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It didn’t take long for the vomiting to start once she got to her feet. Joss would have felt some embarrassment if she wasn’t so busy hunched over, throwing up everything her stomach had as Henrik stood by her side, keeping her hair out of her face.
“I should have just let us go three days without water,” she moaned before hurling again.
Henrik replied with a chuckle, too busy making sure she wasn’t making a mess on herself. He looked over his shoulder at Aric, who smirked at the remark as he waited patiently nearby, overlooking the river with his crossbow hanging over his shoulder. Callan had been patient as long as he could, but time was slipping away, and he had gone to make sure the horses hadn’t wandered off.
The time it took to get to her feet was about the time the charcoal settled in her stomach, the familiar nausea she had seen people through now hitting her. It also didn’t help when she saw Master Greyson’s body, the blood and guts sending her stomach into an upheaval.
After another spell, she took sharp, deep breaths as she pulled herself up, her body drained of energy and trembling from the aftermath.
Henrik handed her the canteen, refilled with fresh water. “You have to stay hydrated,” he reminded her as she gulped the water down, thirsty all of a sudden. Feeling the ice cold liquid hitting her stomach, she covered her mouth with her bruised hand, the nausea sweeping in on her.
“Here, let me see your hand,” Aric asked as he made his way to them, strips of green fabric clutched in his fist, which she could only assume was from Master Greyson’s cloak. Henrik used the reprieve to go refill the canister again.
Joss let the nausea pass first and then lowered her hand. She didn’t bother to focus on how Aric tied the green fabric around her bruised knuckles, realizing it was cold and damp.
“Hopefully it’ll help with the swelling,” he explained, tying the fabric in place so that it was snug around her hand.
Joss whispered a ‘Thank you,’ admiring his handiwork. She couldn’t have done a better job herself.
“Do you think you can make it up the hill?” he asked as Henrik returned.
“Yeah,” she said, moving unsteadily towards the base of the hill with Henrik right next to her for help.
Putting her arm over his shoulder, Henrik used his body to steady her as they made their way up. Aric stayed a few steps ahead, staking out the best way to go up. Finding the two were struggling a bit, Aric reached his hand to Joss. “Come on,” he coerced gently until she put her hand in his, being mindful that it was her injured hand.
Between being pulled and carried, the nausea built itself up again. It wasn’t until they reached the path that Joss staggered over to a bush and threw up in it, hoping the leaves would hide her shame. Someone was rubbing her back, and she looked up to find Henrik.
“We both know this is a good thing,” he reassured her, reminding her of all the times they helped someone else in this state.
Nodding, she took the canteen Henrik handed her, using the water to rinse her face off and take a drink. Henrik went to put the wrapped glass jar back in his saddlebag, and that’s when she realized they had made it back to the horses. Drakon and Bluebelle remained where they were left, used to their owners stepping away due to finding a body to help or dispose of. Callan and Aric’s horses remained as well, and by how they acted, they needed the rest, Callan’s horse especially. She remembered the drunkard he stole it from as she took another swig of water, realizing this was the hardest the horse had probably ever been ridden. Then she noticed the horse standing next to Callan’s—a white one, fully saddled—which must have been Master Greyson’s.
“I figured we can fetch a decent price for this one,” Callan was explaining to Aric, who also eyed the horse after he went to check on his own.
“Good plan,” Aric said simply as he made his way to Joss. “Let’s get you back in the saddle,” he smiled, escorting her to Drakon. Shoving the canteen back in the pouch, she took the reins in one hand and held the end of the saddle with the other. Joss tried to put her foot in the stirrup, but her stomach curled, causing her to put it back down.
“Here, bend your leg,” Aric instructed, and when Joss did, he gripped her underneath her knee. “On three,” he said, and once there, he lifted her as she used what strength she had to pull herself up. With an awkward roll, she was in the saddle, laying partly over Drakon’s neck. Gathering the reins a bit better, she nodded to Aric that she had it under control, despite feeling sick sitting so high up.
