The Silvered

Chapter Six

DANIKA HAD HEARD TWO SHOTS not long after they’d turned onto what passed for a road in this part of Pyrahn, but as the bouncing had to be worse on top of the coach than it was inside, she very much doubted Corporal Hare had hit anything, regardless of how good a shot he thought he was. Given that that they were still moving, that the horses hadn’t been hamstrung, that the soldiers hadn’t fallen screaming, that they continued to bounce about, she knew Hare couldn’t have missed a shot at any of the Pack.

And he couldn’t have hit what he shot at.

Couldn’t have.

A sudden lurch threw her sideways and Tagget grunted as he shoved her away. Between the sound of the wheels on the road, the creaking of the coach, and the pounding of hooves both before and behind, she had no idea if his grunt was a complaint or merely an observation.

The Hagen family coach she’d been taken from had been designed to absorb much of the road’s roughness, cushioning the necessity of travel from the unpleasantness. Imperial mail coaches were designed to get across the empire as quickly as possible. Sufficient padding had clearly been considered an unnecessary extra so when she bounced off the seat, her landing was, for all intents and purposes, uncushioned and the only reason the four of them weren’t tossed about like leaves on the wind was that the interior of Imperial mail coaches provided so little room they supported each other whether they wanted to or not.

Private Tagget was as insufficiently padded as the seat, his elbow and shoulder both annoyingly bony.

Danika was aware it might be considered foolish to resent a lack of comfort in her current situation—captured by enemies of Aydori, hands bound, her mage-craft contained, her unborn child threatened—but it helped to keep the hysteria at bay. The farther they moved from the border, the more she wanted to weep and scream and throw herself at the soldiers guarding them, ripping their throats out with her own entirely inferior teeth.

She remembered reading an article about the Imperial army drafting women and thinking it wasn’t a terribly practical idea. If an army of men should be wiped out, the women remaining could manage with only the men who’d been unsuitable for war, but it took strong and healthy women to have strong and healthy babies. Of course, the Imperial army had no intention of being wiped out so, perhaps, extended as the army was, they were, in their own mind, being entirely practical. Here and now, she merely wished she’d had the same opportunity as those unknown women to learn how to fight.

Tagget had jammed himself into the corner of the coach, both hands wrapped loosely around the barrel of the musket he held between his legs. His eyes were closed under the flat brim of his bicorn and he seemed to be as relaxed as possible under the circumstances. Corporal Berger held a position similar to Tagget’s, but his slouch was a lie; every muscle tense, his eyes locked on the blur outside the small window in the top half of the door. He gripped his musket so tightly that the knuckles of his right hand were white, the fingers of his left tapping patterns across them.

Unbound, she could pull the air from their lungs and hold it from them until they collapsed, gasping for breath. She’d never used her mage-craft to hurt anyone, but she thought…no, she knew she could hurt these two men who were taking her away from her home. As though it sensed her desire, the net increased its constant pressure against her head. Or within her head; Danika wasn’t sure which. She breathed shallowly, almost panting, until the pain passed.

What could she do with the limited mage-craft it allowed her?

Berger bounced into Kirstin, swore, and jerked away. He was panting, much as she’d been. Was he in pain?

“Do not make this shithole smaller than it is.”

Oh.

She studied the movement of the air inside the coach. Found the paths it took, guided by breath and movement and body heat. Then she exhaled words toward the corporal’s ear.

Too small.

He twitched.

Another breath.

Too close.

He shuffled his feet and kicked at the fabric of her skirt. His knees knocked up against hers, and he swore as he shoved her aside. Her knees pushed up against Tagget’s and Kirstin’s and when Tagget shoved back, Berger’s feet got tangled in her skirt.

“The flaming fuck!”

Trying to avoid being kicked as the corporal struggled to get free, Danika drew her legs up, toppled sideways, and elbowed Tagget in the stomach. He snarled and shoved her away. She worried for a moment he might start to yell, but something—Berger’s rank perhaps—kept him silent. A fight might have released the rising tension. She didn’t want the tension released.

Danika watched Berger’s chest rise and fall as he finally freed himself. Before the rhythm could slow, she breathed, Trapped.

And then began again.

Too small.

Too close.

Trapped.

Too small.

Too close.

Trapped.

Trapped.

Trapped.

“Trapped!” He surged up out of his seat and had the bolts thrown, his hand on the door latch before she realized what he was about to do. A heartbeat later, he pushed the door open.

“Berger! What the fuck?” Tagget tried to get past her, but there wasn’t room, so he grabbed her shoulder and threw her nearly onto Kirstin’s lap. Danika clutched at Kirstin’s arm, trying to prevent herself from sliding to the floor as the coach rocked.

“Berger!” Tagget stumbled. He stopped his fall, one hand clutching the side of the opening, the other palm against Berger’s shoulder. His fingers were just beginning to close as Danika stretched out her leg, the movement hidden in the folds of her skirt, and pushed.

Berger seemed to hang in the air for a moment, then he disappeared.

The coach lurched.

She heard the wet crunch even though the creaking and pounding were as loud as they’d been. Even though the breezes were moving the wrong way to bring her the sound. Then there was shouting from outside and the horses began to slow and there was more shouting and the coach rocked one last time before it was still and she wished whoever was screaming would stop. The coach was too small for that amount of noise to be anything but painful.

She felt gentle hands against her face, looked up to see Kirstin looking down at her, gaze more focused than it had been since trying to remove the net. If it wasn’t Kirstin screaming, it had to be her. And she had to stop so as not to waste this chance of escape while they remained so close to the border. Tagget still blocked the open door, but there was a door in both sides of the coach and they certainly knew now how fast the bolts could be thrown and…

“Out! Move it.”

Hands grabbed her skirt and pulled and Danika found herself outside the coach blinking in the sudden sunlight, unable to stop herself from looking back along the road at the bloody, misshapen lump that had been a man. Alive, then dead. So easy.

“Corral them,” Sergeant Black pushed her toward the others. “Keep them from talking.”

