Though we hadn’t kissed, my lips tingled with the tantalizing expectation of it. “And here I thought a master salesman wasn’t afraid of getting into any deal.”
“True.” He brought my hand to his lips and kissed it, sending a jolt through me. With what seemed like great reluctance, he released me. “But it’s not being able to get out of this one that scares me. Now. We should get some rest. Scoot over there, and I’ll make up our beds.”
CHAPTER 21
WE SET OUT EARLY THE NEXT DAY FOR THE ICORI CITY of Kerniall, Orla’s home. It lay two days from Lo Canne, and I was more eager than ever to get there. Once I was safely settled, Jago could make his return run to Constancy and show them the coat I’d pilfered while my “client” had had his emotional breakdown in the shanty. Jago would also be able to reassure my friends about me, and despite my objections, he swore he’d get my picture back.
The round-trip would take Jago about a week, and while I was eager for the results, the prospect of our actual time apart left me melancholy.
* * *
The placid landscape changed as we headed south, with trees and shrubs returning. The plains gave way to the foothills that heralded the mountainous border running along the Osfridian colonies’ western side. I’d seen those mountains countless times on maps, where they were usually drawn in as neat little triangles. As they loomed in the distance now, their snowy peaks mingling with the clouds, I felt like I was looking at living creatures—and that they were watching me in turn.
* * *
Shortly after setting out on the morning of the second day of our trip, we reached a small river. A wide, sturdy wooden bridge let us cross, though most of the snow had melted off it. Jago walked alongside the horses, leading them at a snail’s pace. The sleigh’s runners noisily scraped the wooden planks but otherwise made the crossing without too much difficulty.
Once we were on the move again, I waved around at the white landscape. “What happens to the sleigh if all of this melts?”
“I have wheels in the back that I can attach and replace the runners. It’s not as efficient as a regular wagon, but it’ll keep you moving in a pinch. Neat idea. I picked it up from some Balanquans last fall.”
“Balanquans, Lorandians, Heirs. Is there anyone you don’t trade with?”
“In Grashond? Probably not.” His eyes scanned the way ahead. “I don’t think we have to worry about this melting quite yet. If anything, it’s getting colder.”
It was, and the wind was picking up too. By late afternoon, dark clouds were spreading across the sky. Jago had been telling funny anecdotes about various reactions to painting the barns in Constancy, but he trailed off mid-story at one point, his face growing increasingly troubled. When the first snowflakes began to fall, he deviated from the straight course we’d been following, turning toward a more treed area to the east.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“We’re going to need to make camp, and I’m trying to find a spot that’s not in the open—but also unlikely to get a tree knocked onto it.”
Snow fell steadily by the time he found a place he liked. Acting quickly, he hopped into the sleigh’s hold and took out a few long, narrow wrapped bundles. He set them next to the horses and then returned to start tying down the oilcloth we used as a roof at night. “Go ahead and get in,” he told me. “I’ll be there soon.”
“What are you going to do?”
He didn’t answer but instead unrolled the bundles, which contained long, flexible rods. He began positioning them around the horses, and I realized he was building a shelter of sorts. I hurried to his side. “What can I do to help?”
“Nothing—go get warm.”
The wind snatched away one of the ties he was using to bind two poles together. I managed to snag it and hand it back. After watching him work for a few moments, I took up two other poles and began tying them together in the same way. Once he had the poles set as he wanted, he secured them into the ground with stakes. I helped hold them as he worked, fighting as the wind grew more intense and snow thickened. A slight panic rose up in me at the familiarity of it all, bringing a sickening remembrance of the blizzard in Constancy.
Don’t worry, I told myself. It’s not the same. You have shelter and food. Jago knows what to do.
