Flight From Blithmore (23 page)

“I
will remember.”

Attikus
fixed his gaze upon the Emperor. “Will my sons—”

“They
will remain north unless you request otherwise.”

“I
wish for them to remain.”

The
Emperor sighed and relaxed in the water. He knew if he could somehow peel back
that rocky layer of skin covering Attikus’ emotion he would find a face of
relief. “I will arrange for a meeting between yourself and General Derkop.
Would you prefer it here or at another location?”

“Here,
my Emperor. I will make arrangements to leave immediately.”

With
these last words, Attikus did something he had not done since the day of Ivan
Krallick’s coronation as Emperor, he saluted Emperor Krallick in the manner of
a soldier, crossing his wrists and then raising the right fist to the level of
his temple, saying, “For the glory of Neverak.”

“For
the glory of Neverak,” the Emperor repeated.

Attikus
left and the Emperor watched him go. He could not help but wonder if he was
beginning to see his own genius blossom already. Everything moved along as
planned. The most important piece of the plot was in place. The eagle climbed
higher and higher into the sky, and once it reached its peak, it would drop.

Twenty-Eight
-

A Deep Frost

“My
fingers are stiff,”
Ruther grumbled as he stoked the flames in the
camp’s fire pit. “Look at this.” He held up his hands and held them completely
still. “I’m trying as hard as I can to move them, but they won’t obey me. We’ve
traveled this far south, and it’s like living in northern Neverak.”

“Ruther,”
James said.

“What?”

“Catch.”
James threw an apple at Ruther, who caught it with his hands. Isabelle grinned
at her brother. Henry chuckled into the hand covering his mouth full of food.
Even Brandol smiled.

“Seems
like your hands are in working order, after all,” Henry told Ruther.

“It’s
autumn,” Maggie said in a sugared voice. She sat nearest to the fire in between
James and Brandol. “At this time, the weather turns colder, as it is now. We
may even see snow—you know, small white flakes that fall from the sky.”

“And
yet, miraculously,” Ruther said, “those frozen flakes will never be quite as
frigid as your cold, black heart.”

Isabelle
leaned over to Henry and quietly asked, “Will you come with me to gather wood?”

Henry
nodded and took another bite of stew, savoring its warmth.

She
fixed him with an urgent look. “Can we please go now?”

They
excused themselves and left the camp, listening to Maggie and Ruther’s
conversation as they walked away. The small party had traveled over a fortnight
out of Fenley, making it six weeks since leaving Richterton. They had crossed
through an ever-thinning patch of forest only seven miles east of the Drewberry
River in unseasonably cold weather. The leaves had all but abandoned the trees
and would soon become soaked and rotted if the dark snow clouds decided to
unleash an early winter storm.

Isabelle
stomped on a dead branch, snapped it in half, and collected the pieces. “Can
you do something about them?” she asked him in a hushed voice. “Their bickering
brings everyone’s spirits down.”

Henry
gazed again in the direction of camp. Ruther sat alone, munching on the apple
James had thrown, huddled in his blanket. “What should I say? It was one thing
to give correction to my apprentices when they misbehaved, but Maggie and
Ruther are adults.”

“They
snap at each other like stray dogs,” Isabelle said a little bit louder. “Tell
them to stop it—to treat each other civilly. She’s your sister and he’s your
best friend.”

Henry
brought his boot down on a long stick and cracked it. Another stomp finished
the job. “I don’t know.” He tucked the pieces of wood under his arm and moved
on in search for more. Isabelle followed after him. “You know how it is between
them. It’s been like this for years. Why expect it to change now?”

“Is
it some kind of twisted love-hate relationship? Do they have feelings—?”

“No,
trust me.” He smiled until he saw her disappointment. “No, it’s not like that.
There’s no love—nothing—between them.”

“It’s
a problem. James and Brandol have nothing positive to say about him, and Maggie
keeps saying she wants to leave him behind tied to a tree.” Henry tried to say
something, but Isabelle pressed on. “She’s serious about it, and it’s hard to
not be understanding after what he did in Fenley.”

“I
talked with him privately about it, and he assured me it was only to get a rise
out of the bounty hunter, Kerprick or whatever his name was. Ruther would
never—”

“But
he almost did!”