“He went nuts, Sarge. I mean we all fucked around with him about hating small spaces, but he just…”

“Shut it, Tagget.”

Danika ignored them, stumbling forward under the concerned gazes of her Mage-pack until she could rest her head on Jesine’s shoulder. They thought she was reacting to seeing a man die. They didn’t know she’d killed him. She didn’t know yet if she’d tell them. She didn’t think she could stand it if they were pleased about it. So easy to say I’ll kill them. So different to actually do it.

When rough hands pulled her away, she didn’t fight them. Took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, raised her head, and looked past Murphy at Lieutenant Geurin.

“I think,” the lieutenant said, smiling, “that it will take us over three days to reach the capital and those three days will be frequently punctuated by stops in order to change the horses, this might be the time to inform you of what will happen should one of you actually succeed at an escape attempt. Should that happen, I will punish those left behind, making the escapee directly responsible for their pain. My orders are to deliver you alive to the emperor, but that still leaves me a great deal of leeway. It would be foolish, therefore, to believe you can take advantage of the distractions offered to my men by either the common business of the road or such unexpected happenstances as the corporal’s misfortune.”

“And doesn’t he love the sound of his own voice,” Stina muttered as Danika stepped forward.

She wiped her nose on her sleeve. “The corporal’s misfortune?” She spoke loudly enough to be heard over the drivers calming their horses. “A man under your command has been killed and you call it a misfortune?”

His lip curled. “Shut up.” He wasn’t as stupid as he looked.

Danika ignored him and raised her voice. “Sergeant Black, if our Healer-mage can…”

“I said shut up!” His knuckles hit the same place he’d hit her before. As her swollen cheek dimpled under the blow, she cried out and crumpled to the ground. They were still captive, but the lieutenant’s men saw him disdainful of the death of one of their own, and she had the pain to help ease her guilt.

They rolled Berger’s body up in his blanket and tied it to the roof of the last coach.

“We’ll give him to the new garrison at Abyek for the rites,” the sergeant said as they passed the body up and Kyne secured it. No one seemed to care that the blanket had already darkened in places and that they’d be traveling for miles with a corpse. No, they cared, Danika amended, they didn’t mind. To be a soldier was to grow used to death.

Although perhaps not this manner of death…

“Are you all right?” she asked as Tagget latched the door.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” he growled. “He threw himself out. It’s not I like pushed him.”

“Of course not.” No one knew that better than she did.

“Who’d have thought Berger would go like that?” Murphy muttered, having been ordered to the second place inside. “Coach, horses, coach, horses, coach. Fuck.”

“Shut up.”

“I’m just saying…”

“And I’m just saying shut the fuck up!” Tagget slammed the butt of his musket down into the floor with enough force Danika felt the impact through the soles of her boots.

Murphy stared at him for a long moment then said, “Lyone says both his ladies puked riding backward. You didn’t notice the stink?”

Danika hadn’t, although both Jesine and Annalyse’s skirts had to be stained. She had to stop thinking about Berger, about how she’d killed him, and concentrate on getting her Mage-pack free.

Tagget stood, shoved Kirstin into the place he’d vacated, and dropped onto the seat beside Murphy. “Happy?”

“I only want one thing more.” Murphy made a rude gesture, but when Danika ignored him and Kirstin continued to stare into the middle distance, he snorted and slumped back into the corner. “Fine, I’m happy.”

Tagget wasn’t. Danika could see the memories playing behind his eyes, over and over and over. He saw his hand on Berger’s shoulder. Then he saw Berger disappear out the door. She wished it had been one of the others, one of the men who saw them as things not people. Kyne, or even Murphy rather than Tagget, but she’d work with what she had.

The coach lurched forward. Murphy’s musket cracked against her knee, and he stroked her leg as he retrieved it, grinning broadly when she refused to react. When both men finally closed their eyes, Kirstin reached over and took Danika’s hand.

With the other woman’s fingers warm around hers, Danika breathed in. Breathed out.

It was all your fault.

Tagget shuddered.

As she inhaled, Murphy opened his eyes, glanced down at the joining of their hands, and leered. Danika exhaled without words.

By the time they stopped to change the horses, she’d been able to prod Tagget only twice more, unable to trust Murphy to keep his eyes closed for any length of time. Her lips barely moved, but if he saw her, if they realized she’d killed Berger…

Truth be told, her greatest reaction to Murphy’s casual lechery was relief. Manipulating Berger had been an experiment. Knowing the result, manipulating Tagget made her feel unclean.

The Duchy of Pyrahn hadn’t been a conquered territory of the Kresentian Empire long enough for the network of posting houses to have been extended out from the old borders. But, as they thundered up to the village of Herdon, their driver sounded the mechanical horn as though expecting grooms to be ready and waiting with new horses. Herdon had grown up around the lumber mill at the point of the valley, and Danika assumed it had a public house, perhaps even two, but it couldn’t possibly be prepared for the sudden arrival of three coaches demanding twelve fresh horses.

Except it was.

The coach rocked to a stop abrupt enough to throw both women forward out of their seats then back again. At the sergeant’s command, the men inside the carriage switched with those riding outside—Danika doubted that included Hare, the sharpshooter, and hoped it didn’t include Sergeant Black—and during the exchange, as Tagget and Murphy were replaced by Corporal Selven and the lieutenant, Danika saw a team of sleek bays being led past the open door. With narrow heads and long legs under muscular withers and haunches, these were horses intended for speed, not for hauling loaded coaches over rutted forest tracks. These were the horses Danika had envisioned when she thought of post horses.

She’d just never thought of them this far into Pyrahn.

Lieutenant Geurin had no intention of riding backward, so Danika faced him while Kirstin sat across from the corporal. She stared out the window and Corporal Selven stared at his musket, leaving her and the lieutenant to focus on each other. As they left the village and picked up speed, the horses proving their pedigree, the ride went from uncomfortable to unpleasant.

Danika watched the lieutenant’s face and waited. He was, as Stina had noted, too fond of his own voice to stay silent for long.

“In the empire,” he snarled, shouting above the noise, “we know how to build roads.”

