Cassie was used to being a cursed outcast, a criminal. She had even resigned herself to being a runaway. What she had not yet resigned herself to being was a victim.
Which was why the dirty sword an inch from her nose was so concerning. And the filthy, craggy-faced man holding it even more so.
"You don't belong here," he said in a voice that had never met a pleasant note.
Cassie dared to suck in a breath and instantly regretted it—the smell was worse than the sight, hints of old meals and filth of the forest that relied on the occasional rainstorm to rinse off.
It had been a very dry summer.
The man pursed cracked lips and whistled three times. A signal? Whoever he was, he was unlikely to be alone. Cassie chanced a step back, fingers brushing the knife she had just sheathed.
"Uh-uh," the man chastised her, knife lowering to point at her neck. "You stay put."
"A trespasser already, Maskire?" another man asked, voice full of command. "Your hunting forays are getting more successful."
He stepped into view to Cassie's right, so smoothly she almost thought he materialized from the mist clinging to the green leaves. One moment there was nothing but two trees, branches brushing each other, and the next there was a man, stepping between them without disturbing a single twig, his clothes stained so many shades of green and brown there was no distinguishing it from the surrounding greenery, much less telling what their original color might have been.
If she tried to escape, there would be no telling how close her pursuers were getting, if they managed to move that silently through the forest.
Cassie did not like those odds.
Nor did she like the consideration in the second man's gaze. He might have been handsome if it weren't for the grime—or the cold calculation directed at her.
What did they want? And what would it take for Cassie to get rid of them? Was it worth trying to attack, or would that only put her in more danger? Avery would caution patience, tell her to assess her opponent before she did anything rash.
Avery had never faced anything more real than a quintain.
"She alone?" the second bandit—for they must be bandits, these filthy forest men who thought to accost her—asked.
"Looks like," Maskire answered. "Should be easy."
Easy to do what? Cassie's unease ratcheted securely into fear.
"Which begs the question," the second man mused, "what is she doing out here?"
"Nothing!" Cassie said quickly. "Just out for—a...a walk."
"A walk," the man repeated flatly. "In my territory."
"Your territory?" Last time Cassie had checked, Esre's woods belonged to the king. That this dirty creature thought he could lay claim to part of it—only self-preservation kept Cassie's annoyance silent.
His stare sharpened as though he had heard the thought, nevertheless. "Either you're freshly banished, or a noble too rich to know better," he said. "Either way, you seem in need of a lesson."
Cassie's knees began to shake, the trembling of her skirt giving her away.
"You want to whistle for Nicolas?" he asked Maskire, never taking his eyes from Cassie.
In answer, he spat on the ground. "This is my catch," he snapped. "It's my turn for some fun."
Maskire's response had pleased the one in charge, it seemed. "All yours," he said, crossing his arms and stepping back.
Maskire flipped his sword around and advanced on Cassie with a black-toothed grin.
That was enough time given to assessment. Fair to say, they meant to do her harm. And Cassie would be remiss if she did not return the favor.
With fingers weaker than she liked, Cassie whipped her own blade from its scabbard and held it out to defend herself.
Maskire paused, surprise lighting in his eyes. "You steal that from a soldier?" he asked, looking uncertain for the first time.
The other bandit snorted. "This far west?" he said. "We're a long way from the camps, and she's fresh to the woods. It's pretty, though." He studied it. "Must have cost something."
Cassie lifted her chin. "Maybe Marius banished me for it," she said, forcing steel into her voice. "Maybe I'm a harder catch than you want to risk."
The man behind Maskire raised his eyebrows skeptically. "And maybe you have a friend in the Guard," he replied, sounding uncowed by the possibility. "Put the sword down, lady. Wouldn't want to dirty your cloth of gold."
"And if I do?" she challenged him. "What then?"
He shrugged. "It's your first offense, so maybe...we take an ear. Maybe both, since you're apparently hard of hearing already. Drop the sword."
She would not. What was the point of all the training, what was the point of her having to flee for it, if she surrendered at the first chance she had of testing her skills?
