Prince of Traitors

Jasper

I watch my reflection in the stream's smooth, reflective surface. My beard drips water into the stream. Behind me, Owin keeps time with the rhythmic shing, shing, shing of her knife on its whetstone.

I tug on the longer hairs, slicing the beard down to a shorter length with my knife. Dunking it in the stream to rinse it off, I angle the blade against my cheek. I press too hard at first, and wince as I nick myself.

I use my reflection in the stream to adjust the angle of my knife. The blade is sharp, and tugs at my face as I drag it along my jaw, chin, neck, and upper lip. I swipe using short, gentle strokes. It takes a while and I have to go over the same spot several times, rinsing my face and my knife between swipes to reveal the bare, tan skin of my jaw.

By the time I finish, my face feels a little raw but I look more like myself. I splash water over it and the nicks on my skin sting sharply. I examine my reflection in the water and turn to Owin to show her my handiwork.

"What do you think?" I ask. She looks up from her whetstone, her hands pausing.

She clears her throat. "You look like you lost a fight with a badger," she says, and ducks her head to continue sharpening her knife.

I shrug my good shoulder and sit in the grass next to her. She inspects the edge of her knife, tapping her fingertip against it. She puts her dagger away and hands me the whetstone to use on my own.

As I swipe the blade along the whetstone in a clumsy rhythm, I ask Owin, "Think we should keep moving while we still have plenty of daylight?"

She shakes her head. She combs a tangle from her damp hair with her fingers. "I want to let the venison dry some more. Besides, we've been making good time."

I look at her, raising an eyebrow. "Where is it that we're going, anyway?"

She sighs. "I'm going north." She tilts her head back and closes her eyes, letting the sun warm the slender column of her neck. Her silver hair falls down behind her in tousled curls as she leans back on the heels of her hands.

"Anywhere north in particular?" I press. Her eyes open and the pale silver irises flit to me.

"The mountains," she replies after a moment. "My family."

"Your tribe?"

Owin finally turns her head to look at me, and wordlessly nods.

My eye travels to the faint red-brown stain on the collar of her shirt. She's washed most of the blood off and the cut has scabbed over, but the fabric is still slightly stained. "Shouldn't that be stitched or something?" I ask, swiping my knife along the whetstone.

She shakes her head. "It's shallow. I'm fine." She closes her eyes again and tips her head back. "How's your shoulder?"

"Stiff, but it doesn't hurt anymore," I reply. "Whatever is in your healing salve works well." I flex the shoulder, feeling the tight muscles pull under the bandage covering my stitches.

Owin doesn't respond. My hands pause in sharpening my knife. I look at her, leaning back on her hands sunning herself.

"I never thanked you," I say quietly.

"For what?"

"For bringing me along with you, for the time being. Treating my shoulder." I avert my eyes and shrug a little. "You could have left me behind a long time ago."

Owin gives a low hum in assent. "You didn't exactly give me a choice." For once there is no venom in her voice. She opens her eyes and looks at me. When I return her smile with a grin of my own, she scoffs. "You still look like you lost a fight with a badger."

*

Owin continues along, unfazed by the rain. She's wound her hair into a bun atop her head, keeping it out of the way. The rain chills the air, making me shiver, though Owin doesn't seem fazed.

I glance over and spot a leafy bush. "Hey," I begin. I point to the bush. "How do you tell if wild berries are safe to eat?"

She tucks a loose, wet strand of hair behind her pointed ear as she looks at me. "Do you want to learn?" she asks.

When I say yes, she turns and crosses to the bush. She breaks off a small bundle of dark berries. "First thing to look for is any weird colors," she says. "Redness in the leaves, things like that." She steps slightly closer to me so I can see. She spreads the leaves on the bundle of berries between her pale, slender fingers.

"Those are all green," I say, and she nods. She breaks off the leaves, letting them fall to the ground.

"You also want to avoid white or yellow berries," she explains.

"What about those poisonous berries I found before? They were dark," I say.

Owin shakes her head. "Remember the stalks? They were dark too." I don't, but I nod anyway. It had been too dark that night for me to tell.

"What next?"

She takes one of the berries between her fingers and gestures for me to give her my arm. I roll up one sleeve and bare my arm to her. She holds my wrist as she takes one of the berries between her fingers, squeezing some dark juice from it as she rubs the berry along my skin.

"You'd wait a bit and see if it irritates your skin," she says. "And if it doesn't, you'd eat a small amount, then wait a while longer and see if it makes you feel sick." She lets go of my wrist. I inspect the small splatter of juice on my skin.

"Well, are these safe?" I ask.

In response, she pulls a handful of berries off of the stalk and pops them into her mouth. She smirks up at me. "You're just going to ask me every time we come across berries, aren't you?" She tosses the rest of the berries to me, and I laugh softly as I eat them. They burst in my mouth, the juice tartly sweet.

"Probably," I say with a grin. She rolls her eyes at me, still smirking. She continues walking, and I break off several more bundles of the berries, slipping them into my satchel, in a cloth pouch where I've stashed some of the dried strips of venison. I follow her, jogging a few steps to catch up to my companion.

Suddenly, Owin stops. I almost run into her.

"What?" I whisper. Her shoulders are tense, her eyes flitting around as she whirls, peering into the trees.

"Do you hear that?"

"Hear what?"

She squints into the trees. I listen hard. The rain muffles the sounds of the forest around us, but slowly the sound that alarmed Owin reaches my ears. Footsteps thundering through the woods and getting louder. Coming closer.

"Run," Owin hisses, and we break into a sprint. Thunder crashes, and the rain picks up. It sluices down my back, soaks Owin's silver hair.

The footsteps behind us begin running too, crashing after us. I can't tell where they're coming from, how close they are. My boots send mud flying as I try to keep pace with Owin. Whoops and yells reach my ears, the thunder of hoof beats rumbling through the woods.

Horses cut us off. Owin and I skid to a stop as the group of seven horses circle us. The cacophony of the beasts' footsteps and the shouts of their riders fill my ears over the rush of the rain overhead.

Owin snarls a curse. She grabs a handful of arrows, holding them point-down in her left hand as it grasps her bow. She pulls one back with her free hand, nocking it and pulling the bowstring back to her chin in one fluid motion. Her aim shifts from one rider to the next.

They continue to whoop in their saddles, the sharp sounds disorienting me. I unsheathe my sword. My vision blurs as the rain runs into my eyes. My heart pounds in my chest.

One cloaked rider separates from the circle, his horse crowding us. Owin's aim shifts to him. The man smirks down at us from under his hood. He wears a thick beard and a wicked, toothy grin.

"We're looking for the traitor prince," he says above the whoops of his fellow riders. "I'm pleasantly surprised; we never thought he'd fall right into our laps."