Getting up, I pulled on one of Jago’s work shirts and headed for the door. Then, in case I ran into Alexi, I sought the clothes I had laid out for the morning. Between Jago’s motley assortment of supplies and my own sewing skills, I’d made a split riding skirt out of linen. It hung near the hearth now, and I tugged it on with the shirt.
The door suddenly squeaked open, and I started to ask Jago what had happened . . . and then I saw the shadow that fell in the spilled moonlight on the floor. It was too big and too wide. I held my breath, shrinking back as a large man crept into the shed. I knew I had only a handful of seconds to play my advantage. There was enough lighting outside that his eyes would have to adjust in here, and even in darkness, I knew every single part of this shack. Never taking my eyes off the hulking figure as he stalked toward the window, right by the straw mat I’d just been on, I reached back toward the hearth and wrapped my hand around the iron poker.
The intruder’s feet bumped the pallet, and he leaned down to examine it. I advanced slowly from my hiding spot, weighing my chances of slipping past him. He’d left the door open in such a way that to get out, I’d have to pass right behind him and—
He straightened up and turned around, and in that brief moment our eyes met, I recognized the dreaded, blond-bearded face of Warren’s Lorandian associate. And then I swung the poker as hard as I could.
He roared in pain, and I tore out the door, not waiting to see how much damage I’d done. My heart thundered as I peered frantically around. Where to go? The barn. That’s where Jago was initially headed. I ran for it, and halfway across the yard, I heard shouting in Lorandian. I rounded the barn’s corner and saw the door was open. Once inside, I skidded to a halt as I was plunged into blackness. Unlike Jago, I didn’t know every inch of this place.
I heard the whicker of a horse and moved toward it. Suddenly, a hand clamped over my mouth. Poker still in hand, I flailed against my captor and then heard Jago’s quiet voice: “Easy, Tamsin. It’s me.”
“Jago!” I whispered, once he released me. “What’s going on—”
A gunshot rang in the distance, and I heard uneasy shuffling and snorting from the stalls. “That could be Alexi,” came the grim response. “I hope it’s him. Come on.”
Taking my hand, Jago led me to one of the stalls and unlatched it. He guided one of the horses toward the exit, and as we neared the light of the doorway, I saw he had Felicia.
“I hope you haven’t forgotten how to ride without a saddle. I’m not sure how many of them there are out there, but last I saw, most of the men were near the house. So, take her out around the far side of the pasture, out where the good apple trees are. Ride straight between them, and you’ll get to a road that branches off the main one to the east. Then you’ll—”
“Wait, wait. Jago, what are you saying? Where are you going to be?”
“Dealing with whichever ones stay. They’re here for you, so most are going to follow you once they notice you leaving. They won’t be able to catch you, though. Not on her.” He patted Felicia’s flank and began putting a bridle on her. “Especially with how light you are. The hardest part’ll be when you first get out of here, if you’re still in shooting range. I’m hoping not. Most of them are still searching the buildings. By the time they react, you’ll be out of reach.”
He sounded so impossibly calm, considering the hysteria bubbling up within me. “Jago, I can’t leave you! Let me fight. Or come with me—”
“I’d slow you down. None of the other horses can keep up with her. You’ll be safe once you’re out of here with that head start, and most of them will follow you. That’ll make it easier for me and Alexi to handle the rest.” A gun fired again, and I jumped. Jago pressed a quick kiss to my lips. “That’s by the house. Now listen. I need you to get to an Icori outpost.”
He rattled off directions, and I tried to absorb them, though it was difficult, given my terrified state. When he finished, he took the poker and helped me onto Felicia’s back. She danced in place a bit but otherwise remained docile. Satisfied I was steady, Jago reached up and squeezed my hand.
“You can do this,” he said. “This is easy for someone like you. Just ride, and she’ll get you away.”
He released my hand and then ran his hands over Felicia’s luxurious mane. Letting out a small, wistful sigh, he reached for his belt and unsheathed a long knife. Its blade flashed in the light, and then, disbelieving, I watched as he hacked away at her long hair, cutting about six inches off it.