When the frame was in place, he covered it all with more oilcloth, and we fought to keep it steady. The last corner of the oilcloth proved tricky to tie; it had grown knotted. Jago knelt down in the snow to work on it, and I hovered over him, unsure what to do but also unwilling to leave. At last, the horses’ tent was complete, and after a few more checks, he urged me toward the sleigh’s hold. The snow came down in sheets now, and we walked hunched over to protect our faces. Once we’d crawled under a gap in the oilcloth’s cover, Jago bound that loose flap too. It blocked out the wind and the light.
He shuffled in the darkness, and after a few moments, a small spark glowed inside the lantern he always kept on hand. With the cloth pulled so tightly over us, we couldn’t fully sit up, and he took care in placing the lantern where it wouldn’t accidentally set anything on fire.
“Will the horses be okay out there?” I asked.
“Yeah. They’re hardy. The tent keeps the snow off them and helps trap heat. Would they be okay for a week in there? No, but let’s hope this runs the usual course of a day or so.” He stretched out on his side, trying to get comfortable. “Sorry I didn’t have time to arrange it into our usual setup.”
There was still room to lie down, but crates and bags were scattered about, as opposed to the flat, open area he usually prepared on the seed bags. I managed to curl up on my side as well. “I’ll take it over being stuck outside. And actually, I’m impressed at how fast you put together our shelter and theirs. I always wondered what people did with their horses in these storms.”
“Well, not everyone travels with a setup like that for their horses. They’ll survive just fine in most conditions. We didn’t see storms quite like this where I grew up in Archerwood, but I remember one winter when I was a kid, a horse got lost outside during a two-day blizzard. When the weather cleared, we found her out in the pasture, hungry but otherwise not worse for the wear.” He paused to listen to the wind. “But I’m not taking any chances with mine, if I can help it.”
The word choice and emphasis piqued my curiosity. “Weren’t the horses you grew up with yours? Or, well, your family’s?”
“Oh, no. My family didn’t own horses. We didn’t own much of anything. There were seven of us kids, and my dad worked all hours for a big plantation owner. We got pulled into various jobs there too, and mine was working in the stables. I slept a lot of nights in that barn. I didn’t mind it, though. It’s like I said—there was a sincerity to the horses that resonated with me. I didn’t have to deal with any of the cruelty or manipulation you get with people.”
“Did you get a lot of cruelty or manipulation from people?” I asked, startled.
“More than some, less than others. Kids will always find something to pick on. I was small for my age, and the different-colored eyes were a pretty good target. And being poor, of course, always puts you at a disadvantage.”
“Oh, I know.”
“I’m sure you do,” he said with a wan smile. “I tended the horses—but I couldn’t ride them unless it was related to their care. It was made clear to me that I was too lowly to even imagine riding them for sport or convenience. And I sort of came to believe that—you know how it is, when that’s the world you’re in. But one day, I couldn’t resist. Most everyone was gone to a local festival, even the workers. So, I went for it. I took the youngest, liveliest horse there—this bay stallion named Moonshine—and rode. I rode and rode—let him go as fast as he could. It was one of the greatest moments of my life.”
“And after that, you decided to make a career out of raising them?”
“Eh, after that, I got c
aught and was beaten pretty badly, but it lit something in me. Not long after that, an old peddler came through town and was looking to hire an assistant. He asked me if I thought I might be good at selling things and said that if so, I could leave with him the next day. I didn’t actually think I was good at it, though.”
“And yet, here you are,” I said, startled at that plot twist.
“Here I am. I wanted out badly enough to give it a try. I wanted to take hold of my future, no matter the cost—which turned out to be a high one, seeing as I’ve spent a fortune on exotic horses that my first employer would say a ‘lowly’ guy had no business with.” The pride in Jago’s voice was unmistakable.
“To what end?”
“Racing.” Jago’s face glowed. “You’ve seen how Pebble and Dove move. Felicia’s faster. Horse racing’s starting to gain interest in Adoria, and I plan on raising and training some of the best. Once I get everything settled.”
