Last Watch

Something nudged Atalanta’s side.

“Dammit. Not with your foot,” she muttered.

“Cursing doesn’t really suit you.”

Atalanta opened her eyes to find Artemis standing over her, a hooded lamp glowing softly in one hand.

“You get the last watch.”

Atalanta accepted the lamp. “Anything?”

Artemis shook her head. “No. It’s been quiet.” Her gaze drifted toward the far end of the platform. “The Lionheart’s asleep.”

“What do you think of him?”

“He’s got a few inches on you.” Artemis shrugged. “And thirty pounds besides. Best guess is that you might last half a minute.”

Atalanta frowned. “Then what’s the point?”

A faint smile tugged at Artemis’s lips. “I don’t need half a minute.”

She stretched out on the deck, using a rolled blanket as a pillow. “Freckles is asleep between us and the wagon.”

Atalanta glanced over.

Daphne lay curled beneath the oversized tunic the peddler had loaned her, fast asleep beside Zephyr. One small hand rested against the mare’s foreleg.

Atalanta smiled. “Sleep well.”

Artemis was already closing her eyes. “Don’t fall asleep.”

Silence settled over the platform.

Atalanta crossed to Goliath, hanging the lamp from a wooden post before running a hand down the stallion’s neck.

“How are you doing, Goliath?”

The great horse flicked an ear toward her.

She picked up a stiff brush and worked it through his dark coat in long, steady strokes.

“Sorry. I haven’t been able to run you hard.”

Goliath snorted.

“Oh, don’t give me that.”

She scratched beneath his mane. “I‘ve been working.”

The stallion nudged her shoulder.

“It was Artemis and Zephyr who got to run along the shore.”

Another snort.

Atalanta laughed quietly. “I know.”

She brushed another long stroke along his shoulder. “Next time it’ll be our turn.”

When his coat shone in the lamplight, she tossed the brush into a leather bag.

Atalanta found a spot to sit and stared out across the lake. She saw the lamps from the other ferries but little else.

“Not even a moon tonight.”

She leaned back and searched the heavens, tracing familiar constellations among countless stars.

The water lapped softly against the floating ferry.

Peaceful.

She closed her eyes.

A gull called overhead.

Atalanta’s eyes snapped open.

Morning light spilled across the lake.

No…

I fell asleep.

Artemis is going to have words.

She hurried over to where her sister had been sleeping.

She’s still asleep.

Good.

I don’t have to explain.

Atalanta looked toward the horses.

Zephyr stood quietly, lazily swishing her tail. Goliath lifted his head.

But…

Where’s Daphne?

Her heart pounded. She tried to calm herself. She probably wandered off to stretch her legs.

Atalanta strode quickly across the ferry.

Then she stopped.

At the far end of the platform sat a broad-shouldered man beside Daphne.

Atalanta didn’t pause to think—her hand flew to her sword.

She drew it.

Daphne looked up and beamed. “Oh! Good morning, Atalanta!”

“What—”

Only then did Atalanta notice the open book.

“You were asleep,” Daphne explained cheerfully. “So I decided to get started without you.” She looked back at the stranger. “She gets grouchy when people wake her up.”

The man turned toward Atalanta.

Artemis hadn’t exaggerated.

Though dressed only in a loose white shirt, he was broader than most men Atalanta had seen wearing armor. Even seated, he carried himself differently from ordinary warriors. His posture was balanced, relaxed, ready.

Only Daphne’s easy smile kept Atalanta from acting on instinct.

His dark eyes met hers without the slightest trace of fear. His sword rested at his hip, but he made no move to draw it.

Instead, he rose slowly to his feet, leaving both hands plainly in view.

Daphne remained seated beside him, the open book resting across her lap.

“I don’t much care for mornings myself,” he said with an easy smile. “But perhaps you could sheath the sword?”

“What are you doing here?”

“He was helping me read,” Daphne chirped. “He’s really good at it.”

The knight nodded toward the book. “Words of the Mothers.” He smiled faintly. “It’s been a few years.”

He smiled at Daphne before looking back to Atalanta. “Is she your daughter?”

“She is under my protection.”

“I see.” He inclined his head. “I meant the child no harm. I saw the book and she asked if I knew one of the words.”

“I asked him what this one meant,” Daphne added, pointing to the page.

After a long moment, Atalanta lowered her sword and slid it back into its scabbard. “Daphne.”

“Yes?”

“It’s time to go.”

Daphne hopped to her feet. “Thank you, Sir Donavan.”

“You’re welcome, Miss Daphne.” He smiled warmly. “If you’d like to go fishing later, you know where to find me.”

Daphne turned toward Atalanta, eyes shining. “Fishing! Can we?”

Atalanta glanced once more at Sir Donavan.

He simply stood where he was, making no attempt to approach.

“It’s time to go.”

Daphne looked to Atalanta as they walked. “You’re angry.”

“I’m not angry—I’m concerned. You need to be more careful.”

“Careful of what?”

“Careful of everything. There are bad people—”

“I know. Bandits.”

“Not just bandits. Not just people with swords.” Atalanta looked ahead. “Some people seem nice. Men, women...”

Daphne tilted her head. “I should be afraid?”

“Yes.”

Atalanta stopped.

Then she shook her head. “No… not exactly.”

Daphne walked without answering. Atalanta could no longer read her expression. 

“I don’t want you to get hurt.”

Daphne hugged the book against her chest. “Warriors don’t feel fear.”

“You are not a warrior,” Atalanta said gently. “And warriors do feel fear. We keep it close, but we don’t let it rule us.”

“So I should be afraid of Sir Lionheart?”

“I—”

“Are you?”

Atalanta hesitated. “Yes.”

“Those were wise words, sister.”

Atalanta turned.

Artemis stepped out from behind the wagon and fell into step beside them.

“How long?”

“Long enough to be impressed.”

Atalanta looked away. “Well, thank you, I guess.”

The three walked together.

“But you left out the most important parts.”

Atalanta and Daphne waited.

“You know…the part about not accepting pinemead from strange women in taverns.”

Atalanta’s face turned pink.

“Artemis.”

“Or the part about not falling asleep while you’re on watch.”

“Please stop.”

Artemis laughed quietly. “Fine. I suppose you’ve suffered enough.”

Daphne looked between them. “What is pinemead?”

Atalanta groaned. “Just drink water.”

Artemis leaned against the railing, smiling. “So, Freckles, you’ve met our Sir Donavan. What do you think?”

“He’s nice,” Daphne said immediately. “He helped me read. And he wants to go fishing.”

She looked up at Atalanta hopefully. “Can we?”

Atalanta sighed. “Did you listen to anything I said?”

“I think fishing is a wonderful idea,” Artemis said.

Atalanta turned. “What?”

Artemis shrugged. “There’s not much to do, not much to eat, and I like to fish.”

“But he—”

“There’s no avoiding him now.”

A faint smile appeared on Artemis’s face “Besides…”

She looked to the back of the ferry. “He’s easy on the eyes.”

Daphne blinked. “Easy on the eyes?”