“And your father?”
“My father . . .” I don’t know what to tell him about my father. Partly because I don’t know much myself. “Not much to say; he died when I was young.” I don’t often have to discuss my family with strangers and it’s making me uncomfortable. “How about you—how did you end up working for the queen?” I know most of this background already, but I’m desperate to take the focus off me and curious to learn what version of his story he’ll share.
“Long story,” he says. “Boring. I don’t like to talk about it.”
“Your father was Cordyn Holt, right?” I push him. “King Esban’s assassin.”
“I said I don’t want to talk about it,” Cal snaps. He adjusts how he’s sitting on the horse.
“Hardly anything to be ashamed about,” I assure him. Why ask me about my family if I can’t ask about his?
“I didn’t say I’m ashamed. I said I don’t want to talk about it.”
“All right. You don’t have to,” I say. “I was just curious. I’m sorry I upset you.”
His shoulders relax a little and his expression softens. “You didn’t know.”
His words make me feel even worse, because I did know, just not that he would be touchy about it. I shake off the guilt and change course. We have a mission ahead—and I have plans of my own to attend to . . . “Let’s discuss exactly what happens when we get to Montrice.”
“I’ll get to work making contacts, to get an audience in the king’s chamber . . . ,” Cal says, barely glancing my way.
I scoff in response. “If anybody is going to infiltrate a royal court, it’s going to be me.”
“You? Why you?” His eyes are incredulous, but I see a slight smile playing at the edges of his lips. He’s amused, but I am not.
I look him up and down. “You clearly have no manners. Sure, your brooding and arrogance will make you quite at home with Montrician royalty, but they won’t be enough to gain the connections we’ll need at court. Do you think you can just slash your way to the king? That they would let you even get that close?”
He reflects on that. “You may have a point. I suppose you could bat your eyelashes; I hear honey is more effective than vinegar.”
I take a deep breath in and sigh, lest I lash out at Renovia’s deadliest assassin while already injured.
He shrugs. “But in the end, neither force nor flirtation will lead us to King Hansen. In Montrice, it’s purely who you know that wins you favor and success. We need a powerful courtier to introduce us. That’s all that matters in their world.” He stops his horse to look at the view. We are high up on a ridge, and from here all we can see are valleys, streams, and forest. We are alone in the wilderness, far away from villages and towns, let alone a palace and courtly life.
“Yes,” I say, scanning the treetops. “I am well aware of the conventions of Montrician society, which is why I—”
He interrupts me by making a slashing movement across his neck. He drops his reins and his horse whinnies. “If we are caught, it’s over. There’s more to being an assassin than tracking and weapons. Espionage is an art. You need a wide range of skills learned through experience and perseverance. I learned that lesson early on, and it was . . . well, let’s say it was a far cry from your Honey Glade.”
My nostrils flare. “Yes, I know.” My voice comes out as a low growl and it takes everything within myself not to lunge at his taunting face, claws bared.
“Fine, then. I’ll save my tricks for someone who deserves them,” Cal says. “Can’t make someone learn something they’re not ready for, I suppose.”
My face twists with disgust. “Deserves? Care to explain what you mean by that?”
“I don’t like to pull rank, Shadow, but you were sent to—”
“Be your apprentice,” I say. Here I am, about to embark on an adventure under the tutelage of the Caledon Holt. It’s all I’ve ever wanted—and yet all I feel is frustration and fury. Maybe I should have gone to the palace after all . . . I doubt any life would be as infuriating as one shackled to this pompous buffoon. I dig my heels against my horse’s flank, ready to gallop ahead so I don’t have to look at him.
I let my horse run for a while, and leave Cal behind.
Then I hear him galloping up next to me, pulling up so we are riding side by side.
“What?” I say.
He scrunches his eyebrows and blinks a few times. “Apprentice. Right. Then let me remind you that it is I who am the captain of this ship, so it is I who will issue the orders. For now, I’d like to keep my head. I’d even like for you to keep yours. It would be a shame to lose such a pretty face. And yours isn’t too bad either.” His eyes are shining in merriment.
I clench my jaw and shake my head. “You are definitely . . . something.” I wonder if there’s a shred of truth in his words . . . but I refuse to be distracted by flattery, especially when it is of a backhanded sort.
He looks at me out of the corner of his eye. “Funny. I feel the same way about you.”
I turn my gaze away toward the trees so he doesn’t see my cheeks flush pink. From a distance, wolves begin to howl, and I’m thankful for the distraction.
“We need to stop soon,” Cal says. “We won’t make it across the pass before nightfall.”
It’s the second time we agree.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Caledon
WITHOUT SHADOW, CAL HAS TO admit to himself—though he won’t admit it to her—we wouldn’t have made it back there. He knows he wouldn’t have stood a chance against that many men alone. The problem is, while he’s come to the grudging realization that she may be useful, it’s clear that as much as she might admire him, she also finds him deeply exasperating. So he isn’t quite willing to allow her the satisfaction of being right so she could hold something over him.
After an hour of searching, they locate a cave where they can sleep for the night. He’d expected her to say she doesn’t want to stop, maybe to prove something to him, but she agrees straightaway. Good thing too, because if she doesn’t get some rest, they’ll be in jeopardy. The echoing howls of the nightwolves likely helped her decision. Neither of them was looking forward to facing that pack again.
They’re relieved to have found a cave not too far from the road, especially one so dry inside. When they settle in, Cal sets to building a fire, using one of the scraps of wool from his blanket, and a flint from Shadow. Then he tends to Shadow’s arm. She’s reluctant to let him at first. “It’s fine. Much better already,” she says.