CHAPTER NINEThe road wound higher and higher into the mountains. Sometimes it ran through thick forest of pine, where all that could be heard was the grind of the carriage wheels and the tramp of the horse’s hooves. Sometimes it crossed stone bridges where all that could be seen below, far below, was a swift ribbon of water. More often it clung to the side of sheer rock, with nothing but a dizzying chasm for Jacina to look out on.
Now and then the horses slipped on the hard, icy road and for a terrifying moment the coach would begin to slide backwards. Then the coachman would crack his whip and cry “hoi hoi hoi”. The horses would strain harder in their harness and the coach would move on.
The air grew sharper and colder. Jacina was glad of the heavy cloak, unflattering as it might be. Sh