We? Danika would have wagered a year’s pin money that the lieutenant had never built anything in his life.

“You should thank us for pulling your pitiful little country out of the darkness and into the illumination of science and development.”

Did he think they lived in mud huts crouched around an open fire? There were gaslights about to be installed on the main streets of Bercarit and a complete restructuring of the sewer system intended for Trouge. As tempted as she was to defend Ryder’s planned civic works, Danika kept her comments to their more immediate concerns.

“And should we thank you for tearing us away from our homes, our husbands, our children?” The corporal’s gaze flicked to her face, surprised. It had apparently never occurred to him that they had lives beyond being captives of the Imperial army. Soldiers seldom got to know those they faced in war—which made sense, if they thought of the enemy as other people, how could they kill? Had she been arranging this…journey, the reason behind changing the soldiers with the horses would be to keep them from getting to know their captives in the forced proximity and relative privacy of the coach. It seemed the Shield commanders thought the same way. Although it left her unable to continue escalating Tagget’s guilt, Danika decided to see the change as a chance to unsettle a greater number of the men.

Linking her fingers in her lap, she fixed Lieutenant Geurin with her best drawing room stare, reminding him they shared a social class. “Are you aware that you’ve left five children crying for their mothers?” Kirstin made a pained sound. Two of the children were her ten-year-old twins, the other three were Stina’s. “Five children whose grief you are directly responsible for.”

“I have deprived a great many children of their fathers,” the lieutenant drawled as they passed over a relatively smooth bit of road. “I hardly think the grief of five tiny abominations will bother me.” She thought she’d controlled her reaction, but when he continued, voice dripping false concern, she realized she had not. “Oh, hadn’t you heard? His Most Imperial Majesty, the Emperor Leopald, has had the church declare your beastmen and your children by beastmen abominations—that which has not passed through the Holy Fire and is unclean. I heard the old Prelate became so concerned about the issue, it killed him. But he was an old man, and these things happen.”

Danika wondered if Geurin understood he’d as much as told her the emperor had the old Prelate killed. Or if he was stupid enough to be bragging about it.

“Abominations have no protection under the law,” he continued. “I, personally, am not a religious man, but some dictates of the church it pleases me to follow. You, personally, are unclean by association. You lie down with dogs…” He grinned, suddenly pleased with himself. “…you get up with fleas. Not a metaphor in this case, is it?”

“It’s a metaphor you’d do well to remember,” Danika snarled, hands curled into fists. Beside her, Corporal Selven stared across the coach at the tears running down Kirstin’s cheeks. It was probably the first time in the corporal’s career that he’d been forced to spend time with the consequences of his actions. And it couldn’t hurt that those consequences were presented by a young and beautiful woman of good birth.

She raised her hands to touch the bruising on her cheek and, shielded by the motion, sighed, It breaks your heart.

A muscle twitched in Selven’s jaw, and he shifted in his seat. She could only see his profile, but he didn’t look happy. Good.

Leaving the corporal to think about what exactly he was involved with, Danika listened to the lieutenant speak of his uncle, high in the emperor’s council. He was, he informed her, Lieutenant Lord Geurin and she wondered how he’d react if informed in turn that she was Lady Hagen. Given that he hadn’t bothered to find out the names of any of his captives, she doubted he’d care.

“When I deliver you to the emperor, His Imperial Majesty will grant me a colonelcy and a regiment.”

“Above those who have worked for it? Above men who have the experience you lack?”

“I don’t need experience!”

She felt the corporal’s leg jerk where it pressed against hers. “Weren’t you supposed to bring six mages back?”

“The sixth mage is Captain Reiter’s problem.”

Danika widened her eyes and looked concerned. “I hope His Imperial Majesty sees it that way.”

“He will!” But he sounded more like a petulant six-year-old than a confident man in his twenties, and the sulky way he settled back into his corner only emphasized the resemblance. He did no more talking, but Danika figured both he and Corporal Selven had enough to consider.

She stared out the window and watched time pass in the small patch of sky.

It had been nearly noon when they’d reached the forest track and not long after that, even considering the delay of Berger’s death, when they’d made the first change from work to post horses. It was almost dark when the horses were changed the second time. As the horses were changed for the third time, the lieutenant ordered the Mage-pack out of the coaches.

They were in an inn yard, an actual inn yard; the inn to the left, the stables to the right, a gate in both of the connecting walls to allow a coach the luxury of driving through without turning. There were one or two dim lights in windows in the black slab of buildings beyond, but Danika expected no help from that quarter. There was just barely room to change all three teams at once. A dozen steaming, sweating horses and their handlers gave the Mage-pack an excuse to huddle together and their guards insufficient geography to separate them.

All the men in sight were Imperial soldiers—even those changing the horses—but moving closer to the spill of light and glancing through the open door into the kitchens, Danika could see a number of local women. It looked like they had fared much worse than her small pack. Although, given the swelling that had forced her left eye nearly shut, the way Kirstin remained closed within herself, a bleeding cut on Jesine’s lip, a certain dishevelment of Annalyse’s clothing, and the care Stina took walking, they didn’t look much better.

The inn yard gave no clue to where they were although, given the size, they had to be on the outskirts of a city. Given the speed they’d been traveling, they had to be out of Pyrahn and over the border into Traiton. Fraris, then, the Duke’s Seat and the only city of any size in the duchy.

“They have fifteen minutes, Sergeant.” The lieutenant flicked open his watch. “For the privy and for food.”

Danika suspected they were intended to use the privy in the same pairs they traveled in—keep them from sharing information, keep them from knowing how their friends were faring—but Jesine slipped in front of Kirstin; Carlsan, clearly annoyed at being forced to guard the privy while the others were already eating, either didn’t notice or didn’t care.

“Has she said anything?” the Healer-mage asked when the door closed.

“No.” Danika raised a brow at the rough wood, but needs must. “She hears what’s being said, though. And she’s reacting.”

“I’d like the time to examine her properly. Annalyse is pregnant.”

It sounded like a non sequitur, but Danika had known Jesine long enough to know differently. “Yes.”

