Free Young Warriors by Tamora Pierce Page A

it would be better to be dead,” Ada said to no one in particular.
    It was fully dark when she stumbled back to the campsite. Most of the men were sleeping on their pallets of rushes, but a few still argued over dice beside dying fires. As Ada approached her own blankets, she saw that one of the Baron’s men was waiting for her. Her eye was drawn to where his red beard was split by a scar that ran from his chin to his ear.
    â€œYou’ve cheated us out of a prisoner, is that correct?”
    â€œNo,” Ada lied automatically. She’d seen a girl hanged for stealing a silver cup and did not want to join her.
    He snorted. Without warning, he seized her sash and ripped it. Her knife tumbled out, along with a few copper coins and the knight’s signet ring.
    The man leaned down and picked up the ring from the dirt.
    â€œI found it,” she said hurriedly.
    â€œThat old hag said different.” He shrugged. “Where is the owner of this ring?”
    â€œDead. Clarisse found it on him, but I scratched her and took it. She means to repay me with trouble.”
    He grabbed hold of her hair and pulled her close to him. She could smell the onions on his breath and the rot of his teeth. “His body isn’t on the field. Do you know who this belongs to, slattern? You’ve hidden the Count’s son. The Baron wants a corpse by dawn.”
    She had known as much, but somehow had failed to comprehend the import of it. After all, what would it matter if Julian were the King himself when even a common man-at-arms was so far above her?
    â€œHe’s in a root cellar in the village.” She was pleased, just then, that she didn’t have a heart to trouble her.
    The man let go of Ada’s hair, and she fell to her knees. He rested the heel of his boot against her throat. She felt her pendant of bone pressing against her skin and knew that it could crack along with her neck. She would die. But still she could not really be afraid.
    â€œHe’s alone?” the man demanded.
    â€œYes,” she gasped.
    He removed his foot and she gulped breaths of air.
    â€œGet up,” he said. “You’ll be taking me to him.”
    Ada pushed herself to her feet and allowed him to lead her to his horse. The dappled gray courser was chewing on the rope that secured it to a post. She noticed that it had already been saddled and that the man had strapped a sword and a crossbow to the leather belts across its rump. It did not lift its white muzzle as she fitted her wooden shoe into one stirrup and hauled herself onto its back.
    The man laughed as he untied the horse and then swung up behind her, pushing his body against her back lewdly.
    â€œThrough the battlefield,” she said.
    â€œVery well, then.” One of his hands held the reins, but the other snaked around to cup her breast. She knew that should disturb her, but the voice that told her why seemed so distant.
    â€œWhat did he promise you?” the man asked. “Gold? Riches? A tumble?”
    â€œNothing,” she said, with a shake of her head.
    â€œYou’re a cold one,” he said. His fingers dug painfully into her breast, kneading it. She winced. “Or a bit simple.
    â€œOr maybe I’m mistaken. Maybe you’re one of the Count’s women, a spy. What do you think I would make of that?”
    She shook her head again, as though she
were
simple and didn’t understand him. She considered what would happen when Julian was dead and she was alone in the house with the man-at-arms. Would he kill her? She imagined him heating up her mother’s old fire-tongs to find out for himself if she was a spy. She imagined other things. And still she was numb to dread.
    Did she really care for nothing, not even herself?
    Ada noticed the lack of a heart in a way she had not before. She pushed around her thoughts like a child pushing her tongue into the sore space left by a missing tooth.
    â€œI know a cure for