“What
do you want me to do?” His voice was soft. His words came out in visible puffs
of air, lasting long enough to reach Isabelle’s nose.

She
took his hands and held them. Hers were much warmer than his. His heartbeat
sped up. “I don’t like what Maggie suggests,” she said, beaming at him,
“because Ruther’s more faithful to you than she’ll ever admit. Far more loyal
than Brandol or even James.”

A
small red leaf drifted into Isabelle’s hair and tangled itself in the small
strands at the top of her head. Henry reached up and grabbed it. Isabelle
caught his hand and pulled him to her. A firm kiss greeted him when they came
into contact. Her lips were also warmer than his, and, thankfully, softer. When
he pulled away, she slipped her hand around his neck and pushed his face back
into hers, kissing him even harder. Several moments passed with no sounds save
the occasional bickering of their four friends at the fire.

“Wow
. . . .” Henry grinned when she finally released him from her clutches. He
realized he probably looked like a fool, but he didn’t care. “Thank you.”

“No.”
Her eyes blazed fiercely back at him. “Thank you. I feel wonderful—better than
I’ve felt in a long time—because of you. It wasn’t only the medicine that
healed me. It was you. When I was younger, I thought your love was all I’d need
to survive. Then recently, because of my father, I started believing that
notion was naïve. I don’t know anymore. Is it naïve?”

“Ruther
would say you’re being supernaturalistic.”

Isabelle’s
eyes darted to camp, then back to Henry. “But I am the one healed.” She placed
his hand over her heart, letting him feel its rhythm against his fingers and
palm.

“Thank
you,” Henry whispered into her ear as he embraced her.

“Just
remember I’ll always love you more,” she said with a teasing smile.

Henry
kissed her again.

“Henry!
Isabelle!” Ruther cried in his falsetto tone, the one he used to mock Henry.
“When are you going to bring that wood?”

They
laughed as their kiss broke. Henry picked up their piles of timber and headed
back to camp, ignoring Isabelle’s demands to let her help carry the load.
Brandol and Maggie were huddled around the coals of the fire facing Ruther who
seemed unperturbed by his isolation. James, as he did every day since losing to
Ruther, practiced his knife throwing. Ruther had offered to teach him the
assassin’s method he’d learned from his uncle, but James politely declined.
Henry had never informed James that he’d fallen for one of Ruther’s most
successful ruses. As he built up the fire, Henry thought back to Isabelle’s
encouragement to say something to the group, but no words came to mind. Ruther
helped him build up the fire until it was snapping and cracking. Isabelle
joined Maggie to warm herself at the coals.

“We’ll
be leaving this bit of forest tomorrow,” Ruther commented. “Probably in the
morning.”

“Will
we reach cover again by nightfall?” Henry asked.

“If
we make good time, friend,” Ruther replied. “The gap in the forest is only
twenty miles wide.”

“I
disagree with Ruther,” James said, sitting down next to Henry. “We’re only
covering twelve to fifteen miles in a day. Sixteen to twenty, if we’re on a
good trail. If the storm is as bad as it looks, we should make camp here until
it passes. If it turns into a blizzard, we could be lost for days. Stay here
and we’ll have a fire going to keep warm and relatively dry.”

“We
know our way,” Ruther told James. “If we start early and take shorter meals, we
can easily cover the distance needed.”

“I’m
not suggesting you don’t know your way,” James responded, “but it could turn
dangerously cold. If the snow deepens enough, it will be hard to build a fire.
We could get snow sickness. Long stretches of snow can do strange things to
people.

“Like
what?”

“Like
make them go blind and mad.”

Ruther
snorted.

“Come
on, Ruther,” Henry said, “his concerns are worth considering.”

“The
last thing we want is to be wandering around following nothing but Ruther’s
advice,” Maggie said. “Next thing we know, we’ll be in the hands of the King’s
Guard, or worse, bounty hunters.”

Ruther’s
playful mood disappeared. His tone turned defensive. “As you might recall,
Maggie, I’ve been with Henry at every stage in this journey. All you’ve done is
drive a carriage.”

“Everything
you did was undone at The Friendly Fenley. You almost killed us.”

