
The water had heated to Byrne’s satisfaction, so he lifted the pot off the flame with a heavy stick. He dropped several clean rags into the water, let them steep for a few minutes, and lifted one out with the same stick. When it was cool enough to handle, he squeezed out the excess water and applied it to the back of Raisa’s neck.
“Ow!” she hissed, startled by the heat. “Sorry,” she added, gritting her teeth. Byrne ignored the complaint, kneading her skin and scrubbing away the blood that emerged. He exchanged the bloody cloths twice more, then emptied a pouch of vegetable matter into the water remaining in the pot. Their sanctuary filled with a pungent scent. Snakebite root, Raisa thought. Used to draw poisons of all kinds.
Byrne thrust his stick into the pot and lifted a steaming mass of stinking root. Allowing the excess water to drip away, he dumped it onto a clean square of cloth he’d spread over the pine needles. Folding the cloth over, he pressed out the excess water.
Byrne plastered it over the back of Raisa’s neck. It stung at first, but then felt soothing. He finished by wrapping the whole mess over with linen. “There. We’ll leave that in place for a few hours, then see how it looks.”
Raisa swiped futilely at a trickle of water running down her back.
Byrne scrubbed out the pot with snow, then refilled it and set it on the fire to melt. “I’ll take water out to the horses and have another look around,” he said.
“Will the rest of your triple be able to find us here, do you think? Should we wait for them once the weather clears?”
Byrne shook his head. “We’d better hope they don’t find us, because if they can find us, so can those that ambushed us.” He busied himself packing up his medical kit, avoiding her eyes. “We’d better go forward on our own. Any survivors … that are able … will continue the fight and delay them. We’re seriously overmatched, so we’d best avoid them if we can. Two will be harder to spot in these mountains than a triple.”
And then she understood. No one else survived, she thought. Their orders were to stand and fight, once she was away, even though they were outnumbered.
“They’re all dead?” she said. She thought of them, tumbled all around her on the floor of her room in Delphi. “But … they were so young, most of them,” she whispered.
“This is our job, Your Highness.” Byrne lifted his wineskin, sloshing it gently as if to judge the contents, and offered it to Raisa, who shook her head.
She dug the heels of her hands into her temples, wishing she could grind away the guilt. “No,” she whispered, half to herself. “I will not allow my best soldiers to be wasted like this.”
“We’ve not much in the way of food and supplies,” Byrne said, as if she hadn’t spoken. Obviously, Raisa wasn’t going to be allowed any time for hand-wringing. “Just what you and I were carrying. Our best bet is to get through the pass and push on to Marisa Pines Camp as quickly as we can.”
And that is just what those hunting us will expect us to do, Raisa thought.
“Now, about weaponry,” Byrne said. “As I recall, you are a fair shot with a bow.” He put his hand on Raisa’s bow, which was laid out next to him.
Raisa nodded. It was no time for false modesty. “I’m good with a bow, though I’ve not tried that one. It seems a good size and weight for me, though.”
“Are you any good with a sword?”
“I … Amon’s worked me hard at swords these past months,” Raisa said. “But it’s not my strong suit.”
“Try this one.” He extended his sword toward her, hilt-first.
Raisa stood, gripping the hilt with both hands. It was fashioned to represent the Sword of Hanalea, the signia of the Queen’s Guard. The cross-guard was cast in heavy metal, to resemble the rippling tresses of the Lady, and the pommel was the figure of the Lady herself.
It was nearly too heavy for her to lift, even with both hands. Shaking her head ruefully, she handed it back and sat down again. “I’m much safer with this in your hands than in mine. It’s lovely, though. The workmanship is exquisite. Is this a family heirloom?”
Byrne cleared his throat. “The queen—your mother—had it made for me when I … at the time of her coronation. When I was made captain. Marianna said it signifies that I hold Hanalea’s true line in my hands.”
His face, weathered by decades of pain, revealed more than he probably intended.
Raisa stared at the captain, her mouth slack with surprise. Byrne looked away quickly, as if he hoped to extinguish that knowledge in her eyes.
He’s in love with her, Raisa thought. I’ve been stupid blind not to see it.
Raisa recalled what her mother had said when she’d explained why there could never be anything between Raisa and Amon.
He’s a soldier, the queen had said, and his father’s a soldier, and his father … That’s all they’ll ever be.
Raisa had come close to making the same mistake herself—about her mother’s captain. She’d thought of Edon Byrne as steady, calm, capable, and practical above all else. Not a romantic bone in his body. The Captain Byrne she knew was bluntly honest, not a keeper of secrets.
She’d been wrong about that. She’d been wrong about so many things.
You’ve lived your life with a broken heart, Raisa thought, staring at Byrne. So why did you have to break my heart, too?
And before she knew what she was doing, she was speaking aloud. “Why did you do it?” she said softly. “Why did you take Amon away from me?”
“Your Highness,” he said. His expression, his posture, the way he flexed his hands—it all told her to back off. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“I am not going to