Page 57 of Chained Knight

It was entirely like him, she decided.

“The Spires.” Hannixe’s eyes shone now, fresh hope igniting in their depths. “A brief ride across the margin of the Dry Sea will bring us to an entrance, and from there?—”

“My lady queen.” Keners wasn’t giving up without argument. “It isdangerous. The faithless accursed will be watching, and?—”

Good.“Well, if he’s busy looking for us, the prince will have an easier time getting to him.” She hoped she sounded far more certain than she felt. “Hannixe, how often do we have to treat Darjeth’s wound?”

“When it pains him.” The other woman lifted the canteen thoughtfully, weighing what remained of its contents. “Or perhaps we should leave him and Keners here, and ride swift as?—”

“I think not.” The Fox outright bristled, but he didn’t lift a hand or move menacingly toward Hannixe. “You cannot ask that of me.”

“Nor of me.” Darjeth rose, wincing. “So long as I remain myself, my lady queen, I am at your disposal. Though should I become otherwise, I will ask my friend the Fox for one last favour.”

“And I shall grant it.” Keners’s glower was nearly as fierce as the chained man’s. “If it must be done, then let us begin.”

“Wait.” Hannixe bent, and began fussing with her skirts. Fabric tore, a sharp businesslike sound. “We must bind the wound, or it will reopen as we ride.”

Well. That went way easier than I expected. Now Ari only had to deal with the crushing suspicion that she was making the wrong call.

It was too late. Hannixe ripped strips from her grey dress, though both she and Darjeth gave horrified refusals when Ari suggested giving a little of her own clothing to the cause. Keners hurried back to the equines, and Ari ended up taking charge of the canteen. Maybe they could find some more water along the way, and she could see if an imitation of their queen was good enough. She could argue the Cup had been responsible for the Mere’s cleansing, but there was the second pond in the forest near the Keep and Sarle acting as if it had burned him before she touched it.

Ari could at least try, and if it worked, great. If not, she’d figure out something else.

First, though, she had to struggle into the saddle by herself.

32

NEAR UNNOTICED

The Dry Seabore a close resemblance to prairie, yellow grass dotted with mats of smoke-colored flowers on low, creeping ochre shrubs, all rippling with a noise like the ocean on a rocky shore. The palette was pure Wyeth, but the light deep and liquid as Vermeer, the colors thick and beautiful as van Gogh’s wheatfields. There was no hint of mint to this foliage, a sweetish smell like dried apples rising instead, and Ari’s fingers tingled. Touching a stirrup or other piece of metal tack didn’t quite create sparks, but did produce a brief thrill along the nerves; strands of hair not trapped in braids briefly lifting on an invisible current.

The equines were tired, but plodded along willingly enough. Ari worried about fodder—whatever critters with teeth like that would eat—but she figured Keners knew what he was doing.

Though the warmth was springlike instead of summery, the distance held shimmering heat-ripples. Shadows danced through them—more of the almost-antelopes and pale shadows Hannixe said wereshakren.

“Like the equines, only smaller, and the color of your mount. They bear a single horn.” She tapped at her forehead with graceful fingertips. “Curved, almost as a bow. The grass-pards hunt them, and the windsnakes.”

“Foul-tempered beasts,” Keners added, shortly. “They should not trouble us.” Still, a vertical line lingered between his dark eyebrows, and he scanned their surroundings ceaselessly.

Each time they halted Darjeth tried to help Ari with dismounting, but she managed to reach the ground herself without too much trouble. Getting backupwas the problem, but fortunately the blond man’s side held up admirably and he could give her ten fingers. His own mounting was a little less elegant than usual, and each stop meant another session with the canteen. The foam wasn’t so bad as the first time and the angry dark branchmarks didn’t spread; he took each treatment like a champ.

He didn’t even swear, though he gritted teeth hard enough to crack. A real gentleman all ’round.

So was Keners. He didn’t try to make Hannixe pay for overriding him, so far as Ari could tell. Instead, he focused on keeping the equines tended, but Ari didn’t miss how he hovered over the Grey Lady at each stop, rapier handy and his pale gaze resting speculatively on Darjeth.

Hannixe found a few low-growing plants with pungent silvery leaves, and when crushed and applied to the wound they seemed to ease the pain. But the level in the canteen dropped steadily, and the Dry Sea was living up to its name.

The sun sank, and just as it was halfway below the horizon—the moon hanging nearby seeming almost as swollen—they reached the Spires.

Towering stacks of glossy black stone spread in a wall, thin crimson veins throbbing near their fang-points. Wind from theDry Sea poured past, moaning only a little less eerily than the Breach. Ari eyed this new geological monstrosity nervously.

No artist she’d ever studied could truly capture this, though she was sure more than a few would love to try. At least its geometry was reasonably natural instead of alien, and didn’t give her the willies to the same degree as the bone-bridge.

Keners became even more stiffly vigilant, riding first in front, then behind; Darjeth stayed to Ari’s left, equally watchful. Hannixe drooped in the saddle, braiding together strings of silvery shrubbery for later use.

They turned along the spike-wall, jog-trotting with black stone to their left for a long while. Finally, just before the day died completely, a single gap yawned. A listing, weathered wooden post stood just to one side of the aperture, and Keners called a halt.

“A guide,” he said, indicating the pillar. “Destroyed, of course, but…”

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