Kelta scowled at him. “He isn’t my father.”
Nyx took the reins and clucked to the horse, taking off at a trot into the darkness. “No. I suppose he isn’t. I’m sorry, Kelta. You deserved a better one.”
Kelta was quiet for a long minute, her oversized helmet glinting in the moonlight. “I have one.”
The light of the bonfire quickly faded. The foothills were a mix of trees and rocky ground, so Nyx guided the horse more slowly than he would have liked, so as not to throw a shoe or split a hoof on uneven stone. The woods were filled with the sounds of night birds, and the wind moved the trees, and Kelta flinched at every crack of a twig or rustle above them.
“Breathe,” Nyx whispered. “You have to learn to be still. Hunters are quiet, Kelta. Prey makes noise. Which are you?”
“Prey, definitely.”
He nudged her shoulder. “None of that. Listen to the woods. Don’t let them know you’re afraid.”
Kelta twisted in the saddle to give him a deeply skeptical look, but she stopped flinching so much, and she leaned forward a little as though she was trying to listen.
Nyx heard it first, but Kelta stiffened a second later. “Horses!”
“I hear them. Voice down.” Nyx drew his bow and set an arrow to the string. There were too many shadows in the woods, but he could hear hoofbeats to his right, and the creak of leather. When one of the shadows stretched into the form of a horse and rider, Kelta gasped and Nyx drew back the arrow, aiming for the figure’s throat.
“Easy, General.” He hesitated as Freja came closer, riding a dappled mare with a bow at her back. “One of your soldiers said our treaty was at risk, and we came to secure it.”
“Secure it how?” Nyx didn’t lower the bow. Freja clicked her tongue, and three other women appeared, all wearing leather armor, all on horseback.
“Can’t have you dying in our territory.” Freja’s smile was vulpine. “We’ll get you to the plains. Then you’re on your own.”
Nyx lowered his bow, and Freja whistled sharply. The three women took up positions at his left side and rear. One of them, a woman with strawberry blond hair who wore a dress under her armor, waved at Kelta. “Here to keep him safe, eh, little warrior?” she murmured.
Kelta gave a soft, nervous chuckle.
They rode quietly through the woods. Whether Nyx’s soldiers managed to stop anyone else from leaving camp, or whether they were hanging back, alarmed by Nyx’s unexpected company, Nyx didn’t have to draw his bow again that night.
Freja and her women stopped at the border of the hill country, where the foothills melted into the plains. Kelta was almost asleep in the saddle, jolting awake every few seconds, and Nyx could feel exhaustion pounding in his temples. They’d have to rest eventually, but not yet. Nyx raised a hand to Freja, who waved back before turning her horse to the hills. Kelta peered around Nyx to stare after her, her brows lowered.
“I think I could be a hunter like that one day,” she said, after Nyx urged their horse on. “I wouldn’t want to be empress, but leader of the hills? Where everyone knows each other, and you can wear dresses and armor at the same time? I’d like that.”
“Thinking of hiding there?”
Kelta shrugged. “Maybe. I know we fight them all the time, but Andor says that’s because we’re… I don’t know. He explained it, but he takes forever to say one thing. He thinks they should be sovereigns or something.”
“A sovereign country. That means he thinks they should rule themselves.”
“Oh. Yeah. I mean, shouldn’t they? They’re doing it smarter than us, anyway.”
Nyx couldn’t disagree. Anyway, he knew Kelta was trying to distract herself from the memory of her first kill, or the fear of being followed. When Nyx was young, he’d had Tyr to help him through what Tyr called “the shakes” after a battle. Nyx tried to remember what Tyr used to do. Mostly steal wine and make Nyx read stories aloud until they forgot where they were.
“I guess I know I can do it now,” Kelta said, as Nyx was trying to remember a story that wasn’t too risqué or gory for a ten-year-old. Nyx looked down at her, but she was facing forward, her hands fisted near his on the reins.
“Do what, Kel?”
“Protect him,” Kelta said firmly. “If I have to. I’ll even fight the Lord of Storms if he comes between us.”
Nyx looked to the clear, starry skies above central Iperios. “He won’t be here tonight, at least. But he isn’t someone you fight.”
“Of course you fight him,” Kelta said, voice heavy with unshed tears. “Andor’s been fighting him his whole life.”
Nyx pulled Kelta close as they rode through the vast, empty valleys, praying that just this once, when he returned to the palace, Azaiah would not be waiting for him.
* * *