“And so are you. And I think, although it hasn’t been long enough to be certain, I think I am as well.” Jesine shot her a glance heavy with implication.

“We all are. They’re following a prophecy.” She frowned trying to recall the exact words she’d overheard. “When wild and mage together come, one in six or six in one. Empires rise or empires fall, the unborn child begins it all.”

“Six in one?” Jesine stood and let her skirts fall. For all she wore the calm and practical manner taught to Healer-mages, Danika heard hysteria barely held at bay in her laugh. “I certainly hope not. Do the soldiers know?”

“No. Even the captain was only told when they came up a mage short.”

“Should we tell them?”

“The soldiers? I don’t know.” How would soldiers feel about their orders coming from Soothsayers? Would they care about risking their lives on the word of the insane? Or would they see the order as coming from the emperor himself? “I do know that separated as we are, there’s no way we can all escape together, so we’ll have to wait.”

“They’re taking us to Karis, Dani.”

“I know.”

“If they keep moving all night at post speeds, we’ll be in the empire before morning and at Karis no more than two days after that. You think we can escape from the emperor himself and make our way home across half the empire and two recently conquered duchies still crawling with Imperial soldiers?”

“I think…” Danika stood and settled her skirts in turn. “…we will do whatever we have to and we’ll do it together. All of us.”

After a long moment, Jesine nodded and showed teeth. “I think you’re right. Danika…” She paused, hand on the privy door. “Berger was an enemy.”

Danika didn’t want to know how much Jesine suspected. “I know,” she said, and pushed past her into the inn yard where a young woman, girl really, handed her a bowl of stew and a spoon, wincing as she moved. With her hands bound, Danika had to hold the bowl at her mouth. She hadn’t realized how hungry she was until the first bite; she finished the rest so quickly she barely tasted it. She thought the lieutenant might have lingered, that the time limit would apply to everyone save him, but after fifteen minutes, they were loaded back into the coaches and, a moment after that, the horses were given their heads, horn sounding to clear the road.

It appeared they were to travel at post speed through the night.

It was nearly dark by the time Tomas began to stir. Mirian had slept a little herself, stretched aching muscles, drank a bit of water, ate another biscuit, and wished she had her mirror so she could talk to her sister. Lorela would be horrified by the situation and tell her to return to Aydori at once. Mirian would tell her why she couldn’t, and that would make the whole impossible situation real in a way saying the same words to herself couldn’t.

Tomas was going after Lady Hagen.

All the evidence so far indicated he couldn’t do it without her help.

But mostly, sitting in last year’s grass by the side of the road, Tomas’ head on her lap, she just wanted to talk to her sister. She wanted Lorela to make it right, like she always had when they were growing up. Lorela would sit on her bed, wrapped in a shawl, and explain that the world as they wanted it to be and the world as it was weren’t always the same place. Their mother’s drive for social advancement, their father always putting the bank first, that was how it was. A smart girl would figure out a way to work around it.

Mirian ran gentle fingers over Tomas’ shoulder, trying to decide if the skin around the scar felt hotter than the rest. The road to Karis went through two recently conquered duchies—logically, therefore, full of Imperial soldiers—as well as through half the empire. The coaches carrying the captured Mage-pack already had a full day on them and unless the people of Pyrahn or Traiton decided to spontaneously block the road and stop them, she and Tomas wouldn’t catch up. Emperor Leopald would have the Mage-pack for days, maybe weeks before they could be rescued. This is how the world was.

She stared down the road toward Karis—eventually Karis—and then back toward Aydori. In the gathering dusk it would be impossible to see something even the size of a small gray pony racing down the road to the rescue. That didn’t stop her from looking, from hoping to see Jaspyr Hagen suddenly appear, leading the Hunt Pack, coming to her rescue.

Jaspyr Hagen.

She wanted to talk to Lorela about that, too. About Jasper and Tomas and things that seemed like they should be unimportant next to war and capture and burning a man to death, but weren’t. Unfortunately, her mirror was probably in Trouge by now, wrapped in a silk scarf her mother had given her after having accidentally dipped the end in a glass of sherry. Mirian had no idea of how to enchant another, it needed at least fourth level air and second level metals, and mirrors, backed with silver, were both rare and expensive in Aydori.

Of course, she wasn’t in Aydori.

Tomas’ ear flicked, then his back legs began to kick at the air. Mirian moved her hands away, just in case, as he pushed against her thigh with a front paw. Then his eyes snapped open and an instant later he was on his feet, growling, hackles raised, ears tight to his head.

“They’re not here. They shot you and kept going. It’s just me.” Moving slowly, carefully, she reached into the soldier’s pouch and pulled out a piece of dried meat. “There’s food and water. I’m assuming, given how much healing you required, that you won’t be strong enough to hunt right away. I could be wrong but…”

His teeth grazed her fingers.

“You’ll have to change to drink,” she said as he swallowed. She pulled out another piece of meat and tossed it to him. He snapped it out of the air. “Or you’ll have to lap from my hands. The only water we have is in this can…” Sitting on the ground, it was harder to look at his face now he was on two legs, so she stared at his knees instead as she passed him the canteen. His knees were dirty.

He tried to make it look like he chose to sit, legs folding as he collapsed to the ground. It looked more like a barely controlled fall to Mirian.

“There’s hard biscuits, too.”

“More meat?”

“Yes.” This must have been why she’d only eaten the biscuits. She’d known he’d need the meat. Known he’d get shot running after the coaches like an idiot, right down the center of the road where any decent marksman could take him out. Known she’d have to pull the silver out of him again. Known he’d nearly die and leave her alone to save…

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” She wiped the biscuit crumbs off on her skirt and put half of it back in the pouch like she’d meant to break it.

Still chewing, he turned his head to peer down at his shoulder, working the arm and wincing. Against his pale skin, the scar was an angry pink—not a shade Mirian had previously been familiar with, even considering Lorela had ribbons in every other imaginable shade of pink.

“Does it hurt?”

“I’m fine.”

They sat in silence for a moment. Bats dipped and soared overhead, irregular shadows against the deepening dusk. In amidst the ash and birch behind them, an owl made its first cry of the night.

