Page 34 of Edge of the Wild

“Did you get to speak with Tessa?” Oliver asked, aiming for innocent.

Leif hummed, gazing across the snowy stable yard, toward the path that led back to the palace. “I don’t think she’s going to marry me.”

“Well, certainly notnow. We’re leaving.”

Leif shook his head.

Before Oliver could offer any lackluster reassurances – he knew his cousin couldn’t control her preference, no more than Oliver could control his – a horn sounded. One short, sharp blow that captured everyone’s attention and silenced all the many conversations swirling around them.

Erik stood on the ground, holding his horse by the reins, Birger beside him with the horn, and even so, below most people’s eye level at this point, the king commanded the moment.

“Good morning,” he said, voice projected, bouncing off the stone façade of the stable and echoing richly across the snow. “It is an honor, on this day, to depart from home in such company.”

A cheer went up.

Erik said, “We go forward as one people to represent the nation of Aeretoll in the land of our forefathers. We take with us our eagerness to trade, to cooperate, to ally ourselves with all who would call us friends.”

They were ritualistic, prepared words; Erik doubtless said much the same every year, before the party departed on the journey. But Oliver was still filled with pride to hear the commanding ring of his voice, to see the way ever eye stayed fixed on him; to see that regal bearing, an early breeze toying with the braids in his hair.

“Let us go now,” Erik continued, “with the blessing of the gods, and the love of our families. Will you join me, Lords and Ladies of Aeretoll, on our journey to the ancient seat of Northern power?”

A resoundingyesfrom the crowd, followed my more cheers. Erik swung up onto his horse, the swirl of his cloak a study in warrior grace, and the whole caravan came to life with the jangle of harness and bells, the champing of bits, the snorts of excited animals.

Oliver tightened his hands on his reins.Here we go.

They were off.

4

The Duchy of Drakewell

Aquitainia

Another long day scouting, the Strangers keeping just ahead of them: snapped twigs, bird calls made by human throats. Another day of finding strange signs that had nothing to do with outlaw woodsmen in brown cloaks. It was not unusual to stumble across a tangle of bones, part of a carcass, evidence of a kill. Rabbits caught by foxes; fawns and woodchucks brought down by coyotes. The Strangers shot and butchered wood deer; they took the meat, the hide, the best organs, the antlers and bones, and left only offal.

The deer they’d found today – what scraps remained – hadn’t been any sort of Stranger kill. The head and antlers had been left, a few cracked bits of bone. And there had been marks…singemarks, it had looked like.

They’d talked to a farmer and his wife who lived on the Fringes, and gotten only shifty looks and hesitations when asked if they’d seen any mutilated animals.

Amelia’s party returned to the mansion after sunset, again. She hadn’t spoken to her mother since the night she’d stormed out of the dining room, and so she’d grabbed a hunk of bread and cheese from the kitchen on her way through, and gone straight up to her room to wash off the road dust.

After which, Malcolm had joined her.

They both fell asleep, sated, tired, but troubled by the day’s findings. Malcolm would leave at first light, would slip away, like he always did. Amelia drifted off with her head resting on his bare chest, content that this, at least, was a place of safety.

A loud drumming on the door woke them.

Amelia opened her eyes, her vision flooded with bright sunlight, and immediately knew that something was terribly wrong.

It was morning, and she still lay naked and tangled with Malcolm.

The drumming repeated. “Amelia,” Katherine called through the door.

“Shit.” Amelia bolted upright, flailing for the bedclothes, shoving her hair off her face. She tried to blink the grit from her eyes and glanced wildly around the room. Clothes in a heap on the rug. Two cups and the flask of wine Malcolm had brought with him on the dressing table. The curtains half-pulled, daylight pouring into the room, highlighting all the damning evidence that two people had spent the night here.

And most damning of all: Malcolm, blinking awake and frowning blearily up at her.

“Wha…s the matter?” he asked, voice hoarse from sleep.

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