Vesaria woke to something cold pressing against her cheek.
She opened her eyes to pale light filtering through the branches, her neck aching and her legs stiff beneath her. For a moment, she struggled to remember where she was until the horse shifted nearby, tugging at its reins.
Vesaria sat up against the rocky bank, wincing as pain spread through her lower back. Her cloak had done little to keep out the night's cold, and her injured knee throbbed while both heels burned inside the stolen boots.
The horse snorted, nosing at the sparse grass beneath the pines. "At least one of us slept comfortably," she muttered, although the animal looked scarcely better than she felt.
She listened for approaching riders before rising, then led the horse down to the stream. While it drank, she washed her face in the icy water and took a few sips from her waterskin before returning to the shelter of the trees.
Her remaining provisions amounted to three oatcakes, a handful of dried berries, and two strips of smoked meat. Vesaria's stomach tightened at the sight. She had eaten nothing since the previous afternoon, but she broke only half an oatcake for breakfast, chewing the dry bread slowly while wondering how far such meagre supplies would carry her.
She had hoped to reach a village within a day or two and find a merchant willing to take her south. It had seemed reasonable enough until she found herself surrounded by unfamiliar hills, without the faintest idea where the nearest village lay.
She should have stolen a map.
Vesaria frowned at the half-eaten oatcake in her hand, remembering the papers in Azgar's quarters. She had been so concerned with finding clothing and a horse that she had neglected to consider how she would find her way home.
At home, servants prepared the horses, guards chose the roads, and someone always knew where they were going. She knew every estate bordering her father's lands, yet here she could scarcely tell one hill from another.
Finishing her breakfast, she packed her provisions and studied the sunlight filtering through the branches. The sun was rising beyond the eastern hills. If she kept it to her left, she ought to be travelling south.
Or did that only work in the morning?
She tried to recall what one of her father's huntsmen had once told her about navigating by the sun and stars, but remembered the hunting dogs at his feet far more clearly. She rather regretted not paying attention.
With a sigh, Vesaria gathered her belongings and led the horse away from the stream, keeping off the road as she followed a narrow passage between the pines.
Progress was slow, with fallen branches and steep slopes repeatedly forcing Vesaria to change direction. Riding proved little easier, as the low branches caught her cloak and threatened her face, leaving her to trudge along on foot until the stolen boots rubbed her heels raw.
By midday, a blister had burst, and she sat on a fallen trunk, glaring at the offending boot. It had seemed such a fortunate discovery. She tore a strip from her cloak's damaged lining to cushion her heel, then pulled the boot back on with a grimace.
"You might have chosen a more comfortable road," she told the horse, which merely flicked an ear before returning to the dead grass. Vesaria ate a few dried berries, took a careful sip of water, and continued.
The trees eventually thinned as she climbed a gentle slope, leading the horse around exposed stones until they emerged onto a rocky ridge.
Beyond it stretched hills covered in dark pines, their distant peaks white with snow, while a broad valley wound southward between them.
Vesaria stopped to take in the view. Somewhere beyond those hills lay familiar roads, warmer lands, and people who spoke her language. She imagined arriving at her father's estate, her aunt weeping as she embraced her, her uncle demanding an explanation, and her cousins arguing over who would ride north to avenge her.
Or maybe she might find them on the way!
The thought brought a faint smile to her lips, although she would have to persuade them against doing anything foolish. One war over her marriage was quite enough.
She could not judge how distant the valley was, but at least she had a direction to follow. "Come along," she told the horse, gathering its reins. "We may yet find our way home."
She had barely begun descending when a distant shout stopped her. Vesaria hurried behind a cluster of rocks, pulling the horse into cover as two riders appeared on a narrow track below.
They moved slowly, scanning the surrounding forest, and when one pointed toward the slope, she crouched lower, her heart pounding as his companion looked her way.
Only after they disappeared among the trees did she dare move. She had hoped the searchers would abandon their pursuit once they lost her trail, but clearly Azgar's men had other intentions.
Reluctantly, she left the open ridge and returned to the shelter of the pines, sacrificing her view of the valley rather than risk another encounter.