“You don’t want that blowing in your face,” he explained. Moving in front of Felicia, he peered out the barn door. Satisfied, he looked back up at me, tension and concern taking the place of his usual merriment. “Okay. Time to go.”
Swallowing back my fear, I gave him a jerky nod. “You’ll come to me?”
“Always.”
At Jago’s command, Felicia shot out the door and ran. No, more than that. When I’d let Dove run free outside Kerniall, I’d likened it to flying. But now, racing by the pasture, I expected to look down and see wings on Felicia, launching us through the air.
The silence that had preceded our exit vanished, and a flurry of noise and movement took place. I saw little of it, not with my speed and sights fixed ahead, but things unfolded much as Jago had said. Men—I got the sense there might be half a dozen—shouted and scrambled for horses. Shots were fired, one bullet striking part of the fence right as we passed it. Felicia didn’t waver, though. She stretched her neck out, her long legs tearing over the ground at an incredible rate.
Soon, I heard hooves behind me, but I didn’t look back. I kept faith in Felicia, believing that she would stay ahead of them all. And as we continued on, following the maze of small roads Jago had described, the sounds of pursuit grew fainter. Eventually, they faded entirely. I didn’t think I’d lost the Lorandians for good, but I was sure they weren’t a threat for the time being.
But what about Jago and Alexi? Fear for them gnawed at me as we thundered down the roads. I felt sick, thinking I’d abandoned them. Maybe most of the intruders had followed me, but what would they do when they accepted I was out of reach? If someone had been afraid enough to send this group after me even though it seemed more likely I’d drowned, then they were probably paranoid enough to go back and deal with loose ends. They’d have to know that I would have told others what had happened, sharing more secrets Warren couldn’t let go.
When Jago had first gone outside to investigate the horses, he hadn’t taken a gun with him, which was why he’d been forced to rely on the knife and then the poker when he discovered the attack. If most of the assailants cleared out after me, he’d have a chance to better arm himself and regroup with Alexi. The advantage would shift to them. The Lorandians wouldn’t stand a chance if they came back and found their roles reversed, with them being the ones hunted in the dark.
That thought eventually settled me a little, though the calm was short-lived when Felicia’s hooves thumped across the wooden planks of a bridge. I drew up the reins and brought us to a stop. She hadn’t shown signs of tiring in our run, though she was breathing heavily. I patted her neck and contemplated my location. In his directions, Jago had specifically called out this bridge, saying if I reached it, I’d missed a turn.
Steering her back in the direction we’d come from, I squinted at the edges of the road as we moved at a much slower pace. We’d left the grasslands of Rushwick for more-forested land. This was not a well-traveled road, barely big enough for two riders traveling abreast. Around it, the brush and trees were overgrown, some spreading on the road. When I reached an earlier intersection, I knew I’d missed it again.
On my next pass, I finally spied the break in the vegetation that indicated our next course. It was about the same size as the previous road, but as it curved through the woods, our way grew narrower and bumpier, forcing us to a less aggressive speed. This was expected, though. The Icori wer
en’t supposed to have any sort of permanent presence in the colonies, but they still maintained eyes and ears. My destination, according to Jago, was an extremely out-of-the-way camp the Icori manned to watch Denham and serve as a waypoint for messages going to various clans on the other side of the borders.
“It’s hard to find, but if it is discovered, the Icori’ll help you,” Jago had told me in the barn. “Someone there might recognize you. And they’ll definitely recognize Felicia.”
Of course, that had been before her haircut. “Poor girl,” I murmured, stroking her stubbly mane. “I’m sure it’ll grow back in no time.”
I’d learned all about how this breed of horse was prized for beauty and speed. As noted, however, the beauty of that mane became problematic if it was whipping around at the rider. For races, the manes were usually braided into more-aerodynamic but still-whimsical styles. Obviously, we hadn’t had time for a hairstyling session tonight.