A thin whistle, followed by a hoarse grunt of pain, distracted them all. Maskire was suddenly clutching at the skin between his neck and shoulder, a red stain slowly seeping up between his fingers. And behind him, wedged in a tree with such force that it still quivered, was the arrow that had struck him.
A woman hardly older than Cassie, dressed entirely in deer hide, bow in one hand and fresh arrow in the other, appeared a few paces to her left. Was she here to attack Cassie or the bandits? She gave little indication of help or menace, focused on getting her next arrow on the string. Her movements were economical, precise. The first shot had been no accident.
Cassie did not care why the interruption had happened. She could use the distraction to her advantage. To survive.
Avery's voice echoed in her head, insistent and loud: Fight!
But fight who? Maskire was the easiest target, but he was not the biggest threat. The other bandit could kill her in the time it would take to dispatch Maskire. But if she attacked the other bandit—or the archer—
The other bandit slapped the knife from Cassie's hand faster than she could decide. It flew into the undergrowth, and then the bandit was driving his own blade at her with a smile, while Maskire groaned in pain somewhere in the distance.
The one talent Cassie had perfected in the earliest days of her training was ducking in fear, and she dove out of the way, hoping to evade the bandit's sword long enough to find her own in the deep fallen leaves. The deep bruise she rediscovered along her ribs as she leapt had her wincing, slowed her down.
Strong fingers clutched at her ankle, and she kicked wildly, desperate to get away as she scrabbled in the leaves in the direction she had seen her knife fly. Her heel connected with something hard, something that made the punishing grip release her. There was no telling how long she would have before it grabbed her again. She would have to make it count.
Find it! Find it before he comes back! Find it find it find—ah ha!
Cassie's searching fingers brushed, recognized, grabbed the hilt of her knife and pulled it forth triumphantly. She flipped over, fully expecting to find the bandit ready to deliver her killing blow, only to spot him—also on the forest floor. He sat, blinking dazedly, starting to think of rising.
That was not an option. Cassie pounced, knocking him back down as she managed to press the edge of her blade to his throat. She gave it a pressure of gentle menace as she panted, kneeling in the mulch beside him.
The other woman spoke for the first time, her light wooden bow still trained on Maskire. Not Cassie's enemy, then. At least not at the moment.
"Get out of here, Longheirce," she said, addressing the bandit on the ground without removing her gaze from Maskire. "You boys get lost again?"
Longheirce's glare moved slowly from Cassie to the other woman. "My territory has always included the land west of the Eskine, Silvana."
"Not since the accord violation last year," the woman—Silvana—retorted. "Now it ends a day's journey that way." The harshness of her voice was like nothing Cassie had ever heard in the cultured cadences of the nobility or gentle murmuring of servants. It was the voice of a woman unafraid to kill. One who had killed, and would again.
With a blade pressed against his throat, Longheirce was forced to take great care in speaking. "You claim the trespasser's blood, then?"
Silvana did not even spare Cassie a glance. "She's with me," she said. Cassie blinked up at her, stunned, as she continued. "Skylar and I were showing her the ropes."
"Really," Longheirce said, doubt dripping from the word. "You might want to do a better job teaching her the territory lines than your last neighbors."
Every movement deliberate, Silvana drew her bowstring back, arrow now aimed at Longheirce's head. "Seems you could use a fresh lesson in them, too," she snarled softly.
"You've made your point," Longheirce said, shoving Cassie's knife away in disgust. "Happy hunting." He slunk into the depths of the trees, heading the direction Silvana had indicated, Maskire staggering after him with pained moans.
Cassie sagged back on her heels in relief. Her heart still raced as though it could not believe the danger had passed. But it had, and she was safe and unscathed. Because of Silvana.
Her thanks died in her throat as she got a clear view of the woman for the first time. Still glowering after the disappeared bandits, she slowly, almost regretfully, lowered her strung bow and stowed her arrow in her half-full quiver. Scars climbed up her tanned arms, until they disappeared into sleeves of thin, supple leather. Most were pale, shining in the dappled light of the dying day, but a few marks bore the angry red-pink of just-healed wounds. As she strode forward and ripped her arrow from the bark of the tree, Cassie could even see one that ran from neck to cheekbone.
