My eyes dart to the left. Still sitting around the campfire, still quietly watching, the other soldiers within earshot are staring right at me, forearms leaned over knees, knuckles cracking, eyes glaring. Hatred glows over their faces alongside the orange flickering flames.
Whatever I was about to say on behalf of my traveling party dies beneath the smoking threat. Maybe this is the game. Maybe Commander Rip left me to wander on my own so that his soldiers would punish me however they wanted.
The man in front of me makes a noise of amusement, and I tear my eyes away from the others. “Run along now. Your tent is back that way. I assume Midas’s pet knows how to find her kennel?”
I give him a scathing look as the man turns and stomps away, settling his body at the campfire, joining the glaring men.
Holding the fur close to my chest, I turn away, feeling their sharp gazes on my back like the edge of a blade scratching down my spine. I walk away as quickly as I can without running, their mocking laughter tossed at my retreating form, making my cheeks burn.
I stick to the paths of footsteps that have made crude tracks in the snow, trying to keep my boots from sinking into the thicker patches as I take a more direct route to where my carriage
and tent—my apparent kennel—is located.
It could be my imagination, but every soldier I pass by eyes me with a gaze that feels heavier, more malignant. Without a word spoken to me, with only their exuding energy as a declaration, I’m put in my place.
I’m the enemy, one they expect will break. I may not have a guard at my heels, but they’re watching me. Ready to pounce. And still, none of them do.
I ignore them all, not looking at anyone, not faltering when their conversations immediately die down upon my passing. I keep my eyes forward as I walk, though my entire body is trembling, my skin tight, heart galloping.
I don’t care what they think, I won’t betray Midas. I won’t.
With every step in my cold, wet boots, I inwardly curse myself. I didn’t find where the messenger hawks are kept, and I was obvious enough to warrant that soldier approaching me. If I’m going to survive Fourth Kingdom’s army, I need to be better, smarter, stealthier.
And stronger. I need to be strong in the days to come.
Determined anger rises up in my chest, making me fist my hands inside the pockets of my coat. Tomorrow. I’ll try again tomorrow. And the next day. And the day after that. And the day after that.
I won’t give up until I’ve searched every inch of this damned army and found a way to warn Midas. And through it all, I won’t break. I won’t give them anything they could use against my king.
The commander thinks so little of me that he doesn’t even keep a guard on me, so I’ll repay him tenfold. I’ll use his cockiness to tear away their element of surprise, and I’ll do it with a smile on my golden lips.
They think I’ll buckle, but they’ll soon realize I’m not that kind of saddle.
Chapter 5
AUREN
I get lost on my way back trying to find my tent. At one point, I take a wrong turn and walk in a circle, passing by the same set of soldiers twice. They chuckle, sharing knowing looks, but not one of them offers to point me in the right direction, and I refuse to ask. They wouldn’t help me even if I did.
By the time I spot the black carriage I rode in all day, I sigh in relief, my teeth chattering, face cold despite the hood pulled over my head.
Heading to the carriage, I note that the tent Commander Rip told me to use is much farther off than the rest of the camp’s set up. Instead of clumped together with the others, it’s set off on the outskirts.
I pause in front of it, looking around. The nearest tent to mine is several yards away. It seems like it would be a good thing, more privacy allowed, but dread shifts through me.
There can only be one reason why my tent is so far away. It offers more chances for someone to sneak in, for them to hurt me without anyone hearing or seeing a thing. Easier for everyone to turn a blind eye and claim obliviousness.
With a lump forming in my throat, I step forward, only to frown down at the ground. Someone has shoveled a path straight to the tent flaps, clearing the way so my boots don’t sink into the deep snow.
I look around again, but no one is watching me. The nearest campfire is a good distance away, the soldiers bathed in shadow, not looking at me.
Why would someone shovel a path to make it easier for a prisoner to go to her jail? A quick glance around shows that the other tents don’t have the same treatment, trails made through the thick snow only by their booted steps.
Unable to shake off my uneasiness, I turn back to the tent and duck beneath the black leather flaps. Inside, I’m immediately greeted by a soft glow and a blanket of warmth that has my shaking body sagging in relief.
Kicking my boots off at the entry, I brush away as much of the snow as I can before straightening up and looking around.
The lantern is sitting on an upturned bucket next to me, but the delicious warmth and more of the glowing light is coming from a carefully arranged pile of smoldering coals in the middle of the floor. Circled with blackened stones, they give off enough warmth to make me whimper.