The moment after that, Tomas said, “So what do we do now?”

“We free the Mage-pack.”

“We’ll never catch them.”

“We know where they’re going.”

“No.”

“No?”

“I’ve been thinking about it…”

“While you were unconscious?”

“…and I should have stopped you.” His tone suggested he knew what was best for her. He was a year younger, and he’d needed her to save him not once but twice, but he was Pack. As Mirian stiffened, he added, “I should never have allowed you to come this far.”

“Allowed?” Mirian forced the word through clenched teeth.

“I need to take you home.”

“How?”

They were sitting close enough she could see him blink. “I beg your pardon?”

“You can’t convince me to return home and you can’t physically force me, so how did you plan to take me home?”

“Miss Maylin…”

“Mirian. If I’m not to call you Lord Hagen, you may use my given name as well.”

“Fine. Mirian.” His tone slid from barely excusable concern to patronizing. “You have no idea of what dangers you could face on the road.”

“Apparently,” she snapped, “neither do you.” Yanking her stocking tight around the end of the bedroll, she slung it over her shoulder and stood. “I’ve come too far to quit now, so I am going to free the Mage-pack. As you’re no longer bleeding to death by the side of the road, and therefore no longer need my assistance, you may accompany me or not as you see fit.” The pivot on one heel would have worked better had she been wearing her boots and not winced at the movement, but she stepped out onto the road with her head up.

One step.

Of all the arrogant…

Two steps.

You’re welcome. Next time, you can remove the silver yourself.

Three steps.

It’s not like I didn’t kill someone to keep him from shooting you.

Four steps and Tomas stood in front of her, growling softly.

Mirian kept walking. “You’re not going to attack me and I’m certainly not frightened of you, so I don’t know what you think you’re trying to prove.”

As she brushed by him, he grabbed her skirt in his teeth and yanked.

“Really?” she said, as she stumbled. “Really?” She grabbed for the bedroll with one hand as it slid off her shoulder and reached out with the other, pressing the first two fingers down into the fur between his eyes. “Sleep.”

Tomas woke lying in the middle of the road, one front leg tucked under his head, the other stretched out, shoulder throbbing. It took a moment to figure out where and why—he’d been shot, again, there’d been pain and darkness and then a voice…Mirian! He scrambled onto to his feet and shook, trying to throw off the lingering effect of the mage-craft.

How dare she!

And, more importantly, how long had he been asleep?

The night smelled young; the hunters and hunted who roamed at dusk and dawn still out and about. In the west, the evening star lingered on the horizon. He’d been asleep for minutes then, not hours. Turning to face east, the direction the coaches had been traveling, he saw, no more than half a mile down the road, a single figure walking away. Downwind, so he couldn’t catch a scent, but there could be little question of who it was.

Mirian Maylin, walking to Karis to free the Mage-pack.

She had no idea of what she was walking into.

She had no mage marks in her eyes.

She couldn’t fight.

She’d barely been able to cover the distance between the cave where they’d spent the night and the track where the Mage-pack and their captors had emerged from Aydori. He’d have been there on time if not for her.

He’d have been dead if not for her.

She smelled like power. And home. And…

Of course, she smelled so good, he supposed legs weren’t actually necessary.

…and something more he was not going to think about right now. Or like that, at least.

Clearly, she wouldn’t turn back no matter what he said or did, and she’d proven that, while he couldn’t stop her, she could stop him.

He was either going to help her free the Mage-pack, or he wasn’t.

He sat and scratched for a moment, putting off the inevitable, then he sighed and stood. Even in a small pack, pack members needed to know their place; it kept the world from degenerating into chaos and confusion.

She didn’t look down when he caught up. He limped along beside her for a few steps, but every time his left forefoot hit the ground it sent a shock of pain up into his shoulder, so he changed and, cradling his left arm against his chest, matched her pace on two.

When it became obvious she wasn’t going to speak first, Tomas cleared his throat. “Thank you for saving my life. It was rude of me to not mention that before.”

He heard her snort although he suspected he wasn’t intended to. “You’re welcome. I would have done it for anyone.”

Polite, but still angry. “I apologize for not respecting your decision to carry on. I have no right to dictate your actions and…” Frowning he tried to work out just what it was she wanted to hear. “…and you have certainly proven yourself capable. I mean, you got captured by Imperials, but that wasn’t your fault.”

“Thank you.”

Her tone dropped the temperature, already almost too cold to be out in skin, another few degrees. He didn’t know what he’d said wrong and had no idea of what to say to fix things between them. A memory of her fingers stroking his shoulder suggested a better way than words. He changed and butted his head against her hip.

When she ignored him, he did it again, putting enough weight behind it that she staggered. When she turned to glare at him, he hit her with what Harry’d called the puppy eyes of doom.

“You can take down a doe on your own, snap her neck between those monster jaws, and cover yourself in blood and guts, but you give me that look and all I want to do is bury my hands in your fur and tell you what a good boy you are. So stop giving me that look, you walking carpet, it creeps me out.”

Mirian laughed, as though she hadn’t intended to, and finally said, “All right. You’re forgiven. We’re in this together.” She reached out to stroke his head, then snatched her hand back, embarrassed. “I’m so sorry. I know better, it’s just…”

Tomas shoved his head up under her hand. It was the two of them against the empire. They could both use the comfort of touch. It didn’t have to mean anything more, not if she didn’t want it to. No matter how good she smelled.

A few moments later, he reluctantly pulled away from her hand and changed. “It’s almost fifteen miles to Herdon. If I stay in fur, I’ll be on three legs when I get there.”

“Before Herdon…”

“A few small farms, but Herdon’s the first town. It’s where the sawmill is. Where they take the logs,” he amended. She’d said her father was a banker. Two days ago, her life had been shopping and card parties and dances; why would she know what a sawmill was. “The logs they cut in the forest,” he added, just in case.

“I know where logs come from.” But he heard her smile, so that meant she wasn’t angry. “Why wouldn’t they build the sawmill closer to the trees?”

