Nena Ann Boelter (english books to improve english .TXT) 📖

for, Jarl? That after how many miles she suddenly changes her mind and comes back to you? Or that her horse breaks a leg, and she’s waiting for us to pick her up by the

carcass? Who gave her that fucking horse anyway? Besides, she’s got a second horse now. She could just ride it.”

Jarl remained silent.

“And when we get to the Bloodcliff Gates, what then? Will we keep going then, too?”

“I don’t know.”

“Jarl, these men have shown many times they are willing to follow you to their deaths, but never before was it a suicide.”

“Send a messenger back to Gunnar. Tell him of our plan, and that he is to proceed to the port and make the exchange with Piltor—or with the other traders, if any have been found. If we do not meet him there after four weeks, he is to divide the treasure, and send all but three of the ships and The Treasure Huntress home, before it is too late for them to make it. He can decide which other three stay.”

“You said to tell him our plan. What exactly is our plan that you would like me to tell him?” Tryggr asked.

“Just send the fucking messenger,” Jarl snarled, his patience at an end.

Jarl didn’t have a plan. Didn’t have a clue of a plan. He knew Tryggr was right. He knew they would never catch her. She was so far ahead now, even if both of her horses broke legs and she and the girl had to walk, they would probably still make it through the gates before he could get to her. So why did he keep going? Why didn’t he turn around?

Because he couldn’t.

Because he could not imagine his life without her now.

Because he could not just give up and let it end this way.

Because since becoming a man, he’d never wanted for anything he could not have. Many believed it was because the gods favored him. Jarl thought that reason was as likely as any other, and he could not imagine the gods would deliver him such a treasure only to yank it from his grasp.

His thoughts were interrupted by an odd heavy sensation in his lungs and chest that signaled an impending change in the weather. He glanced up at the clear sky. There were no dark clouds on the horizon and no wind—no physical signs of a storm, but Jarl knew one was coming. Years at sea had taught him how to feel them.

Nena stood in the calf-deep water, holding both horses as they grazed on the tender water grass. The horses would have preferred to remain on dry ground but the dark green stems were a Teclan secret, packed with concentrated nutrition that enabled a horse to perform better with less feed. The second horse was already considerably tucked in the flank, but the mare seemed no worse for wear.

Nena looked at the girl, curled up on the bank, sound asleep. She rubbed her own swollen tired eyes. They had ridden hard for many days now, yet the girl had never once complained. Nena thought back to the day before, when she had glanced back just as Exanthia was about to fall from her horse. She had stopped and pulled the exhausted girl up behind her on the mare, and led the second horse for the remainder of the day. Exanthia had slept soundly against her back, her arms wrapped around Nena’s waist, her hands clasped in front, held securely there in Nena’s grip.

Nena looked at her now with fondness and respect. She was strong. She would make a good Teclan. Her life had been ripped asunder, but she had never once complained. Nena felt bad she’d been unable to provide her with more support. It had not been intentional. Initially she’d been too driven and focused on their escape to offer the girl much comfort. Now she was too exhausted. When they made it home, Nena vowed to make it up to her, to lavish her with the attention she was unable to give her now.

Nena felt her eyelids closing. She fought to keep them open, but they seemed to have weights attached to them. She felt for the chunk of root in the pouch tied around her waist, but did not pull it out. Not yet. She was afraid of how it would make her feel. She knew the root would keep her awake, but also knew there would be a significant price. She had only tried it once before as a young warrior in training. She and the other trainees had been kept up for three days straight, then given the root and pushed for another two. Even now she remembered vividly how it had made her heart race uncomfortably in her chest. How it had drained every bit of strength from her body and took her days to recover. She did not want to experience that again—not if she could help it. The short catnaps she’d been able to take had been sufficient so far.

In the mountains, the cold water would have helped to shock her awake, but this water was a soothing tepid temperature. Her earlier determination to focus only on the journey faded, and Nena’s exhausted mind drifted to another time in the warm water with Jarl. His offer to teach her to swim and then his retraction. She smiled at the circumstances preceding that retraction. What was he doing now? Life in the camp after a battle was always relaxed and easy for several days. Or would they be moving again? Toward her aunt’s village that hopefully was no longer there?

He’s probably sharing his furs with Altene at this very moment.

Nena tormented herself with the vision of Jarl and Altene together. Of Altene nestled in the crook of his arm, her head on his shoulder. Of Jarl’s fingers absently caressing her skin.

If you truly believed that, you wouldn’t be running. Wouldn’t be pushing yourself, the child and the horses, to the