This was not a woman to cross.
And the ease with which she handled her bow, the unwavering fearlessness she had shown against the bandits—Cassie was consumed by a sudden, burning envy. This was a woman who controlled her own fate. A courageous warrior. And while her blonde hair was just as dirty and matted as the bandits' hair had been, it was cropped close to her head, even shorter than the bobbed fashion that haunted Cassie, revealing a delicately shaped head and neck that was slender, practically elegant. If it weren't for the scarring.
Cassie hadn't even been able to bring herself to cut her braids off when they began catching on the tree branches, instead opting for the coward's route and binding them close to her head, covering the whole mess with a spare cloth. Perhaps this Silvana would be able to help Cassie find a way to cut her hair after all. Perhaps she would be able to disappear, blend in, escape her father for good. If her father even bothered sending anyone to look for her.
"You hurt?" Silvana asked her brusquely.
Sheathing her knife, Cassie pushed herself off the forest floor and brushed off her skirt. The gold fabric was torn and streaked with dirt, but she was alive. "No, they didn't touch me." Deep breaths. Avery had taught her this. Take a deep breath, swallow your fear, and survive. "Thanks to you."
A grimace twisted Silvana's mouth. "I wasn't helping you," she said, correcting any notion Cassie might have had of mercy. "I was getting them out of our territory."
Cassie had never been spoken to so rudely in her life. Except perhaps for Avery, but that was different. They had been bound by trust to keep the secret that would destroy—that had destroyed—both of their lives, and she had trusted him to tell her the truth as no one else would.
She would be gracious despite the forest woman's apparent bad manners. "I appreciate it nonetheless." Shivering as the fear slowly drained away, Cassie looked around, noticing how the shadows had lengthened. In the forest, night came quickly. When she was close to home, it had been a comforting fact; this far away from the safety of stone walls, it was a chilling reminder that she was alone out here.
"I'd suggest you start moving," Silvana said, glancing at the sky herself. "Moonrise won't be for a few hours."
Cassie nodded nervously. Finding shelter was her next step, or a safe road that would lead to it. What she had been looking for when she had been stopped by Maskire's sword. She knew there were inns for travelers along the major forest roads. If she could reach one by nightfall, she would be safe. And once she survived the night, she would be able to figure out what to do next.
"If you could just point me in the direction of an inn..." she began hopefully, smoothing her ruined gown down.
Silvana snorted once. "An inn. This deep in banisè land?" Shaking her head, she pushed back into the thicket. "Good luck," she said with a derisive chuckle.
She was already gone, barely a whisper of sound as she moved away hinting that she wasn't a ghost Cassie had somehow summoned.
"Wait!" Cassie cried, running after her. She could not be abandoned here! What if Longheirce came back? What if someone worse caught her next?
Propelled by her pathetic fear, she shoved her way through branches and bushes, doing her best to ignore the blisters rubbing into her heels. She had been walking since the morning, and her feet were unused to the rough terrain. She doggedly kept after Silvana, limping only slightly, until she finally caught sight of the woman's back in the gloom.
Even if there was no inn she could reach, this Silvana had come from somewhere, and she was going somewhere. She must live nearby, and perhaps if Cassie appealed to her better nature, she would take her in for the night, or at least point her in the direction of safety.
Failing that, Cassie would bribe her.
Failing that...she would not beg. Her left foot throbbed as another blister ruptured, and Cassie bit back a pained groan.
She might beg.
Without warning, Silvana turned on her. "Stop following me," she hissed.
Cassie stumbled back into another tree, earning another rip in her dress. "I need—if you could just point me in the direction of a road—"
Silvana cut her off impatiently. "At your pace, you'd take half a day to reach any of them."
Cassie blinked at that unfortunate piece of information. She had had no idea how deep she had ventured. Half a day's journey from any road? She would be dead by sunrise.
"What am I supposed to do?" she asked through numb lips.