“They did. A hundred years ago.”

“But these trees…” She waved a hand at the woods surrounding them.

“Softwoods. They cut them, too, but they’re what grew up when the hardwoods were gone, so every year, if they want the good stuff, they have to cut farther away from the mill.”

“How do you know all this?”

“Herdon’s the biggest town in the borderlands. You can’t protect the border unless you know why people are there. And, the duke’s been after Ryder to send some Aydori timber to Herdon. Says it would open up new sections of our woods for cutting if we could send floats down the Vern directly to Herdon and the mill pond rather than having to feed everything into the Nairn and down to our mill at Bercarit. Trouble is, the Vern’s not exactly deep in places, but the duke even offered to deepen the pool under the falls on our side of the border because Herdon lives or dies with the mill, and he doesn’t intend for it to die. Ryder said that’s an admirable thought, but if we gave the old weasel access, he’d strip the mountain bare in a decade. I had to go to the meetings as his aide. The most boring four days of my life.” Suddenly realizing he’d just repeated the highlights of the most boring four days of his life, he flushed, thankful it was too dark for Mirian to see his face. “But more importantly,” he added hurriedly, “is that fifteen miles is a long walk. I need to stay off my front leg for a while, but the night’s getting colder. Too cold for skin. Trouble is we need to reach Herdon before dawn if we’re going to find out what happened when the coaches went through. I’m trained to get in and out of town with no one knowing, but it works better in the dark. I’m a little obvious in the daylight.”

“All right. How long will it take us to reach Herdon?”

Tomas had no idea what all right referred to, but she wasn’t laughing at his stupid timber babbling, so he supposed it didn’t matter. “At this speed, three or maybe four hours.”

She was silent for so long Tomas was unsure if she was thinking or despairing.

“I have a blanket and a knife. If we cut a hole in it for your head, and you wore it, would that keep you warm enough?”

Thinking, then. Muscles he hadn’t realized were tense relaxed. He’d made the right choice. As for her suggestion…“It should.” The Hunt Pack had done winter training up in the mountains, just fur, no greatcoats, and one shitload of snow. Three or four hours in skin on a spring night would be no problem as long as they kept moving. He stopped walking as Mirian dropped to one knee and let the bedroll slide off her shoulder. It took her a minute to get her…Tomas frowned…her stocking untied, then she unrolled it and set the contents aside. Her boots, a folding knife, a fire-starter, a telescope, the pouch that smelled of meat and biscuits…

“Where did you get all that?”

“I took it from the soldier I killed.”

“You killed?”

“While you were running at the other one, I set a fire in his ammo pouch like you suggested. He went up like…” She waved a hand, unable to find a comparison or unwilling to voice those she’d found. Her fingers were trembling. “He was dead so, logically, he wouldn’t need any of this anymore. There’s a purse with a bit of money, too.”

“The other soldier…”

“One,” she snapped, “was enough. He was dead and I killed him, but the other one wasn’t my…I mean, I didn’t…I couldn’t…” She wiped her nose on her sleeve then tried to open the knife.

“Here,” Tomas knelt beside her. “Let me.”

She shoved it into his hand and when he glanced over at her face, her eyes were shut and he could smell the salt tang of tears.

“We’re at war,” he said quietly, hooking his thumbnail in the grooved steel edge and forcing the blade out. “He was a soldier. Soldiers die in wars.” He cut a slit in the center of the blanket, hearing Harry reminding him to be careful. Hearing Danika telling Ryder to return safely and soon. “Soldiers kill in wars.”

“I’m not a soldier.” Her eyes were open now, pale and free of mage marks. “I’m not an anything.”

He pulled the blanket over his head, the scent of the man who’d slept in it lingering long after the man himself. There might have been a slight scent of char; it might have been his imagination. When he could see again, Mirian had unbuckled her belt and was in the process of hanging her boots and the pouch from it. She’d lost the bedroll, but her hands would be still be free. Smart. “Then why are you here? If you’re not an anything,” he added when she looked confused.

“Because someone has to be.” She hung the telescope around her neck and tucked it inside her jacket, stared at the fire-starter then slipped it into a boot. The knife followed when Tomas handed it back. “And I’m all there is.”

“We’re all there is.”

She looked at him for a long moment. He could see her clearly, but he had no idea of how much of his expression she could make out even given how close they were. Enough, apparently. She took a deep breath and smiled—mostly smiled, partially bared her teeth. “We’re all there is.”

As she reached for one stocking, he reached for the other. “May I?” She nodded and he wrapped it around his waist, cinching the back of the blanket tight around his body, leaving the front loose enough to tuck his arms inside if he needed. Then he stood and held out a hand.

She needed more of his help to stand than she’d be comfortable admitting. Or maybe not, he reminded himself; she was sensible. Her skirt came to just above her ankles, her feet more obvious bare than they had been in boots. He could smell blood, but she hadn’t mentioned an injury, so he wouldn’t bring it up. Her jacket fit loosely—ease of removal dominated Aydori fashions. Anything under her skirt and jacket, he had little experience with, but it seemed a reasonable outfit for tromping around the countryside. It smelled of mud, and ash, and crushed plants, and sweat, and girl.

“What? You’re looking at me like it’s the first time you’ve seen me.”

It was, in a way. They hadn’t been Pack before. He shrugged, not wanting to admit to more than she could work out on her own.

She shook her head, then forced her fingers through her hair and used the other stocking to tie it back. When she caught him staring, she almost smiled a true smile with no aggression in it. “I know what you’re thinking; it was in a boot for two days and even I can smell it. But it’s better than having hair fall in my face all night.”

“That wasn’t what I was thinking.”

“Then what?”

He shrugged again, knowing that if he said sensible, she’d misunderstand. Knowing he couldn’t explain and that at some point, according to both Harry and Ryder, girls wanted to hear more than, “You smell amazing.”

After a moment, when she finally realized that was all the answer she was going to get, she rolled her eyes, took a deep breath, and started walking. “Three to four hours to Herdon? All right, let’s do it in three.”

