She smiled, blatantly ignoring her nosy fellow Hounds as they eyed the loot in her palms. What they saw was a woman happy with the gift she’d received. Satisfaction wormed its way into her belly. Unwittingly, Destin had given her exactly what she needed. Those she couldn’t woo to her cause at the masquerade, she could bribe, and the king had given her the means to do it.
“So, are you going to explain that note?” Dima asked, casually sitting at the end of her bed.
She ignored her uncle and carefully packed away the box of jewels in her bag and then retrieved several sets of clothing from her trunk, along with a few weapons.
“Lass, this is serious,” Maxim rumbled.
She shoved her clothes into the bag and paused, lifting her head to meet his serious gaze. “I know.”
“I don’t think you do,” Dima muttered. “You’re playing a game you know nothing about.”
“I’m doing my best.”
“Your best is going to get you killed,” Dima said.
Tempest glared at Dima. “I didn’t ask for this.”
“Never said you did, lass,” Maxim cut in. “But why have you not come to us?”
She scrubbed away the frown on her face and tried to keep her voice level. “And you think you could help me? He’s the king, and we are his Hounds. We are bound. We made an oath.”
“Not in this,” Dima said lowly. “You do not have to accept him. This is your choice.”
“There’s no choice.”
“There is,” Dima whispered. “All you have to do is say the word.”
She glanced incredulously between her two uncles. “And what? You’ll spirit me away?”
“If that is what you wish,” Maxim answered gravely.
“Enough. I would never put either of you in danger.” She swallowed. “I love you, but it is already done.”
Dima hissed and stood, his expression going eerily blank.
Tempest reached for him, her hand grasping his fingers.
“I will need you in the times ahead.”
He nodded curtly, squeezing her fingers once, before exiting the barracks. She stared after him and then moved her attention back to Maxim.
He crossed his arms and eyed her bag. “Going somewhere?”
“Orders.” Not exactly truthful. She strapped on her weapons and placed the rest in her bag. She moved around her bed and hugged Maxim. “If anyone asks, I’m on an assignment.”
“You’re playing a dangerous game, lass.”
She pulled back and smiled weakly at him. “Yes, the one you all taught me. Trust my training. I’ll be back soon.” Tempest stooped to collect her bow and quiver from beneath the bed, then strode from the barracks, very aware of all the eyes on her. The king would have news of her departure within half an hour. She needed to move.
Leaving Dotae through the slums was a simple matter. No one liked to travel at night, especially with a storm brewing. Flurries fluttered around her, but not so heavily that she couldn’t make her way north. She managed to borrow a horse from a village just outside of Dotae, but her journey wasn’t as quick as she would have liked it to be. Nonetheless, she pressed onward.
The weather held for several days, just snowing enough to be annoying, but not cumbersome. But her luck eventually ran out. By the time Tempest made it to a tiny village at the base of the Dread Mountains, the small winter storms had grown into a blizzard. Passing through the mountains themselves was an impossible feat until the squalls cleared.
She slipped from her exhausted horse and handed the reins to a stable boy wrapped in layer upon layer of wool. Her butt was numb and needlelike pain ran up and down her legs. Tempest stumbled toward the brightly-lit inn and pushed open the door, wind blasting over her and snow pelting her. Warmth surrounded Tempest immediately, and she slammed the door closed. Her bag slipped from her shoulder, and she sagged against the wooden door.
“That cold, huh?” a female voice asked.
“You don’t know the half of it,” Tempest groaned. She brushed snow from her cloak before joining the only other patron at the bar and was met with a pale face and the long, braided brown hair of a girl around the same age as herself—perhaps younger. Her eyes were as brown as her hair, and there were no defining features that set her apart from any other average girl from Heimserya.
Plain. Just a normal girl.
She smiled at the stranger and nodded at the innkeeper. “Some spiced cider and a room, please.” That would heat up her insides. Whiskey would be better, but every time she caught a whiff of the stuff all she could think of was the king.
“I didn’t think it would be so bad,” Tempest admitted. The girl motioned for her to sit by her, so she obliged, her butt complaining at the continued abuse. “I didn’t expect my journey to be so difficult.”
“You should always expect snow by the mountains,” the girl replied. “The weather here is nobody’s friend.”
That was the damned truth. “Noted.” Tempest held her hand out. “I’m Juniper.”
The girl smiled, the corners of her small mouth just barely lifting up. “Thorn. I’m a treasure hunter… of sorts.”
A treasure hunter. Fascinating.
The innkeeper bustled into the kitchen, shouting at someone. Thorn eyed her and then tugged Tempest’s hood lower. “I’d keep your hair covered, Juniper, if I were you.”
Tempest held the girl’s gaze and tucked a stray lock of hair beneath her hat completely before lowering her hood. “Thank you.”
“We females must stick together.” Thorn grinned.
Tempest studied her new acquaintance. Although plain, there was something about Thorn’s face that was captivating. A softness was present alongside a sharpness. A life borne of difficult times and perseverance. That was something she was more than familiar with—the kind of sharpness borne through years of needing to defend oneself.
Perhaps I have found a spirit sister.
She grimaced when the roar of a dragon blew through the tavern upon the wind. “You’re in the right place for treasure,” Tempest said. The noise had followed her for the last half a day through the snow; clearly, the creatures lived in the mountains.
“Oh, I have no doubt about that,” Thorn replied. She finished the goblet of wine in front of her in a few, large gulps, then jumped from her stool. “I am afraid I must retire for the evening, Juniper. It has been a long day, and tomorrow will be even longer, I fear. I hope you rest well tonight… though the dragons may have something to say about that.”
The two of them shared a knowing smile before Thorn headed upstairs to the rooms above the tavern. The innkeeper returned with Tempest’s cider and a key to her room. She paid and then slogged up the stairs to her chamber. It was small, but nicely furnished, and warm, most importantly. She locked the door and moved the dresser in front of it. One could never be too careful.
Tempest shook out her cloak and placed it near the fire to dry before kicking off her boots and crawling into bed. Exhaustion rode her hard, but the roaring outside kept her from falling asleep. Did they never stop?
She tossed and turned beneath the thick blankets she had piled on top of her. As the night wore on, the roaring of the dragons grew more insistent, the wind and snow swirling and merging with the sound until it was all she could hear.