Chapter 9

Chapter 9: Cerin

He had been a little shocked when she had returned atop a horse, the horse she had stolen in Caltervene if memory served. He had been skeptical watching the women walk off. He hadn’t seen a reason for her to reveal herself, declare surrender, and then to escape knowing he was so close. But still, letting her leave his sight had made him nervous. Not that he had had a choice. So when she had returned, sitting tall in his old cloak, poised almost regally on the back of that magnificent bay, his surprise had mixed relief. She was beautiful, even in at night. 

He only wished she trusted him. Not that he could ask for that trust when she clearly didn’t remember him. Not that he had expected her to. And even if she did remember him, she still had no reason to trust a hooded man, who face she still hadn’t seen. He had debated (giving her the same courtesy) revealing his face when she had outside the camp. But his training had stopped him. The fewer people who knew his face the better, or at least that was what he had been taught. In Dalgerstane it was less of an issue, but when outside of the country they were trained to always keep covered unless in disguise. So he had kept his hood up, his face in shadow. 

As they had left the vicinity of the Nahati settlement he had let his hood blow off if the wind of their ffast-pacedgalloping. But she still hadn’t seen him, as her horse was trailing just behind the right flank of his horse, almost at the end of the tether. He had to give the Nahati credit. They trained their horses well. The beast had followed, and kept perfect pace with his horse. Not once had it tugged at the tether, even when they had changed speed. 

They had been riding at a canter for the past hour. He wanted to get them as far from the camp as possible. While their parting had gone smoothly, that didn’t mean the wouldn’t be followed. Something in his gut told him that they had a plan, that she had a plan. But their horses would start to get tired soon and they had to keep moving, so he reigned his horse in and slowed their pace to a walk. He pulled his hood up covering his features before she moved up even with him. Other than the crunching of their horses hoofs, quiet surrounded them. Fine with him seeing as he didn’t have a clue about what to talk about anyways. How was he supposed to make conversation with a girl, a fugitive of the kingdom, who he shared a secret with, a secret even she didn’t know. 

After a few minutes she broke the silence, “So do you have a name? or am I just to call you Mystery Kingsman for the duration of our journey.” 

“So you find me mysterious?” he asked amusedly.

“Not me, Aadyani,” she huffed.

“Who?”

“Leader.”

“So her name is Aadyani. Pretty.”

she growled, baring her teeth. 

“You go near her, and your dead.”

“Oh really?” he taunted.

She lunged hissing, but didn’t get far, tied to her saddle as she was. He merely ignored her. He had known that provoking her would result in some sort of action from her, but he also knew that she wasn’t stupid enough to fall off her horse just to get a chance at him. Besides, he rather liked her spit fire. Made him hopeful that she wouldn’t give up without a fight. She needed spirit like that if she was to survive the King. 

She collected herself and they settled into quiet once again. Despite the silence, he could feel the anger and loathing coming off her in waves. His silence and avoidance of her question pissed her off. But more than that, he suspected his taunts about the leader pissed her off even more. He couldn’t understand why though. She couldn’t have reached that settlement more than a couple days before himself, so how had she grown so close to the leader so quickly? It was a mystery he planned to unravel. He needed to know everything he could about her and her allies. It was the only way they might both survive this. 

Seeming to have calmed her self - at least marginally - she broke their quiet again.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“What question?” he feigned innocence. The air heated with her frustration. She was more powerful than he remembered. And it didn’t appear that she was doing it intentionally. 

“What. Should. I. Call. You,” she enunciated each word irritatedly, clearly trying to reign in her anger. 

“Oh. That question,” he replied, letting a pause draw out after his words. As the air started to heat up again he spoke, “Cerin.” It was a risk giving her his real name. And he had a slew of aliases to chose from. But if he wanted her trust, he figured the truth was the fastest way. 

“Is that your real name?” she asked skeptically, as if feeling his thoughts. He didn’t answer for a long few minutes. 

“Yes,” he finally whispered into the desert air. It was her turn not to reply. They spent the rest of the evening in silence, switching between cantering and walking. As the sky began to lighten, he steered them to the rocky formation he had spent the previous night in. When they reached a cave, he dismounted and untied her from her horse, leaving her wrists bound. 