I looked at the spark in his eyes as he spoke, the purity and passion of his conviction shining through. It was a rare, clear glimpse into him, an honest window free of all the pitches and flattery he doled out normally. Neither of us had spoken about holding hands the other night, though I often thought about it. Sometimes, I’d see him watching me, and I suspected he was doing the same.
He reached for the lantern and snuffed it, explaining, “I want to save fuel, and we should sleep anyway. If this storm breaks anywhere close to dawn, we’ll head out early.”
“I’m too keyed up,” I said. “I’m worried about the storm, about getting to Orla on time . . .”
“We’ll be fine. I’ll make sure of it.”
His breezy confidence comforted me, as much as anything could while sheltering in a tarp-covered sleigh during a blizzard. “Okay, but I still don’t think I’m going to fall asleep anytime soon. Talk to me about something. Tell me about, I don’t know, horse gear.”
“Pfft. I didn’t realize my life’s ambition was boring you. Why don’t you tell me something for a change.”
“Like what?”
“Sailing off to a strange land is a pretty big deal. You said yourself that you sacrificed more than I could understand to get here. So, help me understand. What were you running away from?” When I didn’t answer, he added, “Or I can tell you about horse gear.”
I rolled over to my back as best I could, pondering if I should answer. As I did, my fingertips brushed his arm, feeling only the leather of his coat. “Where are your blankets?”
“I put them on the horses.”
“Jago,” I groaned. “They have fur. You don’t.”
“I’ve got clothes. And it’s not so bad in here.”
“If you consider not below freezing being not so bad, then yes, I suppose.” I pulled off one of my blankets and handed it over to him. He promptly handed it back.
“You’re always cold. You keep it.”
“Fine, you leave me no choice.” I scooted over to him, maneuvering around the odd bag or box. Still wrapped in one of my blankets, I curled up against him and draped the second blanket over both of us. “And don’t come up with some excuse or complaint. I’ll keep you warm whether you like it or not.”
“Do you hear me complaining?”
We shifted and rearranged ourselves until we were both comfortable, pressed together and lying on our sides. He put an arm around me, and I leaned my head against his chest. A long time passed before I finally said, “I’m not trying to get away from something so much as I’m trying to get to something.”
“What’s that?”
What indeed? Merry, of course. Always Merry. But so much more than that. The burden of it swelled up in my chest. “I don’t even know where to start. The short version is that I’m trying to get a better life for my family, and I’ll do whatever it takes to protect them.” My voice caught at that last bit because Merry suddenly seemed so far away. I was out in the wilderness, huddled in the dark. She was going to be confined to a fragile ship on a mighty sea, the same sea that had nearly killed me.
Jago ran his fingers through my hair, brushing it from my face. “You’ll do it, Tamsin. You’re unstoppable. But you should make sure you get a better life out of this too.”
“We’ll see.”
“That’s not an encouraging answer.”
As weighty as the topic was, I was starting to lose my focus a little because I was so distracted by his closeness. The hand that had toyed with my hair now ran gently along the curve of my neck, and at some point, I’d wrapped my arms around him, curling my fingers into his back. I’d had no interest in being with a man for so long that it was startling to have my body suddenly wake up like this. My attraction to him had grown by leaps and bounds in recent days, and now, I could scarcely think about anything except how badly I wanted to touch him and feel him touch me.
Somehow, despite the quickening of my pulse and breathing, I managed to coherently say, “The last time I was selfish, things . . . well, let’s just say things went in an unexpected way. A world-altering way.”
“Getting a better life for yourself doesn’t mean you’re selfish.” There was a breathiness to his voice too, and I could feel the tension crackling in him as he continued trailing his hands over me. “You deserve to get something you want.”
