Page 129 of Bound to the Shadow Prince

Sixty-Five

Ididn’t think it was possible for the rain to get heavier, but somehow it has. It’s an absolute downpour, and the roads are nothing but muddy slicks. Everywhere I turn, water pools on the ground. The horses amble along, Jarvo and Corlath on one and me and Saemon on the other. It’s a long, miserable day, made even more miserable as we pass through several more villages, all of them empty. Each one makes my skin prickle with alarm. Whereiseveryone? Surely there are people left somewhere?

Surely the four of us cannot be the only ones left beyond the walls of Castle Lios? I can’t imagine my sister leaving there, so I imagine it is absolutely packed with refugees. If that’s the case, they won’t mind a few more.

I scan the gloomy, wet skies, looking for signs of Nemeth, but I don’t see him anywhere. The road takes us along the shore, and the beaches seem less muddy, but there are broken boards and debris along the tide line, enough for several ships. More shipwrecks, I wonder, thinking of Meryliese. Surely no one would try to take a ship in this messy weather.

Corlath and Jarvo stay behind to raid an empty village or two. Our horse is plodding along slower than theirs, so we keepon riding, and Saemon “reassures” me that they’ll catch up. His reassurances have become more handsy by the hour, and when he strokes my arm a little too familiarly, I elbow him to let him know his touch isn’t welcome.

He just laughs and squeezes me harder, the prick.

That night, we stay in an abandoned manor house, the walls covered with murals of the family that once lived here. It’s as deserted as everything else, and I slump in a wing-backed chair near the fireplace as Saemon wanders through the rooms and looks for treasures. I’m too tired and shaky to even attempt to get away. The fire in the hearth is warm, at least, and even if there’s nothing to eat, the chair is comfortable enough.

Corlath and Jarvo return a few hours later with bad news. “Nothing to eat again,” Jarvo says. “At this rate we’re gonna starve before we ever make it to the capital.”

Saemon doesn’t look overly concerned. I watch as he pulls my little jeweled knife from his belt and holds it out to Jarvo. “Go kill my horse. He’s on his last legs anyhow. He can be dinner.”

I’m sickened at how much the two men light up—and I think of that poor horse, who’s walked so faithfully in the mud and driving rain, carrying us. It probably deserves better than being dinner to these three cretins. My mind flashes back to last night and the half-rotted carcass in the stable and how they’d tried to eat it…and the smell…

I make it three steps before I puke.

“Are you going to keep doing that all the way to the capital?” Saemon asks, visibly annoyed.

“I told you I was sick,” I manage between nauseated gasps. I lie on the floor, on cool wooden floorboards. As I wait for the nausea to abate, Saemon moves closer. Instead of helping me, he nudges the corner of an expensive-looking rug away from me. All heart, that one. “Can I have some water?”

“I don’t know. Can you?”

That piece of dragon shite. Gritting my teeth, I glare up at him.

He sighs and crosses his arms over his chest, studying me. “You said you were fine with your medicine.”

“That was before your goons drank half of it. I only have one dose left.”

“Mmm. What happens when you run out?”

I gesture at myself, as if to saythis.

“Are you going to die on us?” he asks.

“Trying not to. Water?”

With a sigh, he tosses his water-skin down to me. It lands on my stomach with an unpleasant thunk and makes me sick anew. That prick. I manage a few dry heaves before I take a few sips of water. The liquid helps, and I roll onto my back, waiting for things to settle.

As I do, I realize I can hear voices outside. I can’t make out what they’re saying, but I know from the timbre of the voices that it’s the men…and they’re arguing. I move closer to the window in the manor house. Unlike the cottages with the shutters, this is an arrow slit high in the brickwork, and it’s carrying their voices directly to me.

“I don’t like this,” Jarvo is saying. “She’s a lady. We can’t leave her.”

“She’s dying,” Saemon’s voice is flat, emotionless. “You really want to show up at Lios with a dead princess on your hands? They’ll hang your guts from the castle gates.”

“Maybe if we get some food into her,” Corlath says. “We’re going to have horse meat?—”

“And she’ll puke it up right on you. It won’t stay down. She’s got one dose of her medicine left and she’s dead after that. You think they’ll welcome us with food? You think they’ll welcome us with anything but a pike up the arse?”

Corlath and Jarvo murmur something too low for me to hear.

I need a weapon if they’re going to try and kill me.I glance around the room. I don’t see anything useful—Saemon would have taken anything that looked valuable or like a weapon. There’s some knitting left in a basket by the fire, but maybe that will have to do. Getting to my feet, I wobble back to the chair by the hearth, feeling weak and useless. The needles are wooden and thick, but I’ll drive one through Saemon’s ballsack if I have to. I slide it into my sleeve.

The moment I do, the door opens and I hear footsteps. I close my eyes, feigning placidity near the fire. The men approach my chair, and then the footsteps stop. I open an eye.

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