Silvana shrugged, as though Cassie's life was of little concern to her. Or her death. "Could try climbing a tree," she said. "Sometimes the bandits don't look up."
She began to turn away again, was going to walk away, leave Cassie here, in the dark, to the bandits.
"Wait," Cassie said, rushing forward. "I'm not as stupid as my sister thinks I am—I can—I can pay you, if you could just—" Her fingers, still faintly trembling, fought to free the necklace and bracelet she had stuffed into her pocket before running that morning. "I don't even need a bed, just somewhere I'd be safe for the—"
Silvana didn't even allow her to finish before she was striding back to Cassie and slapping her hand down. "You are that stupid if you think those'll get you anything but your throat cut," she said, the words quiet but venomous. "Even the enamel on that knife of yours marks you a target."
Stuffing the jewelry back in its hiding place, Cassie's other hand strayed to the hilt of her knife. It was a work of art and her dearest possession, the handle and scabbard formed of gilded, enameled leaves, their color as bright as the first burst of spring. It was the one reminder of her family she had allowed herself to bring, a long-ago gift from the mother she missed so much.
"Would you take it?" she asked Silvana, forcing the words out. "Would that be enough?"
Silvana rolled her eyes. "What use do I have for a museum piece?"
She swung away, peering through the darkening forest.
"I don't...I don't have anything else," Cassie said, fighting the tightness in her throat. "I...please."
Slowly, Silvana turned to look at her. Her lips flattened into a grim line. "At least try to be quiet."
Already bracing herself for the denial, Cassie's eyes flew wide open at Silvana's annoyed condition. She could be quiet. She had been ignored and forgotten all her life; she could be quiet a little longer if it meant safety at the end of it.
There was no telling if the swaying of her body was due to relief or exhaustion, but Cassie shook it off and hurried after Silvana, who had slipped through the trees without another word. Her sister Elisabet, who would never allow herself to be overwhelmed no matter the situation at hand, would be able to keep walking. Cassie could, too.
It was well and truly dark before there was a break in the trees and Cassie caught sight of a clumsy cottage boasting an overhanging thatch roof, one discernable window, and not much else. If possible, Silvana was even more on guard as they approached the shelter.
Cassie merely tramped into the tiny clearing, eager to be done walking for the night. The hut, cobbled together from varying sizes of branches, did not look as safe as she might have hoped. No defensive measures, little visibility, and there wasn't even a door—just an animal hide hung in the entrance. Deer, judging by the shape. The only light came from the small window, hinting at a flickering fire within.
A quiet noise had Cassie jumping back into the black shadows of the tree line, her nerves long past frayed. A gentle, long-fingered hand pulled back the doorway's covering and a blond head stooped to poke out of the house. Oh. So Silvana did not live alone. That was...surprising, given the woman's off-putting lack of manners.
The man froze, staring at Cassie. She stared back. She had been invited. Or at least Silvana had allowed her to follow.
"Silvana," the man called quietly, eyes never leaving Cassie. "New hunting trophy?"
"I'll tell you inside," she muttered as she ducked through the doorway, leaving Cassie hovering outside uncertainly.
Undecided on whether she should eavesdrop or not, the man's voice suddenly climbed to a volume that relieved her of the option.
"No."
"I had to," Silvana hissed. "Longheirce is around again."
"Are you hurt?" he demanded. "Let me see."
"Not a scratch."
"And her?" There was an undercurrent of pity in the question. Was Longheirce such a terror?
"I got there in time. Got Maskire, too."
"Hope he drowns in his own blood." No mercy, no pity in the man's voice anymore. There was no love lost between these people and the bandits. "But her? We can't."
"We might have to," Silvana said grimly, then added something Cassie could not hear.
"Haven't we done enough?" the man asked as Silvana appeared in the doorway, but there was resignation in the question, the protest too weak to have any power.
"Get inside," Silvana said. It wasn't very gracious, but Cassie was too relieved to be anything but glad to obey.