I lifted my head, leaning in so that our foreheads touched. “Well, maybe I could if that ‘something’ would stop talking. Unless you’re still afraid of—”
The words were lost as he brought his mouth down to mine in a crushing kiss that contained none of the timidity he’d had the other night. My lips parted as the kiss grew more demanding, but I was just as eager, maybe more so. I pressed my body as close to his as I could, and when that wasn’t enough, I pushed him to his back and then climbed on top of him. His hands encircled my waist and then explored the length of my legs as I finally broke the kiss and moved my lips to his neck.
We spent half the night like that, kissing and touching and wrapping around each other in a thousand different ways. Our clothes, though occasionally challenged, stayed on, and even though I held a craving for more, I also took a great deal of pleasure in what we could do now. Everything was still so new that there was no need to rush ahead. It was enough just to be together and linger over what we had.
We finally stopped, more out of exhaustion than lack of interest. I drifted to sleep in his arms, and though the wind still howled outside, the storm of worry and restlessness that usually churned within me was calm for a change.
CHAPTER 22
THE BLIZZARD SUBSIDED BY MORNING, AND I AWOKE to Jago’s arm around my waist and cold oilcloth against my face. Feeling me stir, Jago opened his eyes and yawned, first looking at me and then to the dipping tarp. He poked at it and said, “It’s got snow weighting it down.”
Sure enough, when we managed to emerge from our den, we found everything covered in about two feet of new snow. But the wind had stopped, and the sun came out. I helped Jago take down the horse shelter, and Pebble and Dove greeted us with small whickers as they pawed eagerly at the ground. Jago tended to them with his normal affection, but it meant more to me now that I knew his history.
As we checked to make sure nothing had been left behind in our hasty camp, Jago started to put his arm around me. After a few seconds of reconsideration, he removed it. Seeing my puzzled expression, he chuckled and climbed into the sleigh’s seat.
“Don’t look at me like that, Tamsin. You can’t expect me to know what to do.”
I took the hand he offered. “You knew plenty well what to do last night.”
“Oh, that was pretty straightforward,” he said cheerfully. “Now? I’m not sure what you want.”
I averted my eyes. “Me either.”
“Then I’ll proceed accordingly.” He picked up the reins, and the horses zipped away over the unbroken snow. “Off we go.”
I wasn’t entir
ely sure what “proceed accordingly” entailed, but mostly, he seemed to be regular Jago, easygoing and witty. And chatty. But he didn’t talk about last night or try to figure out what it had meant. My own self-analysis was unproductive. I almost hoped I could view what had happened as a superficial, lust-driven act. But while it was to some degree, I found I was just as interested in being with Jago as I was in being physical with him. And that wasn’t sustainable.
The fresh snow let us make good time, though the land wasn’t so flat and empty anymore. There were more trees than there had been to the north, and as we drew nearer the foothills, the terrain sloped up and was dotted with buttes and other oddly shaped formations. That afternoon, we came upon another road, the first we’d been on in a few days. Not long after that, we began to pass scattered homes, lone rectangular or round houses with barns and grazing animals.
“Is this Kerniall?” I asked.
“These are just outlying farms. The town’s farther ahead—you can’t miss it.”
I leaned forward, hands clasped, eager to finally see this Icori town. The sleigh followed the road as it curved through a copse of elms and oaks, and when the trees thinned out, Jago said, unnecessarily, “That is Kerniall.”
Yes. There was no way you could miss it. The land gently swelled up into a wide, rounded hill with a blocky stone fortress—more in keeping with something from ancient Osfro—perched on top. Around it and scattered on the hill’s sides were clusters of much smaller buildings, most perfectly round. Their cylindrical bodies were built of stone, and cone-shaped thatched roofs covered them like hats. A stone wall about twice the height of a man surrounded the hill’s base.
The road ran right into a gate in the wall, guarded by four armed Icori. They wore coats made of overlapping pieces of hard leather, reminding me of feathers or scales. Fur hats and cloaks provided extra warmth, and when we reached them, I saw that the cloaks were lined with blue tartan crisscrossed with black and yellow. They appeared neither hostile nor welcoming as they scrutinized us and the sleigh.