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“I’m sorry.”
Henrik’s voice was small as Joss helped him sit down on one of the rocks nestled between the embankment and river. Callan stood off to the side, watching the forest to make sure no one else was coming. Joss dropped her ax and threw her cloak off, jogging to the river and dipping the end of it in the cold water. She ran to Henrik’s saddlebag, fishing out the jar of thymelock salve, still wrapped in cloth. Moving back to Henrik, she knelt down to view his face better, finding his nose was bruised but thankfully not broken.
“I’m so sorry, I should have known,” Henrik continued, keeping his hand tucked against his chest, still trying to hide it.
For a second, Joss didn’t see him as a beaten man sitting in front of her, bleeding and heartbroken. He was that seven-year-old boy, trembling and scared, clutching her hand tightly as he watched the only people he knew hang right in front of him, the noose he was supposed to be tied to hanging empty. His crying had been silent then but just as heartbreaking, because everything he knew up to that point was suddenly gone. This felt no different, given that Elora had been the only woman he had ever fallen in love with.
“You couldn’t have known,” Joss soothed as she worked, gently wiping and dabbing the blood away. Her hand trembled as she worked, the adrenaline wearing off. “It’s not your fault,” she added, and in a way, she was saying it to both of them.
“I shouldn’t have believed her.” He was shaking now, his gasps becoming harsher as he favored his sides. His eye was misting over, shame and embarrassment hitting him as hard as the man’s fist had. The other eye was already swollen shut.
“It’s not your fault, Henrik,” she reminded him as she worked, keeping her voice as gentle as her hands. She batted her eyes, trying to keep her composure, her own tears threatening her vision at how much she hated seeing him this way.
“I should have known she couldn’t love me.” The sob slipped out, covered by a gasp for air as the bruising stung his side.
Joss dropped the end of her cloak, placing both her hands on either side of his face, forcing him to look at her. She leveled her gaze on him, and soft but pointedly said, “That’s not your fault. That was never your fault.”
She stared at him, letting the words sink in. He stared back, the tears giving way as they slid down his cheek. He nodded as he sucked in a breath, his bottom lip quivering before he pinched his lips together to stop it.
“She doesn’t deserve you,” Joss whispered to him, noticing how vibrant the tears had made his hazel eyes look.
Something shifted to the side of them, and Joss didn’t have to look to see it was Callan stepping closer. “She’s right,” he spoke up, gaining Henrik’s attention. “That girl doesn’t deserve to have your heart.”
Joss looked up at him, surprised by the sentiments. Callan didn’t return her gaze, allowing her to judge him in silence as he kept his attention on the lad, his own way of consoling him.
Nothing more was said as Henrik nodded, wiping his cheeks with his free hand. Joss continued on, cleaning up his face and then unwrapping the jar and applying the small amount of thymelock on his bruises. Once done, she helped Henrik put the glove back on, fixing the rigged finger that had been bent in the process of being ripped off.
Standing up, she glanced at Callan, finding him still watching the scene with sympathy. He had seen the hand, an answer to a long-ago question.
“We should probably get going, just in case,” he offered, his tone different from all the times before.
Helping Henrik to his feet, Joss went and gathered the canteen. “Put some of this on your tongue and drink it down,” Joss instructed, handing the jar and canteen to him, knowing ingesting the thymelock would help with his internal injuries. She swung her cloak around her shoulders and picked up the leather ax cover. Once it was secured, she put the weapon back in its holder.
Seeing Henrik was done, she took the canteen from him, finding he had already wrapped the jar with cloth in order to place it back in his saddlebag. As she went to refill the canteen, Callan stayed by Henrik’s side as he made his way to the pony. Although he was hurting, Henrik still patted Bluebelle’s neck like he always did. Once the thymelock salve was put away, he faced the saddle. With a couple grunts and groans, he made it on with Callan right there as his aid. Confirming he would be alright, Callan mounted into his own saddle as Joss went back to her horse, putting the canteen away in her own bag.
Joss didn’t realize she had given Callan a curious look until the prince stopped his horse next to hers. “I might be an asshole, but I’m not completely heartless,” he mumbled, glancing over his shoulder at Henrik who was a little slumped in the saddle, waiting for the thymelock to work.
Joss pulled herself up into the saddle. “Thank you,” she said back, to which Callan gave a quick bow of his head and moved his horse forward. Joss sat back, waiting as Henrik passed by and then moved Drakon forward, following them back onto the trail.
The forest seemed quieter, even with the birds chirping overhead and the occasional rustle of a rabbit in the brush or a squirrel spiraling up a tree. There was a somberness to it all, which Joss assessed had more to do with the group’s silence than it did the environment. Callan set the pace at a brisk walk, already knowing a faster pace would hinder Henrik’s ability to keep up, given his state. Henrik kept to himself, every so often wiping his eye with the back of his sleeve, still hunched over a little. And Joss observed from behind, making sure no one was following while also keeping a watchful eye on Henrik.
Abruptly, Callan stopped his horse, waiting for the other two to come up next to him. That’s when Joss found they had come to a fork in the road, the small trail splitting in front of them.
“What’s the compass say?” Callan asked, and Henrik fished the compass out that he had forgotten about.
Giving it a reassuring tap, he nodded to the left. “Looks like that way will lead us more north, which is where we need to go.”
With a nod, Callan continued onto the left, the other two falling back in their places.
The trail began to meander upward, the earth splitting into sharper hills, forcing the trees to thin out until all that was left were the grassy slopes and jagged rocks. A wind picked up, the grass swaying like ripples across an emerald lake. The trio picked their way against the hillside, a steady stream cutting through their path that they carefully maneuvered the horses over. While Callan kept his eyes to the north and Henrik’s thoughts were on the past, Joss admired the views.
Out against the horizons the mountains peaked, the hills spreading out as far as she could see. The summits lay bare, not yet snow-capped, a sign that winter was still a couple months away. The deep blue of the sky caged the lavender-grey clouds in the distance, the storms separating and rejoining. Although the wind was more robust, something sweet lingered in the air—a flower of some sort—and she embraced the little bit of calm it caused. Because after seeing how those men treated Henrik, she knew she would have killed the girl. She would have done it calmly too; no malice or spite. In all honesty, she would have felt nothing, just a means to an end. Seeing Orson's pain would have been enough.
The thought of that potential emptiness caused her to shiver against the wind. She wrapped the cloak tightly around her as she swayed in the saddle, Drakon picking through the path to stay up with the others. She caught sight of a red fox in the distance, too far away to disturb the horses, but an omen that they weren’t alone out there.
It wasn’t until the sun dipped a little lower, the sunset evident in how illuminated the clouds became, that Callan drew his horse to a stop again.
“I was afraid of this,” he grumbled as Joss and Henrik reined their horses down to a halt.
Looking out across the hill, they found the main road snaking its way past the patches of forest that grew in between the rocky landscape. It was only evident by the sight of some stray riders moving in the opposite direction of where they were headed. Otherwise, the trail would have been lost to them, their angle causing the road to blend in well with the terrain.
“We can’t use the hunter’s paths much longer.” Callan nodded to the area where the main road disappeared behind a sheer cliffside. “It’s too rocky and steep. We’ll have to take the main road in.”
Joss eyed the rest of the terrain, seeing how the mountain range was taking shape, the road heading into a wide canyon.
“There will be places to hide for the night, at least,” Callan reassured them, yet when Joss eyed him, she realized he was really trying to reassure himself. His assessment was coming from old memories that even he seemed a tad unsure of.
He continued on in silence, leaving the other two to hope there wouldn’t be any more surprises waiting for them.