Until she stepped into the tiny room and nearly choked on the stifling air, all smoke and grease and unwashed bodies. But she had encountered worse smells. At least this one meant safety and warmth, not death and dirt.
The man who had been arguing with Silvana stood by the fireplace, staring at her once more. He was even taller than he had seemed from a distance, and his eyes flashed with ire. Cassie shrank back against the far wall. She was turning into a coward.
No, she had always been a coward. The forest was just providing ample and repeated opportunities to prove it.
Silvana offered no introductions, focused instead on putting her hunting gear on hooks along the wall opposite the fire. Close to the fireplace there were shelves bearing an assortment of well-worn books, but farther away, the hooks held a variety of other tools and deadly looking implements. Some sharp, some heavy, all looked ready to be put to some nefarious use. Or domestic ones, she supposed, as Silvana pulled a thin one down and used it to slice open a couple of thick stalks of...grass? They had been tied to her belt, so perhaps she had collected them at some point in the day before she and Cassie had crossed paths.
Silvana tossed the cut stalks into a large pot hanging over the fire, which put out a promising billow of steam. "Sit," she said, nudging a large wooden chair closer to the flames.
The smell of food twisted Cassie's stomach into knots as she sank into the seat Silvana had indicated. She had not eaten since the night before, at the party given in honor of Elisabet's betrothal. Her own party was to have begun at nightfall. If she had not run away.
What had they told the invited guests? The intended groom? Had they thrown the party anyway? Perhaps it was an even bigger celebration for her father, the troubles with his younger child finally resolved.
Was Elisabet angry with her? Worried? Keeping everything under control, as always?
Tears suddenly collected in her eyes—but she could not let them out. No matter how much she longed to see Elisabet and beg for some of her teasing advice, she could not afford the weakness.
"Here," Silvana said, pushing a small bowl and spoon into Cassie's hands.
Cassie did not miss the look the man shot Silvana. He did not approve of sharing their food, it seemed. Or he did not approve of Cassie in general. It was difficult to tell.
Despite feeling so unwelcome, Cassie picked up her spoon, only to find a stew that her servants would refuse to touch, in a bowl that looked hewn from the trees surrounding this hut. Small vegetables bobbed sickeningly and unhealthy-looking globs of an unidentified meat slopped against the walls of the bowl. If she were at home right now, there would be so much food—real food, dishes people would look forward to consuming for weeks and reminisce about for months afterward. Roast duck and mountains of bread and little candied deer and guava so fresh it cooled you from the inside out and...but there wasn't any betrothal party. And with any luck, there never would be.
Suspicious-looking meals in return for her freedom? No betrothal to a strange man, no fortress walls imprisoning her, no disappointed glares? It would be worth the trade.
As she slurped down the odd stew, the man guardedly sat down in the other chair beside the fireplace. He looked older than Silvana, and if it weren't for the glares he kept shooting her way, he might have a pleasant face, with the hair thickly curling at the nape of his neck and square jaw that he kept clenching.
Silvana had tossed the man another bowl and he served himself as she settled on the floor with her own meal held on her crossed legs. Slumped spine and shoulders bowed around the bowl she held in her lap, Silvana hardly looked like the fearsome warrior she had been such a short time ago. Trying to imitate the abysmal posture, Cassie slouched experimentally. Her diaphragm pressed against her stomach. It was far from comfortable.
"This is my brother Skylar," Silvana informed her through a mouthful of food, pointing at the man with her spoon.
"I'm...my name is Cassie."
"Right," Skylar muttered. He pursed his lips and blew out a breath, and most of his anger with it, it seemed. A short shake of his head, then he was pushing himself up and collecting the empty dishes. The used bowls were dropped on a scarred table across the room, then Skylar stretched, avoiding Cassie's curious gaze, and pulled a book down from a shelf. The lack of dust on the bookshelves suggested this was a frequent custom of his.
"And you are...bandits, too?" Cassie ventured to ask Silvana. It certainly wasn't what she would have pictured as a bandit's home, far quieter and more peaceful than she expected.
Skylar took a quick breath that sounded annoyed. "We're just banisè. Outlaws."
