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“We need more water.”
Joss’s reminder hadn’t gone unheard, but as she watched Callan, she observed how his body tensed, the only sign he had heard her. His mood hadn’t improved since last night, and while he had come back drenched, spending more time glaring at the fire instead of sleeping, nothing more was said.
Now, with the canteens empty, Joss couldn’t accept his silence anymore. She had heard the river about a mile ago, still hearing it rushing in the distance. Unsure when their trail would diverge away from it, she knew she had to act on the opportunity and fast.
Finally, he stopped his horse, tugging on the reins in order to turn the steed around to face them. He stared at her, and she saw his same argument lying stubbornly between them: he needed to get home, he was running out of time. But there was also the reality that if they continued on with empty canteens and thirsty horses, they’d only make the rest of their trip miserable and possibly life-threatening.
Breathing out in a huff, Callan mumbled a “Fine” and moved in the direction of the river, following the sound, picking his way through the underbrush as Joss and Henrik trailed right behind. Henrik slipped the compass back in the saddlebag, glad for the reprieve of giving directions to someone who didn't want their company.
It was as they were coming closer to the clearing, seeing the river beyond the trees, that someone cried out Henrik’s name.
Confused, they brought the horses to a halt, finding a lone figure coming forward from behind them, draped in a long cloak that made her petite frame even smaller, her blonde hair draped over her shoulders. “Henrik!” she called again, and even in the distance they could see her smile, the relief sweep over her.
“Elora?” Henrik mumbled breathlessly. His fondness for her was evident as he sucked in a breath, looking to Joss for reassurance with round, hopeful eyes. “She knows my name,” he said bewilderedly.
Joss smiled, though she was more curious to know why Elora Tansy was there in the first place. She didn’t want to break it to him that of course she would know his name; everyone knew who the town executioner and her assistant were. But they had never spoken together, couldn’t have given their profession. This moment was a rarity, maybe once in a lifetime, and she wasn’t going to spoil it for him.
“Maybe you should see what she wants,” Callan spoke up as he pulled his horse to a stop on the other side of Joss.
Clearing his throat, Henrik dismounted from the pony. “Ms. Tansy,” he called back, to which she laughed, a sound that made his heart skip.
“Master Brevyn,” she greeted Joss. Her smile didn’t falter as she laid eyes on Callan, simply nodding to the stranger. “I’m so glad I ran into you! I haven’t seen anyone around for hours.”
“What happened?” Henrik asked, stepping forward and meeting her halfway. The reins he had been holding slipped from his hand, and something uncomfortable stirred in Joss at seeing the sudden disregard. Bluebelle, always obedient, remained where she was as Joss took it upon herself to dismount as well, picking up the reins that were so easily forgotten in one small moment.
“I stupidly listened to my brother,” she smiled up at him, and he could have lost himself in those liquid blue eyes if she hadn’t kept talking. “He got wind of some farmer around here who was selling a couple cows for a good price, so my father sent us up here to fetch them.”
“He sent you as well?” Henrik balked, wondering why the butcher would send his daughter on such an errand, knowing what kind of scum lurked on the roads.
“I might have volunteered,” she said sheepishly. “You know how Galmoor is. I thought it would be good to see something different, and help my brother in the process.”
“But it’s way too dangerous out here, especially with just the two of you.” A sense of protection came over him naturally, which seemed to catch her off guard, her smile wavering a little.
“I’m tougher than you think,” Elora evaded, sounding coy. “I am a butcher’s daughter, after all.”
There was a pause between them, both staring at each other, which made even Callan restless. “So how did you get all the way out here?” he spoke up, breaking their trance and trying to push the conversation along.
“The instructions my brother received led us up here, and he claims he was told that one of the hunter’s paths acted like a shortcut and was easy on wagons. Well, it wasn’t, and one of the wheels fell off. We just need some help getting the wagon lifted so he can reattach it properly.”
Elora’s smile turned to Henrik again, a shyness around the edges that seemed to match his. “I’m really glad I ran into you,” she said, her gaze swiftly meeting the others to keep them included.
“Is he far?” Henrik asked, hoping to draw her gaze back to him.
“Just a ways back,” she nodded behind her.
“I can help,” Henrik offered, turning to Joss and Callan. “It shouldn’t take all that long.”
“Oh, that would be wonderful! I was hoping you would,” Elora admitted, her hands clasped, her smile radiant. Something in the pit of Joss’s stomach wasn’t sitting right with it, but she kept quiet, not wanting to ruin the moment for Henrik.
Callan’s annoyance was evident by the sigh that escaped involuntarily. “Try to be back within a half hour,” he said flatly, turning his horse away.
Relieved, Elora and Henrik started in the direction of the wagon, and as Elora continued to chat away, Henrik fell a step behind her, turning back to Joss and mouthing excitedly, “Oh my God!”
He turned back around, keeping up with the girl whose pace had quickened. It was understandable; her brother was by himself in the middle of the forest. There was nothing strange about that.
She was damn near jogging as she chatted away about random things, but Henrik loved the sound of her voice and couldn’t bring himself to interject. He could have listened to her for hours, watching the way she spoke using her hands. Her eyes focused on their destination, he assumed so she could reach her brother without getting lost. So to him, it was perfectly logical when they abandoned the path and started trudging through the undergrowth.