~*~*~*~*~*~
By late afternoon, thickening clouds had obscured the sun, leaving her increasingly uncertain of her direction. The wind had strengthened too, cutting through her woollen clothing as she pressed deeper into the forest.
Vesaria was searching for somewhere to rest when her horse suddenly raised its head.
She stopped, following the animal's gaze.
Somewhere beyond the trees, another horse snorted.
Vesaria tightened her grip on the reins and moved toward a rocky outcrop, guiding her mount into the shelter of several closely growing pines. She had barely settled behind the stone when hoofbeats sounded on the opposite side.
A large black horse appeared between the trunks.
Vesaria stared at it, momentarily forgetting to breathe.
The animal's broad chest, powerful neck, and glossy dark coat were unmistakable. She remembered the way it had flattened its ears when she attempted to stroke it, and the furious stamping that had drawn the grooms' attention.
Azgar's stallion.
Of all the horses in the North.
Her gaze flew to the rider.
A broad-shouldered man sat in the saddle, wearing a dark travelling cloak over leather armour. His face was partly obscured by the branches, but Vesaria recognized Varn when he turned to examine the ground beside the trail.
She had seen him often enough at Azgar's side to know he was no ordinary guard.
Why was he riding the Khan's horse?
Had Azgar sent him personally? Was the Khan searching elsewhere, or had he decided that retrieving his unwilling wife was a task best left to his men?
Vesaria drew farther behind the rock.
The black stallion stopped.
Its ears pricked toward the pines, and it raised its head, testing the air. Vesaria's horse shifted beside her, then answered the stallion's low whicker with a soft call of its own.
Vesaria's stomach dropped.
She caught the reins close to the bit, whispering urgently as the animal tried to lift its head again. "Quiet. Please, just this once."
Varn turned in the saddle.
He looked toward the trees, listening, then guided the stallion several steps closer.
Vesaria pressed herself against the rock, scarcely daring to breathe. The branches concealed most of her horse, but its hindquarters remained visible through a gap in the pines.
She reached for the reins again, trying to draw the animal farther behind the stone without disturbing the undergrowth.
A twig snapped beneath her boot.
Varn stopped.
Vesaria closed her eyes briefly, cursing her own clumsiness. She could hear the stallion breathing now, close enough that she imagined she might reach through the branches and touch its neck.
A gust of wind swept through the trees, shaking loose needles and snow, sending the lower branches swaying. Vesaria used the movement to guide her horse backward, one careful step at a time, until the rock concealed them both.
On the other side, Varn dismounted.
She heard his boots strike the ground, followed by the creak of leather as he moved away from the stallion. Vesaria crouched lower, watching through the branches as he approached the far side of the outcrop.
He was searching the wrong side.
She took advantage of the rock between them, leading her horse into a narrow hollow where fallen branches and thick undergrowth concealed a passage between the trees. The animal resisted, but she coaxed it forward, moving slowly enough to avoid another loud crack beneath her boots.
Varn called something in Northern.
Vesaria stopped, gripping the reins so tightly that her fingers ached.
No answer came.
After a moment, she heard him moving through the undergrowth again, followed by the distant clink of his horse's tack.
She waited until the sounds began to recede before continuing.
The hollow descended into thicker forest, where the ground was soft beneath a covering of pine needles. Vesaria followed it until the rocky outcrop had disappeared behind her, then stopped long enough to listen.
Nothing.
She leaned against a tree, her heart still pounding.
Varn had been close enough to find her. If her horse had called again, or if she had stepped on another branch, she might already have been on her way back to the settlement.
She looked down at the animal beside her.
"You nearly betrayed us," she whispered.
The horse lowered its head toward the grass, apparently unconcerned.
Vesaria rubbed her aching hands together and glanced toward the darkening sky. The clouds had thickened, and the wind was beginning to whistle through the upper branches.
She needed shelter before nightfall.
Whatever direction she had been travelling, she could no longer risk returning to the ridge or the track below it. Varn might still be searching nearby, and she doubted he would overlook the same signs twice.
She tightened her cloak, took the reins, and continued deeper into the forest, hoping the valley she had seen from the ridge lay somewhere beyond the trees.
By the time the first pale flakes drifted through the branches, she had lost sight of the hills entirely.