In between all the campaigns to flush bandits from the forest and times her father had railed against the dangerous men plaguing the woods, Cassie had heard whispers of such creatures. Banisè. The banished ones. Exiled from Esre's neighboring kingdoms of Citak or Trenoriah for any number of crimes, they found a way to eke out a living among the trees without resorting to violence the way the bandits did. It was the only difference between the two groups, and legally not enough to protect them from getting caught up in the occasional hunt for bandits the Guard used as training opportunities for newer recruits.
"You are the ones who don't hurt people," she said with great relief. She would be safe from them, then.
"Bandits are still fair game," Silvana said with perhaps too much relish as she polished a knife she had retrieved from its post on the wall.
"Doesn't stop there from being a bounty on our heads though, does it?" Skylar said, a shade of bitterness in the question.
"So that's why you live out here, rather than near the towns?" Cassie was prying, she knew, but she had always wondered about the people who chose to live in the forest—and now here she was, talking to two of them.
"It's not because we like the fresh air," Silvana said drily.
Skylar glanced up from his book to send his sister a faint smile. "We do like the fresh air."
Silvana pointed her knife at him. "True." Returning to the polishing, she muttered under her breath, "Anything's better than the mines."
The mines—they must be from Trenoriah, which scratched its meager existence from the luxury items it forged from its enviable mineral resources. "You were Trenorish once, then," Cassie said, her voice faint.
She almost wished they were Citaken. She had so many questions about the kingdom, which she had never seen and only knew of through the war reports. She wanted to know so much, like how the devil queen had come to power, or what it was like living without music. Did the Trenorish sing, too? It had been so long since she had visited Trenoriah she could not remember.
"Don't worry, Lady," Skylar said, idly turning a page. "Our loyalty to the Volkts was burned away by the Enforcers long ago."
Silvana snorted darkly. Cassie, who was not privy to the joke—if joke it was—shivered slightly. She had heard enough stories about the Enforcers, who were what the Guard could be, given a free leash of brutality. The Guard exacted justice; the Enforcers existed solely for vengeance.
Cassie had tried studying the bandits before, but there were so few records of them. They were only mentioned when one was caught and executed, and almost never by name. The only one with more than a sentence to his entry was merely designated as The Assassin.
In the early days of the war with Citak, he had undertaken to kill the crown prince of Citak in a misguided attempt to seek pardon from the king, who had banished him from Esre the year before. He had proven more successful than anyone had expected, and the Citaken prince had paid the price. Cassie and her sister, still children themselves, had been disquieted by the new knowledge of the threat some bandits could present to them.
"Charles has four other sons," was all their father had said, sparing no more than a shrug at the news.
The mourning in Citak had lasted six months. And in the aftermath, they had lost the Fields to Citak.
Now Cassie was lost in the forest, facing her own bandits.
"And in the morning?" She was afraid to ask the question, but it had to be voiced. Would they kick her out when the sun dawned? Would they at least point in the direction of a road first?
Skylar drew in a reluctant breath, then closed his book. "In the morning," he said, "we're going to have to teach you a few things about the woods."
"I know plenty about the—" Cassie began, indignant. She had grown up next to them, had spent most of her life playing within their shadows.
"And a few things about not getting killed in the woods," Skylar continued, talking over her without pausing. "Like how to track, and how to hide."
"Oh." That, she knew less of. "Why?"
"You've faced Longheirce," Skylar said. "Worse, you've felled Longheirce. And walked away without a scratch."
Silvana had told him about that part? Had she told her brother that very little of it was due to skill? Opting to stay quiet, Silvana fetched herself a cup of water and leaned against the table to drink and watch the two of them.
"I got lucky," Cassie demurred.
"I don't doubt it. Now comes the unlucky bit," Skylar said, one finger tapping the spine of his book. "Because Longheirce will not forget. He has lived in these woods for more than five years, and in that time, no one has run afoul of him and not felt the sting of his blade. He leads a group of bandits who are greedy and violent, and he enjoys it. He nurses a grudge like a mother her babe."
