Page 70 of The Stolen Heir

My gaze goes to the prince’s bag. I wouldn’t need to care about the strands of hair if there was nothing that could be done with them.

If I snatched the bridle and ran, when I got to Lady Nore, I could be the one to make her wear it.

Oak sits by the fire, singing a song to himself that I catch only snatches of. Something about a pendulum and fabric that’s starting to fray. The firelight limns his hair, turning the gold dark, the shadows making his features sharp and harsh.

He’s the kind of beautiful that makes people want to smash things.

Tonight, while they sleep, I will steal the bridle. Hadn’t Oak talked about a bus station, one that appeared to be open, no matter the hour? I will go there and begin my journey as a mortal might. I have Gwen’s phone. I can use it to warn my unfamily of what’s coming.

While I am thinking through this plan, Oak is telling Tiernan about a mermaid he knows, with hair the silver of the shine on waves. He thinks that if he could speak to her, she might be able to tell him more about what’s going on in the Undersea.

Eventually, I curl up in my blanket, watching Tiernan cover the lean-to with Oak’s burgled tarps. Then he climbs a tree, settling himself in its branches like a cradle.

“I’ll take first watch,” he volunteers gruffly.

“Titch can guard us for a few hours,” says Oak, nodding to the owl-faced hob in the tree. It nods, its head rotating uncannily. “We could all use the rest.”

I try to tamp down my rising panic. Surely Titch will be easier to get past than Tiernan would have been. But I had not counted onanyonestanding watch. An oversight that makes me wonder what other obvious thing I have overlooked. What other foolish mistake is there to make?

Oak rolls himself up in his damp cloak. He looks at me as though he wants to say something, but when I refuse to meet his gaze, he settles down to sleep. I am glad. I am not as skilled at hiding my feelings as I would like.

At first, I count the stars, starting in the east and then moving west. It isn’t easy, because I can’t tell if I’ve counted some already and keep going back and starting again. But it does while away time.

At last, I close my eyes, counting again, this time to a thousand.

When I get to 999, I sit up. The others appear asleep, the gentle susurrations of their breaths even and deep. Above me, Titch’s golden eyes blink, staring into the dark.

I creep over to Oak’s bag, lying beside his sword. The fire has burned down to embers. Starlight shines on his features, smoothed out in slumber.

Kneeling, I slide my finger into the sack, past a paperback book, granola bars, candles, a scroll, and several more knives, until I feel the smooth strap. My fingers tremble at the touch of the leather. The enchantment on it seems to spark.

I tug the bridle out as gently and slowly as I am able.

Nearby, a fox calls. Frogs bellow at one another from the ferns.

I risk a look at the owl-faced hob, but it is still watching for danger outside the camp. There is no reason, I tell myself, for it to believe that I am doing anything more than rooting for a snack. I am no threat.

I don’t have a bag like Oak’s to hide the bridle in, but I do have a scarf, and I wind it up in that and then tie it around my waist like a belt. My heart is beating so fast that it seems as though it’s skipping, like stones across a pond.

I stand and take a step, so certain I am about to be caught that the anticipation makes me dizzy.

Two more steps, and the tree line is in sight.

That’s when I hear Oak’s voice behind me, thick with sleep. “Wren?”

I turn back, attempting not to panic, not to snarl and run. I can’t let him see how afraid I am that he’s caught me.

“You’re awake,” he says, sitting up.

“My mind keeps going around in loops,” I say, keeping my voice low. That much is certainly true.

He beckons to me. Reluctantly, I come over and sit beside him. Leaning forward, he pokes the fire with a stick.

I can’t help but see his face, soft from slumber, and remember what it was like to kiss him. When I recall the curve of Oak’s mouth, I must force myself to think of the way it looks pulled into a sneer.

I don’t want her. I remind myself of his words. And if there’s any part of him that does, it’s because I am, as Hyacinthe said,a coin to be spent.

I take a deep breath. “You’re not really going to send me away, are you?”