Catrin snarled at the woman, who now became the target of all her anger, all her resentment. Suddenly this woman was the source of all their troubles, and with one twist of her wrist, she would be gone. It would be so easy. The woman's flesh was soft and pale and would part easily before the razor-sharp blade.
Benjin grabbed Catrin's arm and pulled the knife away from the woman's throat, but he got no gratitude. The woman pulled another blade from her belt, and they all stood in suspense, assessing one another.
"Please, both of you. We can solve this peacefully. Put the blades away. Shedding each other's blood will help no one," Benjin said.
His words penetrated the haze of fury that still gripped Catrin. With obvious reluctance, she reversed the blade and handed it back to the woman, who seemed surprised.
"Now let us begin again. I'm Benjin Hawk," he said, and the woman's eyes grew wide again. "And this is Catrin Volker, daughter of Elsa Mangst."
His words might as well have been a physical blow for the effect they had on the woman. She fell back against the far wall, and her breathing became rapid. Catrin was shocked by his honesty.
"By the gods, it's true. Isn't it?" she asked with a hysterical glance at Catrin.
"He speaks the truth," Catrin said, and it was as much an accusation against Benjin as it was an affirmation. The woman sat down heavily and stared at them as if they were beyond explanation.
"You don't mean to kill me," the woman said, making it more a statement than a question, but Catrin felt the need to respond nonetheless.
"We never intended you any harm, but you certainly scared us," she said, and she was surprised to see the woman relax a bit and actually sheathe her blades.
"I am Millicent, maid to the Lady Mangst," the woman said, and now it was Benjin's turn to appear shocked.
"Millie? I didn't even recognize you."
"You need not tell me the years have been unkind; I am aware, but they've touched you as well," Millie said.
"You know each other?" Catrin asked.
"It's been many years," Benjin began before Millie cut him short.
"Since you and that scoundrel, Wendel, stole Elsa away from us."
"After all these years, you are still shortsighted, I see," Benjin said, but Millie ignored him.
"Let us speak no more. This matter should be taken up with the lady, not her lowly servant. I'll arrange for passage to Ravenhold. Be warned, if you try to escape, I'll have you hunted down and killed. Do I make myself clear?"
"You do, but your threats are unnecessary and insulting," Catrin said with an arch look, daring the woman to question her integrity again. Millie gave her a sidelong glance but said no more. Instead, she walked out the door, leaving them alone.
"This is not going to go well," Benjin said almost to himself.
"I assume my family will not be happy to see me?"
"Or me," he said, shaking his head.
"Well, let them be unhappy. I've no intention of staying long. You don't think they'll try to stop me, do you?"
"I don't know, li'l miss. I'd hoped to avoid them completely. They're not fond of me to begin with, and I have no idea how they will react to you, but I doubt they'll welcome you. Your mother's family are not the most forgiving people I've ever met."
Catrin asked him no more questions, knowing he would not have the answers. She supposed she would just have to take it up with the Lady Mangst-whoever that was. It bothered her a great deal that she didn't know, yet she decided not to ask. She would find out soon enough.
The room began to feel very small as she paced back and forth, and the air felt thick and heavy, as if she were breathing water. She did not know how long Millie had been gone, but it seemed like days, and when she finally returned, Catrin's patience was lost to her.
"We must leave at once," Millie said. "I was not to return for three more days, but this'll not wait. I've arranged a carriage for you. It waits in front of the inn. Come."
"Will you be joining us?" Catrin asked, uncertain of what exactly was taking place.
"I'll be traveling in a separate carriage, but they will travel together. So, yes, in a sense. Morif will act as your bodyguard and assure your safety."
In other words, Catrin thought, he would be their jailer, there only to make sure they did not try to escape. The fact bothered her greatly, but she put no voice to her misgivings, for she doubted it would do any good. Without another word, she and Benjin followed Millie from the inn.
As promised, two carriages waited, and they were like no carriages Catrin had ever seen before. Completely enclosed, with small doors in the side and smoky glass windows, their black finish shone in the sun, and even the wheels were spotless. Each one was drawn by a team of four horses, which appeared to be more for show than out of need. The carriages were large but not so large as to require more than one horse. The horses were obviously bred for looks; their coats gleamed, and their manes flowed. Their forelocks were so long that it was a wonder the horses could see anything. These were nothing like the horses her father raised, which were primarily workhorses, bred for power. And these were far showier than the horses of the Arghast tribes. It reminded Catrin of the townies, who used their horses primarily as a display of wealth, and the thought left a foul taste in her mouth.
Morif proved to be an imposing man. He was missing one eye, but his movements spoke of death. His muscles were well defined, and the cords of his tendons stood out in relief. He gave them a baleful stare as they climbed aboard the carriage, and Catrin returned it, which seemed to surprise him. She would show him no fear, and for once, she felt none. Let him try to hurt them, and she would show him just how dangerous she was.
The interior of the carriage was opulently appointed with deeply cushioned seats and smoky glass windows framed by frilly curtains. The journey to Ravenhold took four days, and they spent their nights in the best rooms the inns along the way had to offer. The common rooms were always full when they arrived, but somehow Millie always managed to secure not one, but two rooms each night.
Morif kept watch outside their door, and the tension between him and Catrin grew as time passed. She knew she should leave the man be, but his very presence annoyed her. At every opportunity, she let him know she didn't appreciate his watchfulness, whether it was something as small as stepping on his toes when she passed, or something as overt as spilling her dinner down the front of him. It was clear he struggled to restrain himself, but Catrin didn't care. She almost wished he would provoke her so she could take out her fury on him.
When she was honest with herself, it was not him she loathed. It was the thought that her family was automatically distrustful of her. It went against everything her father had taught her, and she resented the fact that they used his name without any trace of respect. She'd had her fill of people looking down their noses at her, and she thought she might bite the nose off the next person who did it.
Strange sensations crossed her mind, though, as they moved closer to Ravenhold. She was farther from the land of her birth than she had ever dreamed she would be, and yet, in some small way, she felt as if she were coming home.
Chapter 21
The souls of heroes are forged by the gods and tempered with the pain of life.