“Stop, Cohen. He could choke on his own vomit. I’m just setting him right.”
“Why are you pitying him? Whose side are you on?”
“I’m not . . . I just . . . It’s not pity,” I stammer, unsure of myself. “He was kind to me when he didn’t have to be. He’s my—my friend. And he doesn’t deserve to die.”
“I didn’t realize you two were friends.” Cohen’s face pinches in a sullen expression. He stands there for a beat, his flattened hazel eyes switching between Leif and me. I’m tempted to think he’s jealous. But he’d never be. Not over me.
He sighs, sheathes his sword, and leans down to help me roll Leif on his side. Once we have the guard situated, Cohen walks away. He thrusts his fingers into his mouth and blows out a sharp whistle. Moments later, Siron appears. After we’re both seated and heading for the stream to disguise our trail, Cohen falls into a brooding silence.
“Why are you upset with me?” I ask a safe distance away from the guards.
He twists around in the saddle, his mouth a thin, tight line. “You waltzed into the clearing and announced to the king’s guard that you’re working with me. I’m not upset. I’m furious.”
That was to the point. Clearly not jealous.
I cringe and then glare at him. It may not have been wise to show myself to the guards, but his response grates. “I didn’t want to absolve you of my father’s murder only to have you arrested for another. Perhaps you should consider your own recklessness.”
“You didn’t have to run in to save me. Or Leif. I wasn’t going to kill the bludger. Now you’ve sealed your fate.”
True, he might not have meant his threat; however, intentions can change in an instant.
Cohen faces forward and prods Siron to go faster, until trees are whipping past us and the spring water is splattering our legs.
The sliver of a moon provides no light to navigate through the forest as we forge westward despite the late hour. Without Siron we’d be useless in the night’s pitch-black. There aren’t many horses like Siron, with his ability to see perfectly in the dark.
Travel jostles our bodies until we’re bruised from banging into each other—it’s impossible to prepare for a dip you cannot see. When we reach a spread in the trees, Cohen takes a moment to check our direction from the star patterns in the sky.
His caution tells me he’s as concerned as I am. From my time spent with the guards, I know Tomas is worthless at tracking, but Leif’s skills are passable, and the captain is highly skilled. We need to make the most of traveling tonight.
When we get to Celize, we won’t have much time, if any, to track down Enat and Papa’s murderer. I wish I knew why Papa was after her. Hunting her down isn’t much different from galloping through the night, blind to the perils ahead. For all we know, Enat could be the killer.
If only Papa had left information, even the smallest clue. I always thought Papa held no secrets from me. How wrong I was.
“You’re right. I was reckless.” Cohen’s voice interrupts my line of thinking. “Earlier in the day I noticed the tracks of three horses, and I guessed it was the guards. I decided to follow them to see where they were headed.”
His admission stuns me.
“I sent you to the river so I could assess their strengths and weaknesses,” he admits. “But when I overheard Leif mention Omar was gone gathering supplies, I seized the opportunity.”
“We could’ve slipped past them, and they’d be none the wiser.” My pitch rises with incredulity. “Only, you decided it would be best to pick a fight?”
“Thought I’d do a little damage and slow them down.”
My hands are fists around the back edge of the saddle to keep me from pummeling him, while he doesn’t move a muscle. Just sits there, calmly telling me he thrust us into the guards’ reach, like we’re two farmers discussing a troublesome cow’s teat. “Of all the risky things you’ve ever done, this one”—my breath lances out—“this one could win a gold ribbon at the Midsummer’s Tide fair.”
“Yeah, Britt. It was foolish.” He groans, the sound brimming with pain as if someone’s punched him in the gut. “At the time it seemed like a good idea.”
A good idea would’ve been Cohen telling me he’d spotted tracks, instead of making a brash decision. Back when he apprenticed for Papa, he was always bent on doing what he thought was best without asking for my input. Of course the bludger hasn’t changed.
I forge on, my frustration spilling out, a barrel of ale with a broken spigot. “A good idea, like the time you insisted we take the extra buck meat to market. You didn’t believe me when I said no one would trade with me.”
He straightens in the saddle.
“Or the time you went after that wild boar with only your dagger? The healer had to sew up your arm.”
“Point taken. I can be brash,” he says. “I should’ve mentioned the guards’ tracks. It was just a shock to see they were so close.” Cohen twists to look over his shoulder at me, the moonlight shifting over his brown hair, painting his dark locks blue.
I snort, more irritated with my detour in attention than his excuse, but decide to let the matter go. It cannot be undone.
“That time we went to market with the meat,” he says a short while later, voice reflective, “I was thinking of you. You never liked the clothes Saul gave you, and I thought . . .” He clears his throat. The sound snares me, holds me in its trap, transforming me into immobile, breathless prey. “Thought you’d like something new. Something you could pick out. Something special.”