(Chapter 4: An Auspicious Beginning, cont.)

  As soon as the boy saw his friend swing, he lunged forward, drawing his knife.

  Ean darted in from behind and yanked him back by the shirt collar. The boy shouted in surprise. Ean wrenched the knife away, then kicked the back of his knees. The boy fell, hitting the muddy road with a splatter. The herders spun around as the youngster swore and tried to scramble to his feet. Ean planted a foot on his back, keeping him down.

  “Get off him or I’ll knock your head off!” the leader growled, face reddening in anger.

  Ean tossed the boy’s knife at his feet. “You may certainly try, but then I’d have to pull my blades.” He waited a moment for the herder’s eyes to glance over the visible weaponry on his body. “You must know that well-to-do traveling parties don’t journey without a hired sword.”

  If he’d been wearing his shadow-walker blacks, the herders would have scattered in a matter of seconds. As he didn’t have his uniform, announcing himself as a sell-sword was the next best option. It’d make the herders think twice before committing to a fight.

  At least, that was the hope. The youngster under his foot swung backwards with his fist, hitting his leg with a weak punch. Ean kicked him in the ribs. Another herder—the boy’s older brother, by the look of him—objected, lunging forward to shove Ean off. It was easy enough to snatch his wrist, duck under his sloppy blow, then yank him around and twist his arm behind his back. Ean didn’t even have to change his footing.

  The remaining herders stepped forward, crooks in hand.

  Ean jerked the older brother’s arm up, and he let out a cry, rising up on his toes to ease the pressure. The herders paused.

  “You,” Ean said, jerking his head at the farmer. “Get your cart and ride to town. You can give your complaints to the magistrate.”

  The farmer paused, looking between Leo and the herders, like he wasn’t quite ready to retreat.

  “Go!” Ean snapped.

  The farmer scurried to his cart. Leo and Chadwick helped him set it back on its wheels. He muttered a quick thanks and slapped the reins. Ean waited until he had a fair head start before releasing the herder in his hands and stepping off the boy.

  The brother spun around, face flushed with embarrassment. The boy scrambled up to stand at his side. Their fists clenched, ready for another go.

  Ean dropped his hands onto the hilts of the long knives strapped around his waist. “I think we’re done here.”

  The boy opened his mouth to retort, but the leader clamped a heavy hand on his shoulder and pulled him back. He looked at Ean, waning patience in his eyes. “Get your lot out of here.”

  Ean nodded. He rejoined his party and jerked his head at the road. “Let’s go.”

  The Prince gestured at the herders. “These men would have—”

  “Would have hashed out an argument that we’ve no stake in,” Ean said, speaking over him. “An argument that would have been settled with a broken nose and a stolen purse at worst. Hardly anything worth our time and attention.”

  The Prince’s mouth twisted like he wanted to argue.

  Roarke glanced at the sun and said, quietly, “Daylight’s wasting.”

  The Prince relented. Ean waited for him to mount up before reclaiming his own horse. Roarke led the party off and Ean took the rear again, keeping one eye on the road behind them until the herders were safely out of sight. He turned forward with a breath of relief, and his eyes landed on the Prince’s back. In Ean’s experience, men of power didn’t like being corrected, particularly in front of a crowd. He wondered how the Prince’s anger would show itself. Would he go on a tirade? Would he get snappish or sullen? Or perhaps he’d be particularly demanding to put Ean back in his place. Ean let out another breath, this one of presumptive irritation.

  Roarke kept the party moving north. By mid-afternoon they reached the forest where they found a drier road that allowed them to push into a trot. Ean looked about the landscape curiously. He’d never been this far north before. He’d spent most of his life in the village of Haven at the Collegium where all the shadow-walker initiates were trained. Once he’d started his apprenticeship, he and Felix had traveled together. He’d glimpsed the edge of the Gyld Desert and swam in the ocean, but he’d never gone further north than Balucia. From what he’d heard, it was sparsely populated and consisted of large stretches of forests and hills. That’s what he saw now. Forests and hills. The hills were the gentle sort, rounded like rolling waves, but when they crested the top of a larger summit, he could see taller ridges in the distance, gray and mountainous.

  The road here was well-marked but not well-worn. Grass, flowers, and the occasional sapling carpeted the road. Chadwick took the lead and urged the party into a canter when they were able. Ean could tell he was pushing for something, a road-marker perhaps, or a place to stop for the night. About an hour before dusk, he heard the rush of water and the road turned westward to run parallel with a quick-moving stream. Chadwick directed them down a path that led to a well-used campsite, a short walk from the water’s edge. An old firepit had been dug out and lined with stones. A hitching post was set nearby.

  The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  “That’s Black Creek,” Chadwick said, gesturing to the stream as he dismounted, “an offshoot of Canus River, which we’ll follow up to Bridgewater. It’s about a week’s ride from here.”

  Ean grimaced. He wasn’t a nature lover. He vastly preferred cities to forests, and another week of riding through forests and hills sounded achingly monotonous. He dropped down from the saddle and stretched out his stiffening muscles.

  “There’s a waterfall and a bathing pool down that path,” Chadwick said. “And if you keep an eye out, you may see some stag. This area has the best hunting in the north region.”

  Roarke looked at the sky, finally clear of clouds. “Looks like we’ll have a pleasant evening. We’ll set camp first, then have a wash.”

