A Brother's Price

it. If the thieves had managed to already off-load the guns, there would be witnesses to where and when.
    “By moving the guns, they’re no longer linked to the barge. Picking up cargo is so common it’s invisible in comparison to a salvage job. And, unless you’ve seen a map of the river, it seems unlikely that anyone could move a dozen heavy crates so far downriver in a span of a few hours.”
    “We’ll never find them again,” Ren whispered.
    “They’ve only had one day to secure a ship. The guns might still be here.” Eldest reached over to the gun rack and took down a rifle. “If they are, we can stop them.”
    The other Whistlers took this as a signal and armed themselves, down to the little ones, excluding only the boys. For one panicked moment, Ren thought she might have the whole clan ride out with her. Eldest Whistler, however, motioned to the middle and youngest sets of Whistler sisters to put up their rifles, with a firm, “You stay here and guard the boys and Princess Odelia.”
    “You don’t have to come.” The Queens Justice’s opinion aside, Ren wasn’t sure the farmers were up to riding with her guard.
    “I’ve spent my whole life learning how to fight,” Eldest stated. “Once in my life, it would be good to actually ride out to battle. I don’t think the chance to ride in the Princesses’ Guard will come around twice.”
    Certainly, it would help to have someone who knew the lay of the land to guide them.
    “Glad to have you, then,” Ren said, and earned a wide grin from the woman.
    They surged out of the house, carried along in a wave of excited, and thankfully now unarmed, children. While saddling their horses, Ren caught sight of Jerin helping his older sisters saddle up. He moved with assurance among the horses, handling the bridles and saddles with ease. As she watched, he kneed a black mare in the middle to make her suck in her stomach. He clinched the saddle girth tight, tied it, and then looked up to meet Ren’s gaze.
    He wanted her. She knew the look now, having seen the physical evidence of his desire paired before with his level blue gaze. Just knowing that he wanted her did magic to her body. She dropped her eyes before anyone noticed the exchange. The Whistlers would not be so happy to ride beside her if they knew what she had done with their little brother in the kitchen.
    Suddenly the idea of them at her back with rifles did not seem so wise. She glanced at Eldest Whistler, wondering if this was an exercise in revenge.
    You’re crazy , Ren told herself as she swung up into her saddle. Eldest just rode in. She wasn’t here to witness anything. You’ve heard everything that everyone had to say to her .
    Then she remembered Corelle darting up to her oldest sister, earnestly pouring out some story. Eldest’s flash of anger could have been toward a lax sister making excuses—or at the news their brother had been compromised.
    Ren scanned the milling women and children for Corelle. The middle sister stood by the padlock’s gate, holding it open as riders were already trotting through. As if sensing Ren’s gaze, Corelle turned toward her as she rode up to the gate. Cool, calculating resentment filled the girl’s face.
    She knows.
    Ren kept her face passive as she rode past, and tried to ignore the itch between her shoulder blades. Had Corelle told Eldest? Was she riding into a trap?
     
    If the Whistlers fought the way they rode, it was no wonder they won the war.
    Showing little evidence that they had ridden all night, the Whistlers led cross-country, over fences and creeks, with seemingly reckless abandon. When one watched, though, not one horse so much as stumbled. Ren wondered if they were attempting an extremely subtle form of assassination: ride out with the princess and let her break her own neck trying to keep up.
    The last mile they cut through rows of shoulder-high corn, the leaves cutting and grabbing at both sides, and came out onto a dirt path. Fresh wagon tracks crushed the grass growing on either side of the path. The path ran along the cornfield and, a half mile farther down, dipped into woods. The river was near enough to smell over the bruised corn and the hot horses.
    The Whistlers dismounted, tied off their horses, and went silent as wolves into the woods. Ren wanted to follow, but she knew her own value. Her life wasn’t worth the capture of the cannons. There too was the niggling thought that the small woodlot would be a perfect ambush