Keeping one eye on the coachmen fleeing into the forest, Rishe began a methodical search for something to help her. Right—her hairpin!
This sure brings me back. She unfastened it, twisting it into the gap in the door. Back when I was a maid, my lady would lock herself in her chambers all the time to avoid her studies. I had to break her out just like this.
The lock on the coach was simple, and it came open easily. Once she was free, she scanned her surroundings. She didn’t see anyone who looked immediately hostile, but there was noise up ahead. Cautiously, she headed toward it.
Before long, she found Arnold.
Wow.
Roughly ten men—the bandits, she presumed—lay crumpled on the ground. In their midst stood Arnold, in the process of tripping another man into the dirt. He scowled, blade at the man’s throat. “Is that it, then?”
“Gwugh!”
Arnold kicked the bandit in the stomach, eyes blazing with cruelty. “That’s all the thrill you offer me after I went to the trouble of drawing my sword? Barely worth it. I’m bored already.”
He wasn’t angry; on the contrary, he stared his enemies down with chilly disappointment, as if this had all been a letdown. Even Arnold’s own knights seemed terrified of their master when he was in a mood. Arnold smoothly flicked the blood off his sword, wiping the blade on the bandit’s shirt before sheathing it. The rest of the men on the ground seemed to be unconscious.
Wait, he didn’t kill anyone? Why not? Is it because we haven’t reached Galkhein?
She supposed even Arnold knew better than to go around killing the citizens of other countries. Or perhaps he had yet to become the ruthless monster she knew him as.
Arnold seemed to sense her gaze, turning around with a start. Genuine emotion bloomed on his face, worlds away from the blank mask he wore to face down the bandits. “How did you get out of the coach?”
Rishe shrugged. “If I tell you, you’ll be able to prevent me from doing it again.”
Arnold snickered. “You continue to amaze me.”
How can you go from ice-cold to suddenly looking like a normal nineteen-year-old? It’s disconcerting.
Rishe fought down her disquiet as a man alighted from a coach and shouted, “Your Highness! Not again!” He was Oliver, one of the prince’s attendants. He had silver hair and was roughly as tall as Arnold.
“What do you think all these knights are for, decoration? Why do you insist on endangering yourself?”
Rishe had only met Oliver briefly a few days ago, but he didn’t appear to be intimidated by Arnold at all. And, well…he’s not wrong.
She feared the menace would return to Arnold’s expression, but he just looked annoyed. “I could tell they were prepared to kill. I’d prefer to take the burden on myself than risk multiple injuries so far afield. And we already have casualties.”
He was right. Several injured knights leaned listlessly among the trees. Arnold issued orders to those still able-bodied. “First squad, see to the wounded. Second squad, arrest these men.”
“Yes, sir!”
Oliver appeared unsatisfied. “Your Highness, that is a weak justification. I’m overjoyed you’re well, but you must consider Lady Rishe. Perhaps next time we run into a team of murderous brigands, you could allow your consort to remain in the coach.”
“I told her to remain in the coach!”
Rishe quickly averted her gaze, turning her attention to the wounded knights. They didn’t appear badly injured, yet they all seemed exhausted.
“Excuse me, can I take a look?” Rishe approached the knight acting as a medic. He looked round, startled by her presence.
“Nonsense, my lady. Don’t trouble yourself, you must have had quite a scare.”
This was not unreasonable, but the wariness in his eyes made it clear he wanted her nowhere near his comrade. He isn’t just being polite. He truly is on guard.
Beside them, an injured knight groaned as another helped him up. “What’s wrong with you?” the second knight asked the first.
“I-I feel…numb.”
“What? Damn.” The knight grabbed up one of the fallen bandit’s swords, going pale as he inspected the blade. “Your Highness, look at this. Poison.”
Arnold clicked his tongue. “Locate every laceration and bind them close to the heart. Suck the poison from the wounds.”
He mostly got that right, at least. In the meantime, Rishe located the nearest bound bandit and pulled his dagger out of its sheath. Its wet coating gleamed in the sunlight, just as the knight had said.
They applied the poison liberally—whatever it is must be cheap and easily bought in bulk.
She wafted the smell toward her, bracing for something rancid, but detected nothing. Then she brought it closer to her nose.
It smells sweet, like an overripe apple. Shea grass and…bluecap mushrooms. All the knights appear to have the same symptoms, so I won’t have to check every blade.
Rishe stood back up and headed for the coach.
Oliver took a step after her. “Your Highness, Lady Rishe is—”
“Leave her. She may do as she pleases.”
“She’s well trained,” Oliver mused. “But a battlefield is no place for a young lady. She probably wasn’t prepared for such a dreadful spectacle.”
Rishe ignored the murmurs and focused on her work. There they are. I’ll take these, these, and…
“The poison must be a sleeping drug,” she overheard Arnold saying. “Hunters use such drugs to weaken larger prey. I doubt this dose is lethal.”
“But it certainly is annoying,” replied Oliver. “We’re still two days out from Galkhein. Lugging a company of sleeping men in armor won’t be pleasant.”
“We’ll have to stop somewhere nearby. A hunter’s settlement. Perhaps they will have an antidote—”
“Excuse me.” Rishe, who’d returned from the carriage, raised a hand. “I have an antidote.”
“What?”
The entire company stared at her in awe.