What wind there was came from the northwest, so he fell into step upwind behind her left shoulder. The blanket rubbed a bit, not in a good way, and that helped. He wondered if she was going to talk now they were only walking not charging along the border. His limited experience with young ladies of quality, at least those he wasn’t closely related to, had involved rather a lot of staring over teacups and inane conversations about the weather.

Mirian Maylin walked—limped—as quickly as she could and said nothing at all.

So Tomas said nothing as well for about an hour until he picked up a scent he couldn’t ignore. “Wait. Someone died here.”

“Here?”

“Right there.” Wrapping a hand around her elbow, he tugged her back two paces, and dropped to one knee. The dirt was still damp, the pattern complicated under the bootprints. Tomas could smell blood and guts and horses and steel. “I think he was run over by a coach wheel. More than once.” Rising, he moved forward slowly, following his nose. “They stopped the coaches here. Everyone got out. Stina Menkyzck here.” He ran forward. “Jesine and Annalyse Berin here.” Further. “Danika and Kirstin Yervick here.” He moved off the road to a rough circle where the grass had been crushed under boots. “They gathered together here.” Their scents would be easier to separate from the Imperials if he changed, but none of the women were strangers. “Geoffrey Berin was Hunt Pack. Colonel Menkyzck was a senior officer. The Hunt Pack…”

“I know. I was at the reception when you arrived.”

“Ryder sent Sirlin and Neils Yervick to the front with the 2nd.” Sirlin was a Hagen. Another cousin. He was years older than Jesine, but they were stupidly in love. Jesine had laughed at the age difference and said Healer-mages were always more mature. She was beautiful and Tomas had been a bit in love with her himself.

Mirian had stayed where he’d put her. She was watching him, but he had no idea how well she could see in the dark. “Are they all right?” she asked softly. “No, stupid question; widowed and kidnapped, of course they’re not all right. Are they hurt?”

“They’re all walking. They’re not dripping blood.” He wanted to howl. “Other than that…”

“They’re all walking.” She held out her hand and he went to it, her scent stronger than the lingering evidence his brother’s wife and baby lived. “Let’s go get them.”

Mirian had no idea how long it had been when Tomas stretched an arm out in front of her; it felt like she’d been walking for her entire life. She hoped he had a good reason to stop her because she wasn’t entirely certain she could start moving again.

“We’re at the edge of the mill property,” he said quietly, bending close to her ear. “It smells like the mill’s still running in spite of the war. Not surprising, since the duke sold a lot of his high-end lumber to the empire. Ryder says that’s why he wanted our oak and…”

Tomas stopped talking when Mirian turned to face him, their mouths suddenly so close together she could feel his breath on her lips. “I appreciate the depth of your knowledge…” She did. It was a lot more interesting than fashions or her mother’s nerves or who had recently gotten married to whom, but would, unfortunately, have been as out of place in a drawing room as it was in the middle of the night outside a small town in the recently conquered Duchy of Pyrahn. “…but why have we stopped?”

“What?”

His lower lip was slightly chapped. She hadn’t noticed that before. “You stopped me.”

“Yes.”

“Why? Has someone else died?”

“No.”

His jaw was as smooth as hers. Did the Pack not need to shave? “Then why have we stopped?”

Instead of responding, he shook himself then shoved her behind him, taking half a dozen steps down the road, dragging the blanket off over his head as he moved, changing on the last step, hackles up, looking even bigger than she knew he was. He’d pulled the blanket out from under her stocking, not stopping to untie it, and it hung around his…waist?…the middle of his body, a dirty white stripe around the black, like some kind of weird medieval favor.

What was he protecting her from?

Now that all her attention was no longer locked on putting one foot in front of the other—or, she reluctantly admitted, on gazing at Tomas’ face like a simpering ninny—she could see an irregular landscape made up of piles of wood and, beyond that, a cluster of buildings topped by the distinctive shape of the mill wheel. Past the mill, the road turned to the northeast and followed the glint of the river for a while until it disappeared into a cluster of shadows showing only one or two scattered lights. Herdon. Only a little farther now.

Movement caught her attention and, looking back toward the mill, she could see a pair of shadows cutting diagonally across toward the road. She couldn’t see what they were, but she knew what they had to be. Captain Reiter had said they kept big dogs in this part of the duchy.

The profanity she’d learned from Adine suddenly seemed remarkably limited.

Not until the shadows reached the edge of the road did they finally resolve into dogs. They had a look of Pack about them, although they were smaller and their heads proportionally narrower.

Tomas growled, a low rumble Mirian felt roll across her, and took a stiff-legged step forward.

The dogs snarled and mirrored Tomas’ position.

Tomas took another step and stopped.

The three of them held their positions long enough Mirian had to bite her lip to keep from swaying in place, then the dogs lowered their heads, sniffed the dirt around their front feet—it looked very much like they were trying to convince Tomas they’d just run out to check that particular bit of ground—turned, and trotted back toward the mill, disappearing into the night.

Tomas stayed where he was for a moment before he turned and changed. “Guard dogs,” he said, retrieving the blanket, as though she hadn’t figured that out on her own. “Anyone coming down this road at night probably intends to help themselves from the mill yard.”

He sounded like he’d been reenergized by the encounter, moving as though his skin could barely contain him. All Mirian felt was tired. “Why didn’t they raise an alarm?”

“We’re upwind.”

“That’s how they knew we were here.” She started walking again before sitting down in the middle of the road and remaining there until someone provided a hot bath and a change of clothes became her only option. “But why didn’t they raise the alarm?”

“Dogs recognize the dominance of the Pack.” Tomas fell into step beside her, still holding the blanket. “They don’t challenge us. But guard dogs are both bred and trained to challenge, so they need more convincing. Geese,” he added after a moment, “are a bigger problem. They’re mean.”

Mirian had never met a goose that hadn’t been plucked, roasted, and served with chestnut stuffing. The thought of Tomas, hackles up in the dining room, facing down a holiday dinner made her giggle. Once the giggles started bubbling up, she couldn’t stop them. They kept coming even with her eyes closed and her hands clamped over her mouth.

