Prince of Traitors

Jasper

A couple days after the attack, the Navaarim are buzzing about the festival later tonight. The energy in the village is electric, and I find myself overwhelmed by the crowd. It had been just me and Owin for such a long time, and then just the four of us once Kieran and Nimia joined up with us. I haven't been around this many people for months; even the caravan wasn't as heavily populated as the Navaarim tribe.

I escape into the woods outside the village as Owin and the other Navaarim ready the village for the festival. I can't get Owin to tell me what it's for or about; she only gives me a smug smile when I ask. Besides, now I just need to decompress.

There is something knowing in Owin's mother Aroll's gaze that simultaneously soothes and unnerves me. Like she already knows the secrets I feel compelled to confess to her. In the woods, it feels like she can't read my mind.

I trudge over the brush, my hands warm inside the pockets of my jacket. I have only a dagger on me, but I've become more and more comfortable being in the woods over the last several months. I've been sleeping on a bedroll on the floor of Owin's small house, but strangely I miss sleeping on the hard ground, using my satchel for a pillow.

The woods are quiet and beautiful. The birds have flown south, the insects gone to sleep in the cold. It's the only reason I hear the rustle of someone else's footsteps behind me.

I spin and draw my dagger. The person behind me rushes over the brush, his back to me, abandoning whatever he was doing here now that I've spotted him.

"Hey!" I cry, and run after him. He glances over his shoulder at me, and trips over an exposed root. He falls with a yell and I catch up to him quickly. He flips over onto his back and scrambles back from me, but I kneel over him with my knife drawn, my knee on his chest to pin him down.

The man is no older than a boy, really, with sandy brown hair and freckles across his nose. He raises his hands in surrender, his eyes wide with fright. "I-it's you," he says. "You're the prince."

I hold my knife aloft and he flinches. "Who sent you?" I growl. "Why are you here?"

"Please!" he cries. "P-please let me go! I'm just a scout—"

"Who sent you?" I repeat, my voice harsh. I point my blade at the boy's throat.

"The king! The king sent me!" he cries. "My—my captain reported that he saw you here two days ago. The king is here and wanted to make sure it was true—that's all I know!"

"You're lying," I say. "The king is in Highcaster."

"No! N-no, he's here!" the boy stammers. "He's in Drymere!"

I freeze at his words, my knife hovering over the boy's throat. Drymere... it's the location of an army encampment on Odrend's side of the border, not half a day's ride from here at the bottom of the mountain. My chest constricts as fear courses through me. If what this boy says is true, then Alix knows where I am. He knows I'm here with the Navaarim, here with Owin.

And clearly, he can send his troops to attack any time he wants, because he's already done it.

I lower my knife and take my knee off his chest, and the boy scrabbles to his feet. He turns and runs off, and I let him.

My breaths come faster, and I break into a grin despite myself. My shoulders shake uncontrollably with soundless laughter at the irony. I've come so far, fought so hard, finally managed to get Owin back to her home, only for my brother to corner me here.

And because I know Alix, I know he won't stop with just sending a scout to find me. He will do whatever it takes to get to me, and make me watch as he destroys everything I have come to love.