The Queen and the Cure (The Bird and the Sword Chronicles #2)(16)

“Captain!” Byron called, his girth making him struggle to catch Kjell. Kjell stopped abruptly and turned, directing the boys to Sasha’s house and asking them to deliver the purchases to the woman who lived there. They seemed to know who she was—one of them called her the red witch—and trotted off, eager to do his bidding, his money in their pockets.

“We are grateful, Highness,” Byron said, bowing slightly as he reached him. “The people of Solemn will never forget you.”

“If it were left to me, I would have let you all rot. Your gratitude is misplaced.” He ignored the title. “You owe the woman a great debt.”

“I will give her to you,” Byron rushed, spreading his hands magnanimously.

“You will . . . give her to me?” Kjell asked, his voice flat.

“She may be of use to you,” the elder continued eagerly. “And she is no longer of use to my sister.”

“The elder said she’d been among you three years. How did she get here?”

“I was in Firi, in the employ of the Lord of Quondoon.” Byron puffed his chest proudly. “The refugees flooding Firi were numerous. You know that. She was with a group of people, many of them from Kilmorda, looking for work. I saw her on the blocks with a dozen other women. She was blank. Like a wall. I found it useful. The other women were crying. Traumatized. She wasn’t. I didn’t want trouble. I wanted a companion for my sister.”

Even the name Firi made his stomach knot and tighten. “I have no use for a slave,” Kjell said. “You will give Sasha her freedom. You will give her your sister’s home. And you will provide money for her welfare.”

“She is not safe here,” Byron protested, and he had the conscience to look embarrassed by the admission.

“You are a powerful man. You will see to it that she is.”

Byron swallowed, nodding.





Sasha thanked him with a smile for the packages he’d had delivered, but her smile slipped away when he told her he was leaving.

“This is your house. You will serve only yourself from now on.” He placed a small purse filled with gold coin on the table. “This is yours. There will be more. I’ve seen to it.”

Her eyes rose to his, dark and knowing, and his confusion and frustration writhed within him. She didn’t argue or count the money. She watched him walk from the house without asking him to take her with him, but he condemned himself with every step.

His horse had been readied, his men assembled, and within minutes they were riding back through the streets of Solemn, the farewell far different than the welcome had been. Children ran, people called out, and once again, a procession formed behind them, throwing bits of rice and wishing them Godspeed, as though they were off to wage war, instead of leaving the battle behind them. On the outskirts of the town the other half of the King’s Guard waited, watching their approach, unsmiling, unimpressed by the change in the villagers.

Kjell wanted to turn his head to see if Sasha was among them. He wanted to look at her once more, to see if she had joined the farewell procession, but he resisted. He had restored her health, made arrangements for her welfare, and he did not owe her anything else. And she owed him nothing. She was free to go wherever she wished. He rode with his back stiff, his eyes forward, and he left the crowd behind, the well-wishes and cries fading into silence.

“She follows, Captain,” Jerick murmured beside him.

Kjell jerked around, finding the lone figure trailing them a short ways off. She appeared to be running. It was hot, and the temperature would make the travel slow. The horses would not be able to carry the soldiers far if they pushed them, but Sasha would hurt herself if she tried to keep pace on foot.

“Blast. Bloody hell!” Kjell swore softly.

“We grow farther away every moment. She will go back,” Jerick said mildly.

“No, she won’t,” Kjell stewed. He closed his eyes against his guilt and his strange elation. She followed. And he was glad.

“I can’t leave her. She was driven out of Solemn. If she doesn’t want to remain there, we need to take her somewhere else,” he said.

“I agree, Captain.”

“But where?” Kjell barked, wishing Jerick hadn’t capitulated so readily.

“Take her to Jeru City. She can work in the palace.”

“She cannot remain with a group of soldiers until we return to the city. It could be a month before we return.”

“You don’t trust your men to behave themselves? Or you do not trust yourself not to soften toward her?” Jerick asked, a small smirk around his lips.

“Stop speaking, Jerick.”

“She reminds me of our Lady Queen,” Jerick mused, ignoring him.

“She looks nothing like the queen.” Queen Lark was diminutive, a waif of a woman with silver eyes, soft brown hair, and an iron will.

“No . . . still. There is something,” Jerick argued.

There was something. It was in the stillness of their bodies and the stiffness of their spines, even when they bowed their heads. The woman—Sasha—was oddly regal for a slave. Queen Lark shared the same bearing.

Kjell wheeled his horse around, his men drawing to an immediate halt, their hands on their reins, their brows furrowed.

“Wait for me here,” he commanded. He felt their eyes on his back as he crossed the distance to the figure who trailed them, but he felt her eyes most distinctly. She watched as he approached, the veil he’d given her fluttering like pale wings in the breeze. She held a small bundle, most likely her few possessions. The bundle made his throat catch, and he wondered if she’d included the things he bought for her.