“Really?!” she exclaimed, “I came with you voluntarily!” 

He just stared at her as she glared down at him. He reached up to help her off her horse and she jerked, causing her horse to take a few steps to the side. 

“Dont. Touch me,” she bared her teeth. Oh boy, this was going to be harder than he had initially anticipated. He had thought her surrender had meant she would be at least relatively docile, but her lunge at him earlier and clear disgust at the thought of him touching her made it crystal clear that she would fight him the whole way. Just another reason why he couldn’t, wouldn’t, untie her. So he turned his back on her, looping the remaining rope around his waist and tying it securely. Then a thought occurred to him and he turned to see her sliding down the side of her horse onto the sand. Swiftly he passed her and went for her saddle bags and pack. 

“What are you doing!” she squeaked, alarmed. He ignored her as he rifled through her saddle bags first, removing three daggers, two as long as his forearm and curved wickedly at the tips, the other more average in length. Two Nahati and one Dalgerstane. She had become close to the leader indeed for her to give these to her. As he went to pull at the draw string of her pack, he heard a shuffle of sand and the woosh of a limb flying through the air. He turned and deftly caught the foot aimed directly at his head. 

She was about a head shorter than him, but she was clearly flexible. She struggled as he held her foot hostage. 

“Didn’t anyone ever teach you that its rude to riffle through a girls things?” she sneered.

He pulled and she slid closer to him, the sand under her feet giving easily. Then with a quick motion, he pulled her pant leg over her calf and yanked out the dagger he could feel in her boot. He inspected it, still holding on to her foot as she grunted and struggled. It was a fine dagger. He tossed it into the the sand next to the others as he removed its sheath from her boot as well, tossing it next to the discarded dagger. Then he pushed her foot away form his head, not letting go, but still throwing her off balance. She toppled back with a sweet swoosh of sand and air. he bent down reaching for her other foot. It shot out like a snake, and he barely managed to catch it. Even wheezing, still trying to catch her breath, she was still fighting back. Good. he jerked the other dagger from that boot and tossed it with the others. Yanking un forgivingly on her ankle he dragged her towards him. She flailed, obscenities, curses, and vile name spewing from her mouth. Grabbing both her feet her flipped her onto her stomach and pinned her there by sitting on her knees and placing one hand in the middle of her back. With her hands tied in front of her as they were, she couldn’t do anything. He searched her hips and waist with his free hand as she spewed more vulgar names at him. 

“Didn’t your mother teach you its rude to call people names,” he said cooly and then realized his mistake. They both froze, the only movement the ruffling of their clothes in the breeze.

“Dont you dare speak of my mother, you soulless pig,” she said, low and dangerous, the air around them heating to an almost unbearable temperature, hot enough to begin melting the sand. 

He flinched. He knew he had no right to feel the sting of those words. After all, he had watched her mother die. Had, in fact, lead her to her death. But still, the words hurt. He had loved her mother too. Not that she knew that, or ever would. After all, he had no intention of telling her about his relationship with her mother. Of how she had been a light in his world those two weeks she had been a prisoner of the king. Of how he had thought of her as a second mother. Of how she had made him promise to protect her daughter. 

“Id calm down if I were you,” he said, keeping his voice as emotionless as possible.

“And why should I!” she growled, thrashing.

“Because if you don’t, your going to burn holes in those clothes of yours.” 

At that, she paused finally noticing the melting sand. She seemed shocked by the sight, and the air cooled rapidly around them. He finished searching her in silence, pulling two more daggers from her waist band. He had to say, he was impressed with her rather large arsenal. When he was done he rose off her and gathered the daggers, securing them in his own saddle bags. Then he pulled enough food out of his bags for the both of them. When he turned around she was sitting crosslegged in the same spot he left her.

“Come on,” he said, squinting east as the sun peaked over the horizon, sending blinding daylight shooting across the desert. “Lets get inside, before it starts getting hot.”

Wordlessly she followed.