“Because he is the king of Islor, you imbecile.”
I watch Pan’s mouth gape in the lantern light as he stares at Zander. “If that’s the king, why is he—”
“No more questions,” she snaps, turning to Zander. “I do not think we need to worry about this one having ingested the poison. He is too stupid to be cunning. Allow me to release him.”
“He cannot go back to Bellcross, and he would not last an hour in these hills.”
“Precisely.”
Zander sighs heavily.
I dismiss their bickering, my attention drifting into the darkness. We took a different route here to avoid Bellcross’s notice, but I know basically what the landscape looks like—hills and forests and farm fields and tiny villages with high walls for protection.
An orange glow radiates in the darkness, growing by the second.
“What is that? Over there.” I point toward it.
Zander follows my direction. And curses. “Come.” He sets our horse charging toward it.
“Fates,” Elisaf whispers.
The moment we crest the ridge and spot the attack in the shallow valley below, it’s clear Gesine and the others are in trouble. Their wagon is surrounded by men closing in from all sides, held back by Zorya’s skilled sword and Gesine’s gusts of wind that send them flying backward like scattering bowling pins. Nearby, a great oak tree blazes, the beacon that drew us in.
“I count two dozen. Their horses are down. They cannot get away.” Elisaf draws his sword, and without waiting for Zander’s order, charges down the hill and into the violent fray.
My heart pounds in my ears, watching my loyal guard rush into battle alone against twenty-four armed men. “Help him!” My voice cracks with desperation.
“Get off,” Abarrane demands.
Pan scrambles down, tumbling in the process, but he’s on his lithe feet again quickly.
“You cannot bring her into battle.” With that, she’s gone, her sword held high.
“She’s right, Zander. Let me off. We’ll be fine here.”
A cry of pain rings in the air. Zorya crumples to her knees, an arrow protruding from her rib cage.
Zander curses, and with impossibly quick movements, is out of his saddle and pulling me down by the waist. “It is dark, and they are all focused. You two, hide here.” He points to a crop of boulders. “You have your dagger.”
I pat my hip. “Go!”
He hesitates, a frantic look in his eyes. For a few seconds, I think he’s going to kiss me, and I can’t breathe with the anticipation. But then he pulls away, leaps onto his horse, and gallops off.
Steel clangs against steel as I watch first Elisaf join the fight, then Abarrane, her blade strokes vicious and sweeping. My pulse hammers in my throat. It’s a moment before I remember I’m not alone. I give Pan a gentle push toward the boulders. He crouches down beside me, and we observe the battle unfold from our hidden perch.
The blazing tree flares to three times its size, earning shouts as the attackers back away, not understanding the cause of its surge. A suitable distraction as Zander cuts down three of them from behind before they realize he’s there. He soars off his horse, his sword blade curving in a deep arc, to cut down a fourth.
I watch, mesmerized, as the tide of the battle shifts, our side sorely unmatched and yet incomparable in skill. Even Zorya, barely standing, blocks blow after blow, and Gesine, crouching in her white caster’s garb, stops every flaming arrow with her air shield before they can embed in the wagon’s canvas cover.
Abarrane vaults over the wagon and fells two men on the other side, landing on her feet only to stab a third with her dagger.
“Wow.” Awe laces Pan’s voice.
“She wasn’t kidding about hunting you down, so don’t get any ideas about running.”
“Right beside you seems like a smart place to stay, huh?”
I smile. It’s refreshing to hear Pan speak to me like anyone else I might have known in my previous life, not capping off his words with Your Highness or my lady.