Father lets go of me, and then it’s my mother’s turn. “Take care of yourself,” she whispers, and her words make me remember a similar conversation with Braeton from not so long ago.
My eyes begin to sting again, but I choke back the emotion. “I will,” I swear.
“You have the map?” Father asks Gage, giving him the last of his instructions.
Our newly acquired properties are marked on it, places where we can stay while we’re visiting an area, as well as family members’ estates and banks to withdraw money. Anything and everything we need is on that map.
I’m terrified we’re going to lose it.
I turn to Kess. Whispering the words so no one will hear me, I say, “I’m so sorry.”
My friend clasps my hand. “I will wait a hundred years to marry Gage if I must. Just…take care of him for me. Make sure he eats enough. Maim any sweet young things who dare flirt with him.”
I smile, trying not to laugh when she’s in so much pain. Kess jokes, but she’s hurting more than she wants me to know.
“I’ll make sure he writes too,” I promise.
She nods, pressing her lips together. Her chin begins to quiver, and she dabs at her eyes with her knuckles. “Oh, look at me. I told myself I wouldn’t do this.”
“At least they’re pretty tears,” I assure her.
Unlike the messy, chaotic ones I cried in front of Rhys.
My mind wanders back to that evening. It’s been several weeks since we met, and I haven’t seen him since. Once, I even sneaked into the city and strolled the streets, hoping to spot him.
It’s a little embarrassing now that I think of it. He’s probably already forgotten me. I’ll just be that strange girl he’ll think of every once in a while when he passes an orchard.
When Gage is finished speaking with Father, he turns to Kess. She forces a sunny smile, the kind that says she’s proud of him—that she’ll be brave—and she lets him hug her. They’ve already said their private goodbyes, but these are the last.
I look away, feeling like an intruder.
“Are you ready?” Gage asks once we’re on our horses—our perfectly ordinary, not royal-bred horses.
I nod. With a wave goodbye, we leave the castle grounds through the back entrance and enter the city streets. Ember trots along beside us, happy to stay with the horses.
Everything I can bring with me is in my saddlebags. It’s not much—a few dresses, a chemise, a pair of trousers, and one of Keir’s old shirts. I have no idea what I might need, and I feel wholly unprepared.
I glance over my shoulder, taking in Kenrow and the castle that towers over the city. It’s hard to imagine I won’t see it for another year.
What was Braeton feeling when he left the city behind? Was he exhilarated? Nervous?
I’ll never know.
It’s now been more than a month since he passed. It still hurts, but the pain isn’t as sharp. Perhaps I’ve pushed it aside to selfishly worry about my own problems. I hope that’s not it; it seems a poor way to honor him.
It would be a lie to say I’m not a little excited. For the first time in my life, I get to live. But it’s terrifying as well, and my freedom is laced with a crushing amount of responsibility and heartache.
We’re about an hour out of the city when a rider approaches us from behind, moving quickly. A touch uneasy, I coax my mare to the side of the road. Where is the rider off to in such a hurry?
And then I recognize him. Ember barks, excited, and races forward.
“Keir,” I breathe when my brother jerks his horse to a stop and leaps from the stallion’s back.
I dismount quickly, nearly falling on my nose when my boot gets caught in the stirrup.
“You came,” I say.
My younger brother strides to me and hugs me almost as tightly as Father. “I’m sorry,” he says when he lets me go. “None of this is your fault.”
“It’s all right,” I murmur.
“Be careful, all right?” He looks at Gage. “You too.”
“I will watch over her,” Gage swears.
Keir forces a smile, and it hits me how grown up he looks. It should be him on the throne—it truly should.
I feel like I’ve robbed this from him.
“Where are you headed?” he asks.
“We should arrive in Kippert by morning,” Gage answers. “We’ll stay a few days there, and then we’ll head through Talton to Saulette.”
I add, “I want to see the Forest of Firelight that Braeton spoke of in his letter.”
Keir rolls his eyes, snorting like he doesn’t believe it exists. His expression softens when he meets my eyes. “Do what you will, and go where you please, but be cautious.”
“We will be,” Gage answers.
Keir turns back to me, looking like he wants to come with us more than anything. I understand that desire—I would have joined Braeton in a heartbeat if Father had given me permission.
“You should get moving,” he reluctantly says. “You have a long ride ahead of you.”
And I’m already exhausted. Knowing we’d be up most of the night, I tried to nap earlier, but I had no luck. My mind was racing.
I hug my brother one last time, promising to write. He gives me a rare, affectionate smile, and then he mounts his horse and rides into the night, leaving Gage and me alone once more.
