Crown of Three by J. D. Rinehart Page B

looked frantically for an escape route, but the forest was as pathless as ever. The trees loomed, trapping her with this sudden stranger.
    Then she saw it wasn’t quite a man, but a boy about her own age. Beneath the dirt, the line of his jaw was smooth and, perhaps, handsome.
    He looked as shocked as she felt.
    Elodie took a deep breath, then another. Slowly and deliberately, she smoothed her hands down her dress and over her hair, which had fallen from its braids and hung tangled around her face. What must she look like?
    â€œWill you help me?” she said, still gasping a little for breath.
    The boy said nothing.
    â€œI was taken by the people who call themselves Trident. Do you know them? I’ve . . . decided to leave. I want to go to Ritherlee. Can you show me the way?”
    Elodie bit her tongue. Had she said too much? Yet the boy’s face was kind.
    At last the boy spoke. “I cannot leave the woods,” he said. His voice was thin and somehow musical.
    â€œOh.” It wasn’t the response Elodie had expected. “Why not?”
    â€œI cannot leave the woods, but you may stay. I will protect you.” He bowed, lowering his curly head.
    A single gust of wind blew down through the trees, cutting through the tattered remnants of Elodie’s dress. She shivered.
    â€œI suppose I should wait until morning,” she said.
    â€œI will protect you,” the boy repeated. “My name is Samial.”
    â€œI’m Elodie.”
    â€œPlease, follow me.”
    Samial turned and began to walk toward a cluster of willow trees. Elodie followed, grateful to have found a friend in such a dreadful place. Someone who treated her as she deserved, even though he couldn’t possibly know who she was.
    â€œDo you live here in the woods?” she said as she followed the boy. He moved effortlessly through the trees, almost seeming to glide, finding a path where Elodie was certain no path existed. Best of all, as long as she remained in his footsteps, the trees didn’t snare her anymore, as if they knew to keep their distance.
    â€œI am here with my knight,” Samial replied. “I am squire to Sir Jaken. My lord fought under the banner of King Morlon in the War of Blood, many years ago. He and the others of his banner have remained here ever since.” Elodie knew what had happened only too well; the Thousand Year War, of which the War of Blood was just a part, had been one of her tutor’s favorite lessons. Elodie was revolted by the story of how her father had killed his own brother, King Morlon, and stolen the crown of Toronia.
    She looked around, seeing the trees in a whole new light. Could this dismal forest really be home to a banner of venerable knights opposed to King Brutan? The War of Blood might have been fifteen years ago, but such a force would still be far more impressive than Fessan’s motley tribe.
    â€œHow long have you been with Sir Jaken?” she asked. “Since I was eleven,” Samial replied. “Sir Jaken’s home lies in Idilliam. As long as Brutan remains on the throne, he can never go home. And nor can I.”
    The romance of it made Elodie smile. A boy squired to an exiled knight! What was more, if Sir Jaken and his banner hated Brutan so much, surely they would fight for her. I’d much rather have them on my side than stupid Trident .
    She was about to ask more, but at that moment Samial jumped down a bank onto a wide track running between the trees. He looked up, holding out his hand to help her down, and on his face was a look of such sadness that she stilled her tongue.
    She reached out for him, but to her surprise he snatched his hand away again before she could touch it.
    â€œWhat is it?” she asked, scrambling down the bank herself. He was far ahead now, a lonely figure slipping from one shadow to the next, like a character from a romantic story of old.
    â€œNo matter,” he said in his lilting