Ruther
stared into the fire. A rouge color spotted his cheeks and nose. Henry felt a
surge of sympathy for his friend and an equal amount of anger toward his
sister. He had never understood why she hated Ruther so much, and she never
wanted to explain it to him. Nevertheless, her cruelty was unwarranted and had
lasted too long. Isabelle only looked at the clouds. Henry knew what she was
thinking, but still had no words to say to his friends.

“What
will it be Henry?” James asked. “Leave in the morning or stay?”

A
dark silence filled the camp. Brandol appeared satisfied with Maggie’s
response. James, as always, was unreadable, but watched Henry expectantly.
Isabelle finally looked at Henry, but not with the reassurance he wanted. All
her expression told him now was that whatever he decided, everyone would
follow.

Henry
hated it. Why did he have to choose? No one had made him the leader. No one had
voted. If there had been a vote, he would have picked James like everyone else.
It was one thing to tell people how to carve wood, where to put hinges and
pegs. He could give orders that way, but wood was already dead and could be
replaced with an identical plank if something went wrong. A feeling in his gut
told him the more important issue at hand was to repair the camaraderie within
the group, not when to move on to the next forest.

“Let’s—let’s
go with Ruther’s plan,” he offered, “but we should gather more wood in case the
snow fall is heavy.”

Maggie,
James, and Brandol did not complain, though they seemed disappointed. Ruther
smiled at Henry gratefully.

“I’ll
get the wood,” Ruther said. It was his first time volunteering for the duty,
normally he made up stories about fake injuries to explain why he couldn’t
help.

“Right
behind you,” Henry said, getting up. Isabelle squeezed his hand as he walked
past her. Her touch reminded him of their recent kiss, and again he felt that
warmth they’d shared. Behind him, Maggie mumbled instructions to Brandol to
begin cleaning up dinner. James and Isabelle began conversing together in low
tones.

Ruther
put a hand on Henry’s shoulder. “Thanks, friend.”

They
collected firewood for almost an hour and returned to the campsite. Isabelle
and Maggie were asleep in the carriage, out of the elements, while Brandol and
James were bedding down near the fire under heavy blankets and skins. After
several minutes, everyone but Henry had fallen asleep. His mind wrestled with
many thoughts and questions as he watched the first flakes of snow fall around
the camp. Without knowing it, he, too, slipped into slumber. Had he stayed
awake for a while longer, he might have been alarmed at the size and amount of
the flakes; he might even have decided to awaken his friends and urge them to
move on immediately. Instead, he slept on soundly.

He
awoke first hours later. Almost four inches of snow had accumulated on the
ground, but the wind was milder and the air slightly warmer than last night. It
was only a lull in the snowfall, but as far as Henry could tell, the storm had
ended. He woke the others and hurried them through breakfast. Within an hour’s
time, they were packed and moving onward.

For
the first part of the morning, the mood remained pleasant, and the group made good
time traveling out of the woods and into the long clearing. A ray of sunlight
even warmed the back of Henry’s neck, and no sooner had he thought the snow
might begin melting, an enormous black cloud rolled in and blocked out the sun.

Next
came the cold winds from the north, followed shortly by thick flakes coming
down at a long angle. James, who always sat high in Sissy’s saddle, soon rode
huddled over, his head close to her mane. The patch of skin on Henry’s neck
that had tasted the sun’s gift had to be covered to protect it from the wind’s
bite. Maggie, who enjoyed driving the carriage with her black curls bouncing
and blowing, drew her cloak tightly around her face so only her eyes and nose
were visible. And Ruther’s incessant talking had devolved into occasional
mutters.

To
make better time, the group decided to skip lunch. For the next few hours the
carriage pushed through the clearing following the three men on horseback.
Their pace slowed significantly as the carriage struggled through the deepening
snow. When Henry, Ruther or James had to speak, they yelled to hear each other
over the whistling of the wind in their ears. As snow continued to pour from
the sky, conversations between James and Ruther lasted longer and became more
heated.

Eventually,
the snow swirled so badly that Henry could hardly see or hear Ruther and James,
though they rode only twenty or thirty feet ahead. The carriage looked like a
brown box floating on a cloud behind him. As he removed his gloves to breathe
on his hands, Henry realized he’d made the wrong choice. He cursed himself for
not listening to James. With all of his military and traveling experience,
James’ opinion should have had a much greater sway on Henry’s decision than his
friendship with Ruther. Why had he let sympathy for his friend put everyone in
danger?