Luc addresses Mildred. “Do you have a horse?”
She answers by placing her hands against her mouth and letting out a shrill whistle. A beautiful white mare trots into view.
“Sienna is always with me. As is Annaleigh.” Mildred stares at the empty space next to her. “Annaleigh is happy to be with us.”
Annaleigh?
Hector and Luc tie the leather satchels to Sienna’s saddle, then help Mildred mount her horse.
Hale shifts beneath me, lurching me forward. I grip the saddle and try to not worry about Hector’s secrets. Surely, Mildred is part of his bigger plan.
Hector remounts Hale behind me and uses the reins to point the gelding back to the path we took earlier. It takes everything in me to not bombard him with questions. Especially questions concerning Mildred and why he brought the older woman on our journey.
Instead, I lean away from his chest and focus on the sound of the horses’ hooves. Hale beneath me. The whisper of the frigid wind against my cheeks.
All of it is so much easier than worrying about what I cannot control. And Olah knows I cannot control Hector.
I doubt anyone can.
ChapterNine
As we travel further into Bloodstone land, the hills gradually become mountains that pierce the sky. The jagged peaks and snow-covered alps refract the sun. Colorful leaves lie under skeletal trees, while a thin river follows us along our path.
When our horses are forced to climb, we walk beside them, trudging up the sloped edges of the Bloodstone mountains. A cramp forms in my side, and my legs ache with every step, yet the pain doesn’t take away from the beauty surrounding me.
I clutch my surcoat tighter, lifting the hem over the fallen leaves and mud. Kyanite land is flatter and dryer. It doesn’t have hills or mountains like these.
Dusk settles over us before we stop and make camp. As the men put up tents, Hector leads me to the bank of a river.
“I’m going to cut away your surcoat,” he says in a plain voice. “It will be easier to wash without it.”
I hold out my bound hands. “You could just remove this rope.”
A smirk tugs at his upper lip. “I’d sooner free a lion in a pen full of sheep.”
I’m a lion?
When I look at my reflection, all I see is my pale skin, my large, sad eyes, and my stringy black hair. That’s hardly lion worthy.
I stiffen as Hector yanks a dagger from his belt and uses it to sever my surcoat in half. In quick, jerky movements, he cuts the sleeves and allows the fabric to fall from my body. He does the same thing with my pants, cutting them away.
Leaves crunch beneath my feet as I step back, and he returns the weapon to his belt and nods toward the river.
“Bathe,” he says curtly.
I cover my breasts with my hands and roll my eyes. “Wouldn’t it have been easier to leave me in soiled clothes?”
Inwardly, I shudder at the thought. I’m used to bathing every day.
“Perhaps, but you stink.” He wrinkles his nose and gazes out over the water, as if he cannot abide to look at me a moment longer.
A frown tugs at my lips as I step into the river. “Nobody would ever accuse you of charm.”
Unlike the bathhouse in the Astarobane palace, this water is murky and freezing. I shiver and resist the overwhelming urge to run out of it.
From the satchel on his shoulder, Hector pulls out castile soap and tosses it toward me. I catch it and use it to cleanse my body—washing away the grime, the blood, and the rotten remains of the Malachite who fell on top of me.
If only the memories were as easy to wash away. Or the man probably glaring at me from the bank. I turn enough to catch Hector’s distant stare. I would do anything to wash him away. Then, I wouldn’t have to face my guilt.
