And I really don’t want to run into any more soldiers.
So I can’t go into Tremayne. That’s probably for the best, I decide. My priority is finding water and I know there’s a river that runs outside it.
I glance at the sky, the sun halfway through its descent, the air rapidly turning chilly, my breath misting before me. It’s taken the entire day to get this far, time I don’t have. I’ll have to make for Scarron in the dark.
Around two miles away from the city walls of Tremayne I pull the horse to a stop, checking the maps, planning a route that will take us off the main road, away from the checkpoints and towards the river. Making sure there’s no one near us, I slide from the saddle, moaning as my cramped limbs are forced to stretch. My stomach rumbles loudly. A whole day in the saddle has exhausted me, used up whatever energy I had. I need some food, or I’m going to collapse. And I need a new cloak. I won’t last overnight without one.
I’m going to have to go into Tremayne after all.
The thought of being so close to my old life, to my apothecary, makes me feel faint, my chest tight.
The thought of soldiers on the gates makes my stomach drop.
I’d imagined my return to Tremayne would be triumphant. I’d have everything under control, the shame of our flight forgotten. I wouldn’t be wearing stolen clothes, my knuckles bruised from fighting, my scalp tingling from a soldier’s assault.
I don’t have a choice, I remind myself; I have to find the girl, I have to get Mama back. I can worry about the apothecary, and the war, and everything else after that.
The slashing of a sword across a throat replays behind my eyes.
I take a deep breath and climb back into the saddle.
Then I see it: a thin, barely noticeable track gently sloping uphill on my right. I click the reins and urge the horse along the path, my heart thumping in my chest. As we crest the small mound, recognition punches me in the stomach and I see it.
Our farm.
I make a strangled sound. It hasn’t changed. It hasn’t been so long since we left, so I shouldn’t be as surprised that it still looks the same, as though any moment Lief and Papa could come striding out of the door, or Mama appear in the window. I should be in there now, with my family. Instead half of them are dead, or missing, I’m on the run, and my mother is locked away Gods know where. And it’s all my fault.
I have to get her back. This is my mess.
If I can get food and a cloak, we can keep going. I could be in Scarron by sunrise. I still remember how to get from our farm into Tremayne through the clock tower gate. By the river. And I doubt there’s a checkpoint there.
It’s not the first time I’ve been wrong. When I arrive at the clock tower gate, I’m greeted by two soldiers armed with swords, their expressions closed and unfriendly. A third perches on top of the tower, arrow nocked and pointed at me. It’s too late to run, and the sight of them sends my stomach plunging, my fingers trembling on the reins.
“Dismount and state your business,” one of the soldiers says.
Shaking, I do, keeping one hand on the pommel of the saddle, my legs braced to throw myself up and into it if they try to attack me.
“You’re a girl,” one of the swordsmen says in surprise. “Well, well. Nice breeches. Let’s see your papers, then.” I peer at him, trying to think of a reason – any reason – why I don’t have them. “You deaf? I said papers. Show us your papers.”
“I … don’t have any. I was robbed on the way here. They were in my bag – my other bag. I lost my cloak too.” I try to keep my tone pleasant and reasonable, but I’m struggling, my chest beginning to tighten. I should run.
“Where are you from?” the man asks.
“Here, originally. I was born in Tremayne. But I don’t live here any more. Some of my family do, and it’s them I’ve come to see.”
He sheathes his sword and tucks his thumbs in his belt loops, and I let out a soft sigh, some of my tension releasing. “Where have you come from, then?”