Prince of Traitors

Owin

The foothills of the southern mountain ranges are turning red. As the weather begins to cool, the foliage around the caravan slowly dies, turning orange like fire and dropping leaves to the ground.

Jasper and I—the merchants too, though Rahmi is downright miserable in the chill of early autumn—wear our cloaks during the cold nights. I miss my furs, but I left them at home when I departed the mountains in the warmer weather of springtime.

No one else has said anything to either of us about Jasper's true identity. Judeth keeps to her word and does not reveal the information; she continues to call Jasper by Kieran's name.

"Must you leave us?" Rahmi asks. He juts out his lower lip, pouting as Jasper buckles his dagger sheath around his thigh.

"Yes. We have business in Wrensera," Jasper says, naming a town near the border.

Rahmi sighs mournfully. "I suppose I'll have to try to survive the last few days to the border without you."

"Sorry, mate," Jasper says with a laugh and a consolatory pat on Rahmi's back.

Judeth and Peter bid us farewell along with the rest of the merchants in the caravan. Jasper waves to the group as the caravan continues on, the line of five carts resuming its journey to the border.

I pull my cloak tighter around myself, shielding my body from the chilly autumn air. The familiar weight of my bow and quiver bumps against my back under my cloak.

Though the merchants in the caravan were kind enough, I'm glad that Jasper and I are on our own again. The merchants watched me too closely; I could feel their mistrust every time they caught a glimpse of my silver hair or looked into my eyes.

By now, I trust the prince more than anyone else. At least he doesn't stare at me like a bad omen.

We continue westward toward the border, climbing the wooded foothills. I feel immensely more at home breathing in the cool mountain air. The wind smells of pine trees and rain. It's misting; the water rests in small droplets on our hair. I close my eyes, feeling the tiny pinpricks of the mist on my face.

When I open my eyes after a long moment, Jasper is staring at his feet as he walks, the ghost of a smile drifting across his lips.

*

The next time we make camp, it's in the woods on the other side of the Astrian-Odrendi border. I roast a plucked pheasant on a spit over the fire to split with the prince.

He returns to our campsite after stepping away to wash up. He runs a hand through his wet hair; he's washed most of the dye out of it, leaving it a muddy gold. His face is clean-shaven. He rubs at a small cut on his jaw from his knife.

"Your face fared better than it did the first time," I remark. I pull the pheasant off its spit and divide it between us with my knife. The tender, cooked meat peels off the bones.

Jasper chuckles. "I suppose I won the fight with a badger this time around."

This surprises a bark of a laugh from me. The prince gives me a crooked grin as he sits beside me and takes his portion of our supper.

"Think Judeth will ever reveal what she knew?" he asks after a while.

I shrug. "Maybe not, but we'll never know. She seemed like a smart woman, hopefully she'll know to keep her mouth shut about it."

Jasper nods as he eats. He's clean and quick about it, careful not to splatter any of the meat's juices on his shirt. When he's done, he cups water from the skein in his hands and uses it to rinse them off. He's still refined in his manner, even after months in the wilderness.

He sits forward, bending one knee up and clasping his hands atop it. He rests his chin on his hands and watches the fire. The collar of his shirt slips open. The thin chain and rings around his neck glitter in the firelight. The wound that he'd been given over two months ago glints, the scarred skin over his heart too smooth and pale.

"That healed over well," I say, glancing at it.

He reaches up to absently scratch at it. "It did. I've never had a scar this big."

I sigh softly. "To the Navaarim, a scar is an honorable thing to have. Consider it a trophy; seeing battle is no small thing."

"Even if it's battle with three bandits from whom you saved my ass?"

I grin at him. "I won't tell if you won't."

He laughs, deep and hearty. He clears his throat. "Well, if scars are trophies... Those scars across your back..."

I turn to give him a warning look. "What about them?"

He bites his lip for a second. "What kind of battle are they from?" His voice is gentle.

I open my mouth to retort, close it. I sigh shakily and look into the fire. "When we first left Highcaster, do you remember the dress I was wearing?"

Jasper nods. "It was what the girls at the pleasure houses wear," he says. "I remember."

"Well, a couple of your father's guards caught me trying to flee the city," I begin. "They took me to a slaver, who sold me to one of the pleasure houses by the docks." I raise my gaze to Jasper's, and he looks horrified. His mouth is agape, his green eyes wide. "The madam of the house whipped me."

Jasper blinks in surprise. "I... I'm sorry," he says. "Can... I ask what happened?"

I give him a wry smile. "I may have called her a toad-faced bitch."

The prince snorts, trying hard to suppress his laughter. "Sounds like she deserved it," he says.

I shrug a little. "I think so." I give him a small smile, and he returns it easily.