“This will get us there faster,” Elora explained, and then went on about the price of meat and the need for good cows.
Henrik followed happily as he kept pace with her, his long legs moving effortlessly against her shorter frame, which was hurried as she led them around trees and ferns. He even found himself wondering, imagining when they would hold hands, thinking if he’d even get another opportunity like this again. He wondered if saving the prince would exalt him and her family would admire their match and—
There was a clearing up ahead. Her brother Orson Tansy leaned against a tree, waiting. Upon seeing them, he begrudgingly moved from his place, as if his peace had been interrupted.
Of course he isn’t in a good mood, Henrik thought, thinking a broken wagon wheel so far from home would make anyone irritable.
But that’s when he began to look around, seeing only trees and the clearing but no path. No path and no wagon. Henrik slowed to a stop, realizing things weren’t what they seemed.
“What’s going on?” Henrik asked, watching helplessly as Elora continued on without him, the bond he thought he sensed snapping as she came to stand next to her brother.
Someone started to clap from behind, slow and rhythmic, and Henrik jumped. Behind him, he found a man that took him a second to recognize due to the bruising around his nose and eyes. Gradually, he remembered the hooded men who charged Joss back at the tavern. It had all happened so fast that he didn't have a chance to see who the man was, not until now as he stood in front of him.
Shit. He turned to find Elora as if she could give him a perfectly reasonable explanation, and for the first time since seeing her, her smile was gone, as if she had never had one. In its place was a blank stare—no malice, no pity—just indifference.
“Well done!” the man continued to applaud.
Henrik found the man was beaming at Elora, amused. Then his gaze fell back on Henrik, something sinister in his look. “Henrik Vanzant,” the man grinned in false welcome as he meandered forward.
“Waylon Barley,” Henrik murmured back, his stomach in a knot as he glanced behind the brute standing between him and the way back to Joss and Callan.
“You’re in a lot of trouble.” Waylon couldn’t suppress his grin; this was all too priceless.
Henrik stood his ground as Waylon came to stand in front of him, placing a harsh hand on his shoulder.
“You know, it’s morally wrong to follow a harmless young lady into the woods. God knows what might have happened.” Waylon feigned seriousness, but his enthusiasm hadn’t left his eyes.
Henrik swallowed hard, the anger rising like a flame against the back of his neck. “She came to me asking for help—”
“That’s not what I heard.” Waylon looked behind Henrik, his hand still clamped on Henrik’s shoulder. “Is that what happened?”
A soft feminine voice spoke up. “No.”
Henrik’s mouth opened then shut, feeling the stab of that word. His vision blurred a little, but he blinked a couple times, keeping the pain to himself.
“Oh, I bet that hurt,” Waylon whispered, a laugh escaping him.
“What are you doing?” Orson moaned, tired of his friend’s charade.
“Having a bit of fun.” Waylon released his hold on Henrik, leaving a bruise as he stepped back to analyze him. “Why not? He’s not going anywhere.”
“We have the others—”
“I want to see your hand,” Waylon smiled at Henrik, ignoring his friend.
Henrik's body trembled in response, fear and rage twisting itself inside him. He took a step back, readying himself, knowing a fight was coming.
“Henrik.”
Her voice was soft but so alluring to him that without thinking Henrik turned to look at Elora, a simple reaction from someone who had loved her from a far for so long.
He didn’t see the first punch coming.
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Joss knew something wasn’t right.
Something about Elora’s story was... strange. Sure, it sounded plausible, but the impression she had of Elora was that she never left Galmoor, her father never allowing it. She had overheard jokes and tales from Henrik and others in passing about the butcher’s overbearing ways, so why allow her to venture this far from home now?
“He seems to be smitten with her,” Callan was saying, cocking an eyebrow as he looked to Joss. The horses had quenched their thirst at the river, so she squatted down to fill the last canteen.
“He always has been,” Joss replied, standing up.
“Aren’t you two...?” Callan let the question hang in the air.
Joss smiled, shaking her head, remembering Aric asking the same question. “He’s the closest thing to a brother that I have.”
Her expression softened—saddened, even—just for a moment, which didn't go unnoticed. “Sometimes family isn’t blood-related,” Callan commented, grinning when she looked up at him.
Joss nodded in agreement, watching him turn away and walk casually against the shoreline, surveying the area. Her gaze dropped to the canteen, screwing the lid back on. But as she worked, she found herself replaying Elora’s conversation. It didn’t make sense that her and her brother Orson would come all this way by themselves. He had plenty of friends who could have come along instead of her. Why weren’t they helping? There was Geoffrey and Lukic and Waylon—
Joss froze, her mind recoiling. The face at the tavern. She had barely seen it under the hood from that first attacker, dismissing that she recognized him because his actions were like every other prisoner. But the memory had been right there, on the edge of her mind, knowing she had seen him from somewhere other than the jailhouse.
Now it came to her; the jawline, that glare. She knew him by that glare because that’s the only interaction they had ever had.
The canteen slipped from her hand, falling to the ground as she ran to Drakon and her saddle, snatching her ax.
“Hey, do you hear that?” Callan asked, turning just in time to find Joss racing up the embankment, ax unsheathed and ready.
