“To destroy the wound. So no one knows he was shot with an arrow. Would look awfully suspicious.”
“Ah. Thank you.” Erika drew a shaky breath. What the pit had she been thinking? Two of the king’s Longdogs, dead at her feet. She struggled to keep down a rising panic, breathing deeply and counting to one hundred in her head. This was self defense, she reassured herself. These two had been chasing down a mere girl and had plotted to kill Erika, the granddaughter of a Kez duke! They had deserved what they got.
The girl emerged from the woods, dry leaves rustling at her approach, her hair full of burs and twigs. She stared at the two bodies, her eyes never leaving them as she inched toward Erika.
“You protected me.”
I protected myself.
None of this would have happened if Erika hadn’t stopped to help this girl. She would be on her way back to her grandfather’s manor, blissfully ignorant of Longdogs or fugitive powder mages, and with no blood on her hands. She’d probably be wondering what the cook had made for dinner.
She was in it now. And she couldn’t turn back.
Norrine couldn’t tear her eyes off the two bodies. The men lay side-by-side in the road, rivulets of dark crimson soaking into the dirt. The older woman, Santiole, reloaded her musket, one foot resting on the paunchy man’s stomach like he was some kind of trophy. She hummed softly. It reminded Norrine of how Da used to hum as he skinned the small game animals he’d bring home from his hunts.
She recognized the paunchy Longdog. The one who killed Phille. Put a sword right through Phille’s chest and left him laying there in the street outside the prison.
That was less than two weeks ago. She could still remember Phille laying there, his life-blood leaking out, one hand stretched toward Norrine as if begging her to come back for him. He had told her to run after he tricked the Longdogs and helped her escape. Said he would distract them.
She watched him die from the safety of the tall grass a hundred yards away.
He probably thought they would put him in prison for a few years. Maybe cut off his hand. Stupid Phille. He’d always been more heart than brains. He’d helped a powder mage escape. A quick death was mercy for him.
The sound of Erika sniffling brought Norrine back to the present. She watched the noblewoman-the Forsworn-for a moment, puzzled. Were all nobles so squeamish? Norrine was used to blood and bodies. Da was a woodsman. The blood on his pants and jacket belonged to animals, but the blood of a fox or a beaver was no different than that of a human. Erika seemed slightly shocked by it all.
She thought about taking Erika’s hand. That’s what Da would do for her when she was scared. But Ma had said nobles didn’t like to be touched by commoners. “I’m Norrine,” she said.
“Erika,” the noblewoman responded faintly, though she had already introduced herself. She turned her attention away from the dead Longdogs and knelt next to Norrine. “You don’t have to be scared.”
“I’m not,” Norrine said, though she was. Of course she was scared. She had done everything she could to throw off their scent. She had blown up a powder barrel not far from the compound, using only her mind-the thrill still coursed through her-and then doubled back past the compound itself to throw them off. She’d lost the dogs by taking the river upstream, heading south, before doubling back once more. She had avoided roads, towns, and even isolated farms. Somehow the Longdogs were still on her trail.
‘Think like a critter,’ Da had always told her, teaching her how to be a woodsman. How to track game, trap beavers, trick foxes. Even how to avoid the cave lions that would sometimes come down from the mountains.
It wasn’t enough. Now this noble had killed two mage hunters and offered to help her go north, to Adro, where Phille had promised her it wasn’t illegal to be a powder mage.
Santiole took the men’s pocketbooks from their jackets and then tossed them in the mud and stepped away from the bodies. “It’ll look like a robbery,” she said. “And the villains ran when they realized who they’d attacked. Good shot, by the way. It could have been an inch higher, but good nonetheless.”
“I hesitated,” Erika responded.
“Everyone does on their first,” Santiole said. “If you hadn’t, there’d something wrong with you.”
Santiole barely seemed to acknowledge Norrine, which made her uncomfortable. The older woman didn’t seem to like the idea of helping a powder mage. Then again, who did? Norrine had been taught since she was little of the evil within powder mages. Only the memory of Phille’s murder kept Norrine from giving herself up.
Norrine studied Erika. The noblewoman might have been twenty or twenty-five, but Norrine was no good at judging age. She had a pretty face, clear of blemishes and with a slightly-upturned nose and blue eyes, and dirty-blonde hair. Could Norrine trust her? She had the brand, and Norrine had heard her name before. The Forsworn heir of the Leora duchy.
It could be a trick. Da always said that people were far more cunning than animals, because their cunning could be cruel whereas an animal, even when playing a trick, was always honest.
Norrine reached out with her senses. She could feel the powder that Santiole carried. A full powder horn, along with several prepared powder charges for her musket and pistol. Norrine could ignite it with her mind, killing both Santiole and Erika, and run for the mountains. If this was some kind of trap, it would be safer than going with them.
Norrine’s senses touched upon something else. More powder. But Santiole wasn’t carrying it.
Erika was.
Not much. Certainly not more than a couple charges worth. But she had it on her person. It gave Norrine a little thrill. Erika was already breaking her oath, it seemed, which would put her at odds with any more Longdogs they happened across. Maybe Norrine could trust her.
Erika’s voice cut into Norrine’s thoughts. “Let’s see about getting you to Adro.”
Erika left Santiole and Norrine in the forest about an hour from the Leora family manor and went on ahead, knowing that the servants would already be clearing the dining room table by the time she arrived.
That was the least of her concerns. The whole lawn was in shadow, the sun almost gone behind the trees, as she rode down the gravel drive to the great manor house and she worried that someone might have already spotted them with the girl.
It would only take one errant word, a peasant mentioning that he’d seen Erika and Santiole with a child, or a visiting relative noticing Santiole’s absence, and this whole endeavor would fall apart. Erika couldn’t let anyone know that the child was here-a difficult task in a manor full of gossiping servants-and she couldn’t afford to make a single mistake.
She left her gelding with one of the grooms and headed in through the front door, returning the servants’ greetings and taking a small scolding from the head butler with a smile.
Sweat trickled down the back of her neck as she slipped past her grandfather’s study and started up the staircase in the grand hall. Santiole would bring the girl onto the manor grounds by one of the riding trails and stash her with some food and bedding in one of the lesser-used stables. She could stay there until morning, by which time Erika would have thought of a reason to go visit her parents in Adro.
“Erika, is that you?”
Erika froze half way up the staircase and cursed under her breath. “Yes, grandfather.” She returned to the door of his study.
The old man sat in his favorite wingback chair with his feet up on a hassock and a fire burning in the hearth. He set his book facedown on his stomach and gazed at her from over his reading spectacles. “You missed dinner.”
“Sorry, grandfather.”
“Your grandmother will give you an earful.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“Fine, fine.” He made a dismissive gesture. “She’s too protective anyway. Where do you think your mother got it from? Where’s Santiole?”