Cassie had thought once she was safely inside, she would no longer need to worry about the bandits. "What are you saying?"
"I'm saying you have made a dangerous enemy. He'll be looking to catch you unprotected. We need to teach you enough that when that day comes, you survive it. Survive him."
She had not been prepared for being in this kind of danger. Perhaps foolishly, Cassie had thought that she would be in less peril after she fled her home. At least now she was farther from the front and no one looked likely to report her for holding a sword.
"Or..." Skylar began.
Hope blossomed in her chest. "Or?"
"We could take you back."
"Back?"
"To wherever you're running from." He nodded at her dress, its muted shine still noticeable in the dim light of the fire. "We don't get your kind often, but 'noblewoman trying to escape home' is an easy target to spot."
Face burning, Cassie's hands twisted in her skirt. She should have known people would be able to guess what she was doing in the forest. She should have planned it, should have had the courage to run before her father had caught her. She should have done a lot of things.
"There is no going back," she said at last, forcing the hollow words from her throat. "Not for me."
"I'm sure your parents would be glad to have you back safely," Skylar began, his tone placating. "And whatever arranged marriage you—"
If only it were that simple. Cassie stared at the dying flames. "My father caught me training."
There was a silence, and Cassie forced herself to look up, to see the shocked stares they were bound to be giving her. There was surprise in their eyes, certainly, but nothing worse. If anything, they looked understanding.
"You mean you actually know how to use that thing?" Silvana asked, nodding toward Cassie's knife.
Her chin lifted fractionally. "And a quarterstaff. I was trying to build up to the lance when—" Her voice faltered at the memory. Her father had been furious, but not surprised, and that had been the worst part. That he had known, had let her think for years she was getting away with it—but someone else being witness to it had been too much. It had destroyed her marriage prospects when her father and future husband had spotted them in the often-unused courtyard, and that, more than anything else, had been the unforgiveable sin.
"Can you shoot?" Silvana interrupted her thoughts.
"Moderately." It had never been her favorite weapon, the bow.
"It would help if she could hunt with you," Skylar said, nodding thoughtfully.
The idea that she could be less of a burden—more, that her ability with a weapon could be helpful to somebody—it was more than she could have dreamed.
Skylar had more questions for her. "How did you learn?"
"I had..." How to explain Avery? "A friend." Possibly the only one she had. "A squire. His older brother is in the Guard, and he had gone through the training with him." Avery had had such a wealth of knowledge, Cassie sometimes felt as though if she studied every day of her life she would never know everything he did about weapons and strategy.
"And what happened to him?" Skylar asked astutely. "Was he found out with you?"
Cassie's hands gripped each other until they hurt, bruises twinging along her arms in response. "He was conscripted," she said in a low voice, neck bowing under the shame and pain. Shipped off to the army, where common blood spilled daily for the purposes of those in power.
Sardonically, Silvana raised her glass. "Rest in peace," she said before draining it.
Cassie glared at her. "It's not funny," she said, bile burning her throat.
Rather than answer, Silvana merely shrugged.
"We've seen enough people sent to the front as well," Skylar said for his sister. "It's never easy."
Cassie told herself it was the fire's smoke making her eyes smart as Skylar opened his book again. It would do her no good thinking of what she had left behind. Of what had been ripped away from her.
For a long time, none of them spoke. Silvana had turned to fletching some arrows, Skylar continued to read, and Cassie stared at the embers. The silence of the night outside was deafening, quiet in a way Cassie had never experienced. Her home had always been filled with noise: the whispering of servants, people's footsteps along the stone, and even at night there was always somebody singing or practicing a new melody. The emptiness of the forest pressed all around them.
"Bed's in the other room if you need to sleep," Skylar said without looking up from his page.
Right. Sleep. The promise of dreams beckoned. Anything to escape the enormity of what she had done. The unreality of her present situation had her feeling adrift.
Cassie found two floor pallets in the other room, which was even smaller than the main room of the cabin. Rolling onto the one that looked marginally cleaner, she fell asleep almost instantly.