“Mirian?”

Her ribs ached with the effort of keeping things in, and she felt as though she was going to shake apart. Her knees started to buckle, but something pushed against her legs when she threw out a hand to keep from falling, her fingers sinking into fur. She opened her eyes to see the top of Tomas’ head and to feel his warm weight against her, supporting her. He wasn’t watching her. He wasn’t judging. He was just a quiet presence lending her his strength until she could get herself back under control. Letting her know they were in this together.

She took a deep breath. If it still sounded a little shaky on the exhale, at least the terrible noises she’d been making had stopped. A second breath. A third. She forced herself to relax. Mage-craft came from calm. That lesson, at least, she’d always excelled at.

The outer layer of fur slipped cool past her fingers, the inner softer, warmer. Stroking his ears reminded her of the gray velvet evening cloak her parents had given her at Winter Solstice and the list of events that had accompanied it, including the parties for her to be paraded at before she returned to the university at the holiday’s end.

Tomas glanced up at her when she laughed.

“It’s okay,” she told him, stepping back to give him room to change. “I’m okay. Just putting things in perspective. As horrible as the last two days have been, I’d rather be doing this than nothing at all.”

“When we get through Herdon, we can look for a place to hide and rest.”

That was the best suggestion she’d heard for hours. “Good.”

The road entered Herdon between a large house by the river and lines of small cottages disappearing into the darkness on the other side. Mill owner, mill workers, Mirian assumed, tugging the blanket from Tomas’ hand and kneeling to retie the bedroll. She assumed that should they run into anyone awake, a young woman out at this hour with a big black dog would be less notable than a young woman out at this hour with a nearly naked young man. They had to find Tomas some clothes.

“Will there be soldiers?” she asked, untangling her bootlaces.

“Why would there be soldiers?”

“Maybe because the duchy was recently conquered.”

“The emperor wants the mill to keep producing. The people of Herdon want the mill to keep producing. There’ll be someone new in the mill house taking orders from the empire. Probably new workers brought in to replace those killed in the war.” He shrugged when she looked up at him. “Ryder says most people don’t care who’s in charge as long as someone is.”

Mirian thought of the empire absorbing Aydori. Of the emperor thinking he could just send soldiers in to take what he wanted. To take people he wanted. “I care.”

“Yeah, well, we’ve established that you’re not most people.” Tomas grinned. “You’re sensible.”

They reached the town square without being seen. When Tomas took two steps toward the inn then turned and looked back over his shoulder, Mirian raised the canteen and pointed at the well. He nodded and disappeared into the shadows.

There was moonlight and starlight enough she could maneuver past the three trees that made up a kind of cut-rate Lady’s Grove. The grass around them felt colder than the pounded dirt of the road, and she hissed in disgust as a slightly warmer lump squished under the ball of her foot and up between her toes.

Something hissed back.

She froze.

The windows surrounding the square were dark, no lights showing through any of the tiny squares of thick glass.

After a moment, or two, or ten, she took a tentative step forward. Then another. Alone in a silent night when she reached the well, she let out a breath she hadn’t remembered holding and stepped onto the worn path around the stone curb, frantically scrubbing the bottom of her foot in the dirt, gagging a little at the smell.

She’d never actually worked a pump before, but how hard could it be? Cook had one in the kitchen. Sticking her foot under the metal nose, she slowly raised the handle, wincing as steel hissed against steel…

And something hissed back.

Something very close.

Heart pounding, Mirian leaned around the pump and came face to face with a scrawny orange cat. Relief was short-lived as she realized the cat was sitting on the legs of a man so ragged his edges feathered off into the night. The smell wasn’t coming from the mess on her foot, but from him. She had to hold her own breath before she could hear him breathing, but that was infinitely better than touching him. He wasn’t dead. She could wash her foot and fill her canteen and…

His eyes snapped open.

Given the way her last two days had gone, Mirian had to admit she wasn’t surprised.

“They know!” The words bounced off the surrounding buildings. “They know!” he repeated, arms flailing. The cat gave a disgusted noise and jumped up by the pump. Mirian shrank down into the minimal shadow thrown by the curb, but no windows opened, no one appeared to find out what was going on. When he looked directly at her without seeing her, Mirian understood why.

The townspeople had to be used to the Soothsayer’s random yelling. He’d be one of the familiar noises in the night. A noise that would excuse any noise she might make.

She turned back to the pump and nearly screamed as a clammy hand wrapped around her ankle.

“White light!”

Pulling free, she turned. They said touch compounded a Soothsayer’s madness. If he was speaking to, or about her…

He was mumbling into the fur of the cat who’d returned to knead against his belly.

If she wanted more details, wanted a clarifying vision, he’d have to touch her again. Or she’d have to touch him.

She reached out a hand. Puffed up twice its size, the cat spun around toward her then raced away into the darkness leaving the Soothsayer clutching his belly and moaning.

“He’ll wake the town,” Tomas muttered.

“They’re used to him.” He wasn’t in vision anymore. He was just a crazy old man. “What did you find?”

“They changed horses here. Switched local horses for twelve post horses bred for speed, and they’ll be changing every twelve to sixteen miles all the way to the capital.”

“You could smell all that?”

“No, there were a couple of boys up in the mow over the stable talking about the horses.”

“What were they doing awake?” When he snickered, she raised a hand and went back to the pump. “Never mind. So they’re moving the Mage-pack faster than we thought.” She’d half hoped the soldiers had decided to lock the Mage-pack in Herdon for the night. Close to the border. Easy to rescue.

“You stepped in…”

“I know.”

With the aid of Tomas’ night sight, they cleaned her foot off with one slow push of the pump handle—the back of her heel had scabbed over, but she still had to bite back a shriek as the cold water rushed over the broken blisters—and filled the canteen with the second. As they crossed to the north side of the square, they heard a cackle and a soft, “Nice doggie.”

“And the emperor uses men like that to plan his campaigns,” Tomas snorted and changed.

Mirian glanced back toward the silhouette of the Soothsayer by the well. “It seems to be working for him so far.”