Straying From the Path by Carrie Vaughn

Author:Carrie Vaughn [Vaughn , Carrie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fantasy
Publisher: Agency Editions, Inc.
Published: 2012-10-06T14:00:00+00:00

The next morning, she awoke, naked and tangled in the legs and neck of Falla’s coat, a fringe of white mane tickling her nose. Conrad still slept nearby. She lay still and watched him until he stirred.

When he opened his eyes, looked at her, and smiled, her heart beat faster.

He could be a friend, she thought to Falla. My only other friend beside you.

Do not fall in love. Your fate won’t allow it.

I know, Falla. I know.

Elsa and Conrad sat and faced each other, Elsa wearing the mare’s skin, Conrad wrapped in the wool blanket.

“Well?” he said.

She lowered her gaze. “I didn’t dream. Your future isn’t for me to know.”

He gave his fox-sly smile, a joyless expression. “You’re lying. You cried in your sleep. Thrashed like you were having nightmares. You must have dreamed something terrible.”

Tears pricked her eyes. Sometimes, as with the princess and her marriage, she dreamed paths as clear as plate glass windows. Other times, like last night, the dreams were murky, little more than emotions and terror, which Elsa had to express. Conveying them meant reliving them.

“Tell me,” he said. “I’m not afraid.”

She quelled her own fear and spoke softly. “I dreamed of betrayal.”

He considered that, his expression falling to a frown. “Am I the betrayer or the betrayed? Whose betrayal?”

“Mine,” said Elsa.

After a long moment watching her, he pursed his lips and nodded, content to live with the enigma of prophecy. “Then I should leave, I suppose. If we are not near each other, we can’t betray each other.”

The princess’s cousin thought he could escape prophecy, too. Perhaps Conrad could actually succeed. She watched him dress, still wishing he was a famous rogue. Then perhaps his own legend would save him from hers.

He straightened his cuffs, fastened the last straps on his boots, and took up his pack. “Well then, I’m off.”

So that was that. “Where are you going?”

“I don’t know. About.” He paused and bent for a last kiss, dry and warm. His smile was bright, genuine. Perhaps he’d remember her. “God bless you and your hard path, Dreamer.”

Elsa dressed, packed her blankets, and started on her way more slowly. It was almost midday when she returned to Brewersville and saw a crowd gathered by the oak at the edge of the market. No musicians played today. She pushed through to the front to see what had happened.

The town constable was about to hang a man from the tree. The condemned man—barefoot, stripped to his waist and wearing ragged, third-hand trousers, stood on a stool with his hands bound behind his back. The noose around his neck was tied to a sturdy branch.

The man was Conrad, his expression slack, his gaze staring forward at nothing.

“That man,” she said to a laborer beside her. “What’s he done?”

“He’s a thief.”

Elsa still carried hopes. “A famous one? A highwayman or a rogue or such?”

“No,” the man said. “Just a common thief. Got caught this morning cutting the mayor’s purse.”

Then he saw her. He hadn’t seemed to be looking at anything, but his gaze found her.

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