Patting the horse’s neck and then her leg, Aric winked at her encouragingly before moving back to the chestnut mare, which had made her way to stand next to the pony.
“We’ll have to make up for lost time,” Callan said, and as Aric mounted, he caught the warning in his eyes.
“If we have to, we can meet you in the next town,” he replied, knowing that neither he nor Henrik would leave Joss behind. “This path will take you to that tree, and after that it’s an easy follow back to the main road.”
With a curt nod, Callan kicked his horse in the side, which shuddered but obeyed, moving reluctantly into a gallop. The white horse followed in tow.
“Besides the ax, do either of you have any weapons?” Aric asked Henrik.
“I have my dagger. Why?” he asked, seeing something cross Aric’s face.
“Just in case,” Aric answered, handing him Master Greyson’s revolver. While he would have loved to have kept it, he knew they would eventually be separating, and seeing what Callan could do to someone with his bare hands wasn’t the most comforting thing. Handing the gun over, he felt a little more at ease, knowing he wouldn’t be leaving them empty handed.
Henrik took the gun without further question, knowing they needed to catch up to the prince who was already down the path, barely visible through the trees. Stuffing the gun into the saddlebag, he guided the pony forward, checking on Joss as he passed by. Reassured that she could make it, he pushed the pony into a gallop, occasionally looking over his shoulder to make sure Joss was right behind him. She stayed hunched over, her hands gripping not only the reins but part of Drakon’s mane as well to help keep her steady. Aric was right behind, keeping an eye on her as well.
They rode until the path bent, the tree Aric described now in front of them. The enormous trunk was flatter than they thought, the bark worn from all the travelers who used it as a bridge. Carefully, they trod forward, one at a time. Joss's head pounded from the sound of the river as her turn came, having to close her eyes as Drakon made his way across, streaks of blue and white making her stomach hurt. It didn’t help that she thought she could feel the ice cold current as it rushed past below, reminding her of when she had been trapped in its clutches.
Safely across, they continued on. Joss knew she was the reason for the lag and why they couldn’t see Callan on the path anymore. She wondered if they’d ever reach him, if he’d make it to the next village and wait for them. Probably not, she figured, knowing how earnest he was to get home.
It was a surprise, then, when they came into a clearing and saw Callan on the path, kicking and slapping his horse that was barely taking a step forward. Even from where they were, they heard the horse’s groans, the exhaustion so deeply rooted that the animal couldn’t walk anymore. The white horse, skittish from the activity, had gotten free and was a few yards away, torn between watching the scene and nibbling on some grass.
Cursing, Callan kept on, trying to coerce the steed forward by force.
Haunted by the memory of seeing him covered in blood, Aric pushed his horse into a gallop. He rode fervently until he came next to the poor animal who only took the beating because it was too tired to fight back.
“Here, let me help,” Aric called out, dismounting and jogging over to the prince. Without warning, he grabbed underneath the saddle, being met with heat and sweat from the horse’s side as he pulled on the leather straps of the girth.
“What are you—?” Callan began to demand, just as Aric unlatched the girth, releasing the saddle and pushing the prince off. Both Callan and the saddle fell sideways, hitting the ground with a hard thud.
Furious, Callan fought his way out of the stirrups and scrambled to his feet, finding Aric rubbing the horse’s forehead, speaking soothingly to it. That’s when Callan saw the horse for what it was, an exhausted creature stained in sweat, its sides heaving as its head lowered in surrender.
Too overwhelmed in his anger, he ignored the sight, pushing the sympathy away because he didn’t have time for it. “How dare you?” he growled, about to lunge for the assassin, who pulled out what looked to be a kitchen knife from his boot, hovering it in between them.