We stopped again as the path forked before us. I was growing weary, and this had been near the end of a string of directions. A lightening of the eastern sky allowed me to see my surroundings more clearly, but that didn’t aid my decision. Both ways were narrow trails.
Left, I decided. I was certain that was what he’d said. We moved ahead at little more than a brisk walk. Felicia’s energy seemed good, but she had to be feeling the effects of our mad dash. Her type was bred for fast and furious races, not overland treks at those same speeds.
When the path grew wider, I began to question my direction. We were supposed to be hiding. Had I gone the wrong way and was now headed toward one of Denham’s main thoroughfares? Slowing, I gauged my directions from the sunrise. Should I turn back? I could have sworn Jago had said the left fork was north, and that matched with what I could see. I urged Felicia on, and that was when the other horse emerged from the trail behind me.
It was a black gelding with white markings on its head. And sitting on top of it was my Lorandian adversary. His bearded face split into a grin, and I cursed myself for the time I’d lost missing my turn. Now, I had no room to take advantage of Felicia’s speed—or dodge the gun he held.
“Lucky hunch for me, turning off the main road,” he said in his accented Osfridian. “Just like my hunch was right to track you down after the storm. Doyle said you couldn’t have survived it, but my instincts wouldn’t let it go.”
“I don’t know why you’re doing this.” My eyes darted around, trying to watch his gun and find any possible escape. “I don’t understand what’s going on. Let me go. Please. I don’t have anything to do with this.”
His lips twisted into a smirk. “I’m sorry, little one, but we both know that’s not true. You saw me in that joke of an Icori raid, and then you and Jacob Robinson were apparently pulling some scheme at Lo Canne.” He raised the gun. “You may not know everything, but you know enough.”
Zing.
An arrow shot out from the brush, right into the hand holding his gun. He cried out and dropped it, just as a gun was fired. The shot struck his leg, knocking him off balance and out of the saddle. Both horses reared, and out of nowhere, people holding guns and other weapons swarmed around us. Two men tackled the Lorandian, and in dawn’s light, I caught a glimpse of green tartan.
“Well, well, well,” said a familiar voice. “It is you. I wasn’t sure when I ordered them to attack, but I figured we couldn’t risk it.”
Orla Micnimara stepped out in front of me, dressed for the wilds, and I nearly toppled over in relief. “Thank you,” I breathed. “Thank you so much.”
She crooked me a wry smile. “Well, I was actually talking to Felicia, but I’m happy to see you too, Tamsin.”
CHAPTER 37
“WHEN JAGO SAID THERE WAS AN ICORI WATCH HERE, I didn’t expect you to be part of it,” I told Orla later, once the commotion on the trail had settled down. “Or so far east of the river.”
Orla and the others led me and the now-restrained Lorandian man back to their bare-bones shelter deeper in the forest. I sat down near a cold fire pit, drinking some sort of green herbal tea she handed me. Some of the Icori I knew from Kerniall joined us and greeted me warmly. A dozen or so Icori from other clans worked around the camp, glancing at me curiously.
She made a face. “It’s not a normal activity for me. There’s a . . . situation that requires me to be here. I’m waiting for some news. I’d say you were a pleasant diversion, but based on your arrival, I’m guessing the truth is a bit darker.”
We both looked toward the far side of the shelter, where the Lorandian man sat tied up and gagged while an Icori woman knelt near his bloody leg. Orla called something to her in their language and received a curt reply.
“He’ll live,” Orla translated. “The bullet didn’t hit anything vital. He probably hurt himself more when he fell out of the saddle. What should we do with him for you?”
I played with the edge of my cup, weary from the long ride but eaten up with anxiety over what had happened back at the farm. “I don’t know. He just tried to kill Jago and me. And he’s one of the Lorandians who was disguised as an Icori up in Constancy.”
Orla’s body went still, all traces of warmth disappearing from her face. “Where is Jago?”
“Hopefully on his way here. When we were attacked, he sent me away on Felicia.” I tried to recap everything as succinctly as possible, which wasn’t easy, since the story actually began back in Cape Triumph, when I’d first met Warren.
