Banished

Cyrina wrapped her arms around herself and stared at the trees painted black in the gloaming. She knew it was only going to get darker, and the only respite was the silvery white moon peeking through the leaves overhead. All she’d wanted to do was get out of that cramped saddle and away from Leander—away from his body pressed behind hers, away from his breath in her hair. But now, standing in the midst of a dark wood, wondering what creatures lurked between the trees and what insects were crawling up her legs, she wished she were up on the horse again.

She didn’t bother to mask an irritated sigh. “No fire?”

“No fire.”

“What if it gets cold?”

“It’s midsummer, Your Grace.”

“What if we need light?”

“We don’t need light.”

“What if we need to scare off wolves?”

“I have my sword for that.”

“What if—”

Leander reared up, dropping the tent. “Your Grace,” he snapped. “Forget the wolves. It’s the count’s assassins we need to worry about.”

“So …”

“So no fire.”

She cocked her head and considered her steward. He looked even more severe than usual with his face carved out by the inky black shadows of the night. Another woman would have shrunk from the wraith-like visage, but Cyrina knew his true face better than anyone. She knew his skin was golden, not grey, that his eyes were living daggers, not hollow voids in his face. And she knew that at this moment his teeth would be clenched and his jaw would be twitching, and, in spite of everything, that made her smile. “We’re not at court, you know. You can call me Cyrina.”

“Rules are meant for following, Your Grace.”

“That’s … that’s not how the saying goes.”

“That’s how my saying goes.”

Cyrina gingerly swept off a log and took a cautious seat. The cool damp of the wood seeped through her skirts and chilled her thighs. Then she took a nail file out of her pocket—one of the many things Leander had shouted that they didn’t have time to pack—and shaped her nails while the cacophony of crickets and frogs thrummed through the woods. “Why exactly did my brother love you so much, anyway?”

Leander shook his head as he sank the last stake into the ground. “Why did Darius love an honest, loyal, trustworthy, and battle-tested steward? You plumb mysterious depths, Your Grace.” He dusted his hands off. “Tent’s ready.”

“Dinner?” She tucked her file away.

“I hope you don’t expect me to cook.”

“‘No fire.’ I heard you. Surely you packed something to eat, though.”

Leander went to the horse and dug through the saddlebag. He came to Cyrina and held out something in the darkness. She reached for it, flushing with a strange embarrassment when she felt the warmth of his hand, then found a flaky crust of bread. He sat down next to her, disturbing the log with his weight, and they supped.

Even though it was nearly pitch black, and even though she’d eaten with Leander hundreds of times, Cyrina felt the prick of self-consciousness as she nibbled her bread. “You know … Darius wasn’t so different from me.”

Leander didn’t say a word, just looked over at her.

“You don’t think so?” she challenged.

“Darius wouldn’t have gotten himself into this mess.”

She nearly threw her dinner at him. “He most certainly would have.” Then she added ruefully, “He would have been able to fight his way out of it, though.”

“He was indeed impressive in combat.”

“If I could wield a sword, perhaps you would like me better.”

Leander snorted. “Unlikely.”

“You’re the only steward I know who dares to speak to his lady that way.”

He ripped the bread with his teeth. “Do you not value honesty?” he said, mouth full.

“I value manners. Chew first, please.”

“I thought we weren’t at court anymore.”

“You’ve gotten rather insolent, haven’t you?”

“Being hunted does put me on edge.”

“It’s not you they want dead.”

“No, I’m just the one standing between you and a violent end.”

Cyrina didn’t respond. The reality of the situation—of losing the castle, of being chased out of her duchy, of being lost in the woods—had been a constant dread, like a beast stalking her. She had been pushing it from her mind for fear of being completely overtaken. But it suddenly struck. Its sharp teeth sunk in and gratitude—for Leander, of all people—threatened to spill out. She stuffed it down with all the other warm feelings she had for him.

“Maybe you should give me one of your many knives,” she said. “To defend myself.”

“You’re more likely to hurt yourself than hurt an enemy.”

“I might hurt myself. An enemy will hurt me. So give me a way to fight back.”

He shook his head. “No. If something happens, the first thing you do is run, not fight.”

“But—”

“It is my job to return you to your people alive, Your Grace. Promise me you will run.”

“I promise to run if you give me a knife.”

Leander heaved a sigh. “You really are like Darius,” he muttered.

“Well?”

“No. No knives for you.”

“You’re insufferable.” Cyrina rose and marched to the tent.

“Do I finally get some peace and quiet then?”

She wheeled around and she began to say, “Being captured would have been preferable to spending the night with you,” but before she could finish, she saw movement, and the words caught in her throat.

“Leander,” she breathed, lifting a hand.

And just as he turned to look over his shoulder, he was yanked backwards off the log.

“Run!” he cried from beneath the attacker’s blows.

Cyrina obeyed, putting the sounds of the struggle behind her—Leander’s grunting, the dull thump of fists to flesh, the slick unsheathing of a blade. Return to your people alive, Cyrina, she told herself. Run, she said. But she stopped. She looked back. And in the milky moonlight, she could see that the assassin was on top of Leander, hands around his neck, bearing down with all of his weight on her steward. Her honest, loyal, trustworthy, battle-tested, really annoying steward.

She reached into her pocket.

The nail file plunged into the assassin’s back with a dreadful, wet thunk. He screamed and let go of Leander to windmill around himself, trying desperately to reach the thing sunk deep into his muscle.

Leander wheezed as he drew out a glinting blade. He dispatched the assassin with a quick swipe to his throat. Cyrina watched as the man slumped to the ground. Then she bent over and yanked the nail file out of his back.

Leander stared at her, astonished.

“It’s a nice file,” she said. “I’ll wash it, obviously.” She set it on the log and looked back to her steward, who still sat on the ground. “You’re not injured, are you?”

He let out a chuckle, then groaned as he rose to his feet. “I told you to run.”

Cyrina looked up at the few stars that were visible in the breaks of the canopy. “That’s not what Darius would have done.”

Leander looked up too, up to heaven. “He probably would have used something more effective than a nail file,” he mused.

“Well, someone didn’t supply me with any effective weapons, did they?”

Leander pulled out a small knife from his boot. “Here.”

Cyrina looked at the little blade.

“Careful, it’s sharp.”

“I know how knives work.” She suppressed a smile as she watched the moonlight swim around on the glossy blade. “Thank you.”

“It’s nothing. I have dozens.”

“No, I mean for being here. You could be at some other court taking refuge but …”

He cleared his throat and shifted. The leaves rustled under his feet. “I should be thanking you.”

“Perhaps. But you were about to lay your life down for mine.”

“It’s my job, Your Grace.”

“Cyrina.”

“… Cyrina.”

They looked up again.

“He used to tell me the stories of the constellations,” she said.

Leander swallowed. “He taught me how to navigate by the stars.”

“I miss him.”

“I miss him too.”

“He was a better leader than I am.” Cyrina swiped at the tears that came rolling down her cheeks.

Leander stepped forward, closer to her, and she looked up at him, eyes glittering with sorrow, but also understanding, and the understanding drew him nearer. He wrapped his arms around her, awkward at first, but she squeezed him back and then his joints loosened and his grip tightened and it was a real hug.

“Don’t discredit yourself, Cyrina,” he whispered. “You’re full of surprises. And when we’re out of the woods, you’ll show the world what you’re capable of.”