  Ean volunteered to collect firewood, partly to avoid the Prince’s inevitable anger and partly to avoid the party as much as possible. They were uncomfortable around him. Their conversations stuttered when he got too close, and they gave him wary glances whenever he passed by. They didn’t trust him.

  It took some time to gather the wood. Most of it was still wet from the heavy rains over the past few days. By the time he finished, the tents had been pitched and the horses unburdened. Only Roarke remained, seeing to camp while the others bathed. He tipped his head towards the creek, a wordless invitation to join the rest. The idea of a bath was appealing. Ean grabbed his pack and headed down to the water.

  There was a waterfall, as Chadwick had claimed, but it was a small one. The pool at the bottom had been deepened with a wall of stones. The others were gathered along the edge, laughing and splashing as they washed themselves and their clothes. They were loud and happy, and it occurred to Ean that, now that the rain had stopped, the quiet, solitary evenings spent holed up in their tents had ended. He’d be forced to listen to their conversations, forced to hear their jokes and secrets, perhaps even forced to join in on their laughter. He grimaced and walked further down the creek, away from the merriment.

  The water was freezing, which was to be expected. Most of the rivers this far north were mountain-fed. Ean scrubbed himself and his clothes as quickly as possible, then pulled on the spare change. The others were gone by the time he finished, but the sound of their laughter carried from camp. Ean pulled in a bracing breath, turned onto the trail, and stopped short. Prince Leonid stood in the middle of the path, clearly waiting for him.

  “Hello,” said the Prince.

  “Hello,” Ean returned warily. Was this the tirade then?

  “I wanted to thank you,” the Prince said. “You were very helpful today, back at the wagon.”

  Ean blinked, taken aback, then narrowed his eyes. Was the Prince luring him into some false sense of ease before the castigation started?

  Leo must have noticed his disbelief, because he took a step forward and insisted, “Your help was appreciated. And you were right about not getting involved.”

  Standing this close, Ean could see every ounce of earnestness in his eyes-—the same gray color as the King’s. His gratitude made Ean uncomfortable, as did the guileless expression on his face. They were approximately the same age, but Ean was so used to seeing his own face in the mirror—scarred and scowling—that he’d forgotten how young twenty could look. By the stars, was the Prince even shaving yet?

  Guilt pricked down his spine. Ean had agreed to kill the Prince for the Countess, for the eight lives laid at his feet, he was having a hard time picturing Leo as a negligent commander. Na?ve, perhaps, but that wasn’t enough to justify an assassination. The guilt spread, itching over his skin, making it impossible to formulate a response. He must have stared too long because the Prince spoke again.

  “I mean it, Ean, thank you.”

  “It’s my job,” Ean said shortly, wanting desperately to end the conversation.

  “Well, yes,” said the Prince, looking a little flummoxed, “but you still—”

  Ean cut him off. “There’s no need to thank me. I’m not doing this out of the goodness of my heart.” He walked away before the Prince could say anything else. He didn’t want the Prince’s gratitude, not when he’d tried to kill him, and it felt wrong to let the Prince think so well of him.

  Ean grabbed the journal the King had given him and retreated to a quiet corner of camp. He listed the various consequences of telling the Prince that he was forced onto this quest to save his life. While such honesty would certainly temper the Prince’s good opinion of him, it could also make him wary around Ean. That’d only make his job as a bodyguard more difficult.

  A muttered curse caught his ear and he glanced up. Chadwick knelt over the firepit, striking flint, but the wood was too damp to catch. He glared in Ean’s direction, like it was his fault. Ean glared back. What did he expect? It’d been raining for days.

  Flora crouched beside Chadwick. Her wet hair clumped in ringlets around her face. She shook it back and held her hand out toward the logs. “Watch.”

  She took in a breath, closed her eyes, and carefully exhaled. Her lips pursed as she did. It was a look of concentration, but one that was carefully poised to be flattering. Ean wondered if she practiced making that face in the mirror.

  A burst of fire shot from her hand, startling him out of his cynical thoughts. It hit the stack of logs, toppling the pyramid structure, and igniting the wood into brilliant flames. Ean’s hand dropped to the long knife at his hip. Chadwick yelped in surprise and fell back on his ass.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry!” Flora exclaimed. She reached down to Chadwick. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  Chadwick looked between her and the roaring fire and let out a hearty laugh. He took her hand and let her pull him back up. “That’s a pretty neat trick.”

  She ducked her head behind her hair and her lips turned up in a shy smile.

  Ean slowly pulled his hand away from his knife. Chadwick was right to be startled. Most Fire Mages could coax a spark into a flame, but to create fire… that took a lot of power. It made sense now why she’d been chosen for the journey. She had an incredible gift at her fingertips. He only wondered if she’d be capable of wielding it if it came to battle.

  Leo, Asali, and Chadwick began unloading the packs for dinner. They moved easily in each other’s space, grabbing and handing off utensils without being asked, sometimes poking and tussling in the process. They teased each other too, but it was light-hearted and accompanied with laughter. Flora watched intently. Ean wondered if she was shocked at the casualness between them, or if she was envious of their friendship. She was quick to lend a hand. Roarke, lounging against his pack, was quick to give advice.

  That left Ean, hunched over his journal, on the wrong side of the fire, obviously the outsider of the party. He had no desire—no right—to integrate himself into the group, not after what he’d done. And even if he wanted to, he didn’t know how. He’d never traveled without Felix before, never been without the presence of another shadow-walker. He felt a pang of homesickness and turned in early.