“I have faith in Jago.” Orla’s eyes narrowed as she studied the Lorandian. “But this man and his companions have caused damage that’s rippling through Adoria.” One of the servants made a suggestion in Icori. The woman who’d bandaged the wound overheard and chimed in, nodding along. Orla, however, grimaced and shook her head, giving a sharp rebuke.
“What?” I asked.
“They’re suggesting we execute him as an example,” Orla told me. “And I’d like to. Very much. But something tells me you’ll want him brought back to your people.”
“I-I suppose so.” I was still in shock and hadn’t thought that far ahead. But she was right. If we were going to prove this conspiracy, he was an essential piece of evidence.
Shouts from the forest interrupted my rumination, and moments later, a scout emerged from the trees. Behind him came Jago, leading Pebble. All the control I’d barely been keeping collapsed, and I sprang to my feet. He met me partway, wrapping his arms around me as I buried my face against his chest and swallowed back sobs.
“Six, Jago. I was afraid you were dead.”
“No one left to do the deed,” he said gently. “Alexi knocked one of them out, and the rest came after you. I assume they scattered when they lost you.”
I pulled back slightly and pointed. “Not all of them.”
Jago’s eyebrows rose as he noticed the Lorandian. “I see. Oh—hello there, Orla.”
“Hello, Jago.” She rose gracefully. “I hope there are no hard feelings over what happened in Kerniall.”
“Oh, there were a few when I found out just what roles everyone had played in my ‘detainment.’ Luckily, I’m the forgiving type.”
Her face shifted back to a smile as she glanced between us, noting his arm around me. “Things seemed to have worked out for you.”
“They’re getting there,” he said, pulling me back to him. His eyes lifted when he heard a soft neigh from the clearing’s edge. “There she is. Still going strong, from the looks of it—but it’s a shame about the hair.” After surveying her a moment further, he turned back to the rest of us. “Okay, Orla. What’s happening? It can’t be good if you’re here with such an entourage.”
“No,” she said, face hardening once more. “Not good at all, especially knowing what I know now. Kershimin was attacked recently—severely attacked, not one of the nuisance raids we’ve been tracking. Several people died.”
“Kershimin is south of
here,” Jago told me. “Near the border of North Joyce and South Joyce.”
“The attackers were Osfridians.” Orla’s gaze flicked to the Lorandian. “Or maybe not Osfridians. Or maybe Osfridians hired for a purpose. Whatever they were, they succeeded in enraging both Kershimin and its neighbor, Kermoyria—and Kershid. That’s Padrig’s home. My betrothed. One of the people killed was an Olaron.”
“The ruling clan in Kershid,” explained Jago.
I rubbed a spot between my eyebrows, where a headache was forming. It was hard keeping track of all the unfamiliar clan and city names. “So what’s happened?”
“Kershimin and Kermoyria want to strike back,” Orla continued. “They’ve been trying to get the Olarons to join them. It’s triggered a pretty heated debate in Kershid, and I’ve just barely been able to convince Padrig not to. He’s wavering, though. Your accounts of the Lorandians in the north have lost some of their impact after this recent attack and Tamsin’s confirmation of Osfridian involvement at the hunting camp. It looks more and more like deliberate action by the colonies to violate the treaties and move into our lands.”
“But it’s not!” I exclaimed. “Some are Osfridian, but they’re not acting with any official directive.”
Orla rested a hand on my shoulder. “I believe you, Tamsin. But others don’t know what I do. They haven’t seen what I’ve seen. If Padrig throws his support in for joining the other clans, all of Kershid will stand with him.”
“So what’s he doing now?” asked Jago.
“Well, that’s the big question,” she said with a bitter laugh. “Two days ago, we received word that there was a delegation from the southern clans here in Denham, wanting to talk to the Olarons.”
I turned to Jago and saw he looked as confused as I felt. “Why Denham?” I asked her. “Why not call a meeting in the southern colonies? Or why the colonies at all? If they wanted to talk to him, it seems like they’d send their delegation to Kershid.”