Page 143 of The Last One
Daisy drops her head, then blinks at me with sorrowful eyes.“They killed my brothers.”
I remain perfectly still, anger crawling like ants over my arms.“I’m so sorry.”I wish I could pat Daisy’s head as reassurance—because sheisa good girl.“They won’t hurt you ever again,”I tell her. “And I’ll avenge your brothers. Promise. Just lead them away from us.”
The bloodhound pants, then moseys in the direction from which we’d just come. She trots some, then lifts her head.Roo!
I watch her go and glance back at Ser Wake. From his seat atop Morningfire, he surveys the woods again, his blue eyes skipping over our fallen trunk. “That woman,” he says.
“Yes, Ser Wake?” the man beside him asks. His skin is leathery-tan, and his blond hair isn’t as golden as Wake’s, its unnatural shade more straw than silk. He’s bigger than Wake—two Wakes wide and two Wakes tall—and so his horse must be large, too. He wears nice-but-not-as-nice armor, and the scars on his cheeks and square jaw speak of battles and hand-to-hand combat…unlike Wake, who, from the looks of it, has never even cut his face shaving. If I were to guess, the big soldier admires Wake and has tried to copy him, down to the weird, blond hair. Who is he? Why is the air around him so heavy?
“She told us that they would be traveling this road,” Wake says now. “She practically guaranteed that I would find them heading this way. ‘Trust me,’ she said. Ugh. Should’ve known. You can’t trust a woman with a face like that.”
Which woman?
Can’t be Olivia—he’d know those innocent-looking big eyes and honeyed tongue.
Elyn, white-haired and powerful, promising gifts and riches? Would she have had time to tell them, though? Her cardinals only just spotted us as we entered the woods.
The big soldier’s yellow eyes, so stark against tanned skin, drag across the forest. He pulls those eyes in our direction—is he sensing something? He lifts his leg to dismount.
“Now!”I think to the horses.
Snowfeet, the black mare with white ankle hair, rears, keeping her rider in place. Wake’s horse does the same, and soon, all the horses are bucking and neighing.
“What’s happening?” a soldier asks.
“Something’s spooked ’em,” another soldier shouts.
The clomp of hooves and the whoops of men scrambling to hold on to their mounts is the pandemonium I need.“Go, now!”I command the horses.“Go!”I tell Daisy.
Off they go! On Jinx, on Orchid, on Essen and Snowfeet!
Just as the last soldier rides away, Veril clamps his hand over his mouth and the gauzy blurred veil drops.
I take a gulp of air.
Jadon hides his face in his hands and looks like he just escaped a brush with death.
I suppose, in a way, we all did.
We take a moment to catch our breath. But my breath only comes faster as I recall my conversations with Daisy and the horses. Those soldiers, those abusers, thosefuckers. Beating horses and killing dogs? Who do they think they are? How wouldtheylike to be threatened, spurred and horse-whipped, and then forced to march the realm in search of bullshit?
“Kai,” Philia says with great caution, “are you okay? Your…” She points at her own eyes. “The gold in your eyes… The color’s swirling. Like a sandstorm.”
“Yeah, I feel it. Just need a moment.” I rub my tender scalp and take deep breaths. Didn’t realize that I was that angry. Once my heart slows, once my eyes cool, I smile at Philia, then turn to the Renrian and say, “Thank you for hiding us.”
Veril waves away my gratitude, no big thing, but he looks knackered after such an effort.
“WasthatSer Wake, Olivia’s jilted fiancé?” I ask.
Jadon winces as he massages his temples. “Yep. That was Gileon Wake.”
Sweet Supreme,that girl can pick some enemies.
We gather our things, take more relieved breaths, and stride in the opposite direction from the troop, who are now headed to Pethorp, thanks to the misguided words of that mystery woman. The forest’s breath is a cold whisper against my skin as we creep ahead. Jadon’s hand rests lightly on the hilt of his sword, and his eyes dart from path to tree to the road ahead like a hawk’s. Staff back in hand, Veril remains focused on the path we’re traveling. Philia clutches her cloak and murmurs a prayer for our safe passage.
“The soldier with the fake blond hair and yellow eyes,” I ask Jadon. “Who is he?”
Jadon says, “I believe he’s called ‘Sinth.’”