“Calm down,” Aric said flatly, and when Callan didn't resist, he put the knife back in his boot and took the reins of the tired animal. “We’re done for today. We’ll make camp for the night." He nodded past some trees behind him. “There’s a small meadow not far where we can keep the horses.”
Callan tried to swing at him. Aric dodged the attack, already assuming it was coming. “Now, now, Your Highness,” he said, dropping the reins and backing up to give them room. He found Henrik and Joss stopping a few paces back, keeping their distance as well.
“You were paid to kill me, weren’t you? Let’s see how good you are,” Callan taunted, readying himself.
Aric went to grab the knife again but hesitated, an action Callan caught immediately.
“Oh, are you scared of my training?” he laughed.
“No, I’m scared of mine.” Aric narrowed his eyes, letting the threat sink in. “There’s no reason for you to be this angry, anyway,” Aric added calmly, trying to defuse the situation somehow.
“No reason?” Callan spat, laughing harder, hysterical. “I have every reason to be this angry!” The words belted out, screaming so loud that the other horses snorted at the sudden outburst. “Everyone I know, everyone I’ve come across, has betrayed me! There is not one person who hasn’t lied or tried to kill me!”
Confused, Aric pointed out, “They haven’t.” His eyes shifted to Henrik and Joss, seeing Joss still hunched over from atop her horse as Henrik dismounted. Both looked concerned, though something in Joss’s gaze told him she wasn’t too surprised by the scene, as if she had anticipated this moment, waited for it.
“Bullshit!” Callan barked. “I wouldn’t be surprised if those two have a secret agenda as well!”
“Are you serious?” Henrik questioned, offended. “Have we asked anything of you in all this?” he added, walking towards them.
Callan laughed, shaking his head as he turned away, moving past Aric.
“Have we?” Henrik yelled. “What the hell are we getting out of all this, other than helping you?”
“It’s only a matter of time,” Callan growled over his shoulder, not wanting to bother with any of them anymore.
Henrik darted forward but was caught by Aric who knew fighting the bastard wouldn’t help. He'd seen the lad take a punch, but seeing how Callan ended fights, he didn’t need the lad to face the same fate.
However, one voice rose up, halting them all.
“You’ve lied too,” Joss called out.
Callan stopped suddenly, his body rising and falling from his heavy breathing. Turning slightly around, he glared at her. “And what the hell could I have lied about, madam?” he growled, spitting the word out as if it were a joke, some ridiculous notion he couldn’t take seriously.
Joss sat up in the saddle, looking across the way at him. “How long were you a prisoner of war?”
“What?” Henrik breathed out as Aric looked from Joss to Callan, finding the prince staring only at her, his eyes widening in quiet fury. Of course, he thought, remembering the outbursts, the distrust, the anger. That rage.
“I know what kind of scars you have. I’ve given people those types of scars,” she explained, swallowing hard as the memories of those interrogations she worked induced nausea. “I know where the ropes needed to be placed, how far the blade had to dig in—”
“Stop.” Callan closed his eyes tightly before opening them, his glare turning darker.
“We know what years of being tied and shackled can look like on someone’s wrists—”
“I said stop it!” Callan bellowed, marching forward until Aric pushed himself in his path, stopping him from moving further. Henrik moved back next to Joss, his stance remaining protective.
Joss didn’t flinch at the outburst. She assumed it was coming, that it was only a matter of time. Once she pointed it out, he wouldn’t act calm about it. The nausea also helped keep her grounded, something that felt worse than his anger.
But as they stared at each other, Joss had to face the consequences of making herself vulnerable to him. He knew now that she had been watching him, paying attention, catching onto things he thought he had kept hidden from everyone. And that infuriated him, fed his mistrust and paranoia.
“How many years, Your Highness?” she asked again.
“Fuck you!” he snapped, turning on his heels and charging down the path, leaving them all behind.
“That long, huh?” she mumbled, watching him go, wondering if this would be the last interaction she’d ever have with the Prince Royal of Aselian.
