A cascade of, “Holds!” tumbled down the column from the front driver to the rear. The horses’ hooves slowed, and in turn, so did each coach rattle to a halt. Clank, clunk…clunk….Jael went still in her seat, listened. Absent the wind and carriage noises, voices broke through—excited gossip and whispers, and the sound of shuffling feet crunching the snow. Leonhardt let go her pent breath, and with it, her worry. She hadn’t expected they’d stop so early, though perhaps it was already evening. Blind inside the Hibernis coach, it proved easy to lose track of daylight.
Jael stretched and sighed and strapped on her sword belt. She could hear the others outside, their boots alighting on the snow, as she reached for the door handle—then stopped, looked herself over as if she was forgetting something. The captain wouldn’t approve, she knew, of her leaving her surcoat. It was crucial for her to be seen as a knight of her own so that the country could know and grow to accept it. But that was Trey’s plot, and why should she care for him when he discarded her as soon as he stole what he wanted—rogue and scoundrel—yet that wasn’t all she felt she’d forgotten. Her eyes fell upon the whitewood box then her hands upon the dagger inside. It fit snugly at her waist, securely between the leather and her body like it was always meant to be there. She’d have to remember to write Ariel her thanks when they arrived at Pareo.
The coach door opened to a world of white and biting wind. Jael pulled up her hood to cover her ears, winced, and sniffled. The whisperers were nearer than she expected, more numerous, too many for a roadside inn; and amidst their chatter, Leonhardt swore she heard her name. Then the crunch of encroaching footsteps severed her attention. She squinted at Gildmane’s self-satisfied smile.
“Welcome home, my lady.”
Jael’s eyes adjusted her squint into a glare. “So you’re talking to me now?”
That took the captain aback but only for a moment before he laughed and tried again. “A rough couple of days, was it? My apologies, though I do hope this will make up for it.”
“This?” She waited for him to explain what he meant, yet he just stood there, smiling. Then she heard her name for a second time among the whispers. Trey hear it as well and glanced toward the crowd. Leonhardt looked in turn and saw half of her home village gathered about Herbstfield’s market square. They rushed out of stores and homes leaving doors hanging open, some still pulling cloaks over their shoulders, so as not to miss this unexpected event: the Saint’s Cross had come to visit them, or their chapel, or their taverns at least; and moreover, the knights brought with them one the village’s own—that strange-fated maiden, sent away with the saint half a year ago.
Half a year and nothing’s changed, she thought. The chapel yet stood bright and tall on its plot east of the square; its graveyards seemed no fuller than she remembered. The seller’s stalls still sat at the market center, closed for the season, covered with snow. And there was the butchery and the apothecaries’ shop, the seamstress and the tailor, a small smithy next to the stables, and the dozens of little town houses filling the spaces between them. Every hide, hair, and home exactly as she’d left them. So when in a sudden gasp her heart stopped—frozen—she couldn’t say why or what the terror was, only utter the words, “Oh, God.”
“You’ve grasped the surprise, then?” Trey asked.
Jael surveyed the crowd. “Why didn’t you tell me we were coming here?”
“I just said it was a surprise, didn’t I?”
She scanned them again. “You left me. Alone, for two days in that rattling ice-trap.”
“I wouldn’t say mine was any less noisy, nor any more warm.” He stepped in close and lowered his voice. “But let’s talk about that later, after supper if we can. This was supposed to be a reward, a whole day back home.”
“Home,” she echoed, calling back to mind her simple and familiar life prior to the bloodshed and subterfuge. She thought of Gavin and her father, how much she wanted them both to see her now—how far she’d come. She thought too of her mother—for the first time without fear or rage; what was Dahilla, after all, compared to what Jael had faced already? But then she saw the source of her rabbit heart. She saw it in Trey as he looked down at her, smiling, squinting against the reflection of the sun on the white so bright his hair seemed dark as sand. He had become her promise, broken. Leonhardt looked to the crowd now already half dispersed and was glad that Zach was not to be found among them. His heart will break when he hears that I didn’t come see him, yet so too would her own if she did.
Gray clouds rolled in out of the southeastern sky. The world dimmed, and Trey’s visage returned to that of Captain Gildmane. He ordered the coach drivers to find lodging, for Ogdon and Harpe to unload the luggage; and Sir Schirmer went off of his own accord toward Gruit Inn and Tavern. Then Trey returned to her. “The day is yours, my lady.”
She glanced where the sun shone but faintly through the overcast. The day was hers, yet the day was dwindling. Her first urge demanded they march into the tailor’s and charge him with sewing the dress promised to her as a girl. That urge Jael squelched. She had her own gown now, one that would