Suddenly, it’s so still and quiet, I almost wonder if I imagined seeing him at all.
“Keir is right—it’s a long ride to Kippert,” Gage says. “We should get moving.”
Gage and I continue north, arriving in the village just as the eastern sky begins to lighten with the impending dawn.
I lean forward when we stop outside an inn and rest my forehead against the mare’s scratchy mane, realizing I don’t even know her name. My own horse rests in her stall at home, about to get her morning ration of grain.
Ember flops onto a patch of grass, exhausted. Even though we weren’t in a hurry, and I gave her several breaks, she’s never done a distance this long before.
Gage speaks with a boy about the horses, and I listen idly, nearly asleep.
“Come on down.” Gage offers me his hand. “You look exhausted.”
“I can’t move,” I moan.
“That’s certainly a problem. I suppose you’ll have to sleep in the stable atop your horse.”
Groaning out a laugh, I drop to the ground. I’ll get as much sympathy from Gage as I would Braeton. I stretch my back while studying the inn in the early morning light.
There’s no house in Kippert marked on the map, so we’re here for the next day or so. The building is stone, and the roof is covered in wooden shingles. Bare roses cling to the western side of the structure. It’s too early for flowers, but I can’t help but wonder what color they’ll be when they bloom.
It’s rather darling, in a quaint sort of way. I’ve never stayed at an inn.
“What do you think?” Gage asks, coming up to stand beside me. “Can we manage it for a night or two?”
“I’m too exhausted to care.”
The boy takes our horses, and I clip a lead onto Ember’s collar.
“She’ll have to stay in the stable.” The boy jerks his chin at Ember when I turn toward the entrance. “The innkeeper doesn’t allow dogs.”
I glance down at Ember. “She can’t go inside?”
“Sorry,” he says with a shrug, though it doesn’t look like he cares all that much. It’s early, and he’d rather be in bed.
Gage touches my arm, silently asking me not to fuss. Yes, if they knew who I was, they’d likely trip all over themselves to accommodate me…but it seems wrong to toss around a title just to get my way, especially when it’s safer to stay quiet.
“Go on then,” I say to Ember, freeing her. “Mind your manners.”
The wolfdog is too busy taking in the new smells and sights to care all that much. When the boy whistles for her, she rushes to follow.
“I’ve never seen a dog so loy
al,” Gage teases. “Look at her, mourning the separation already.”
I give him a wry smile and then head up the steps. Gage makes arrangements as I look around.
A fire crackles in the hearth, making the room almost too warm even though the shutters are open. There’s a bench along the wall, and a few upholstered chairs are placed in front of the fire. One holds a slumbering black and white cat—who very well might be the reason dogs aren’t allowed inside.
I take it all in, bemused. The floors are worn and scratched, but they’re clean. A round woven rug lies atop them, and a vase of early wildflowers rests on a table.
Gage finishes and comes to my side. “I’ll bring in our packs. You’ll be all right for a moment?”
I nod.
“This way,” the gray-haired hostess says when she’s done speaking with Gage. She grasps hold of my elbow and tugs me after her. “I’ll take you to your room, and then I’ll show you around.”
I blink at her, my mouth dropping open, startled by her manner. And then I remember she has no idea who I am.
“Here we are,” she says after she steers me up the flight of stairs and leads me down a narrow hallway that’s lined with several doors. She pulls a brass key from a sturdy ring, flips through them all, and then fits one into the lock. She then pushes the door open, revealing the room. “It’s too early in the season for many travelers, especially the ladies, so you’ll have the room to yourself.”
I stare inside, and my eyebrows go up. The bed is tiny. It boasts no more than one flat pillow and a patchwork quilt. The room is so narrow, I could stretch my arms out and almost touch either side. Even calling it a room seems like an exaggeration—it’s more of a cupboard with a window.
There’s a tiny table to my immediate right. The space is so cramped, there’s only space for one squatty stool that tucks underneath it.
How in the world could she expect more than one person to share?
“Thank you,” I murmur.
“The door locks from the inside,” she says, standing in the doorway. “Make sure you set it at night.”
“Of course.”
“The last girl who stayed in this room…poor dear. Well, now, I don’t want to scare you, so we won’t speak of it.”
My face must show my horror because she purses her lips, looking as though she regrets adding that last bit. Fortunately, she doesn’t wait for a response.
“Come along.” Once more, she takes my arm and leads me down the stairs, through the front room, and down a short hallway that leads to a back door. We step outside, and she points to a tiny building that looks like it’s about to fall over. “That’s the privy there.”
Good heavens.
She then points to a second shack, this one slightly larger. “And that’s our bathhouse. I’ll heat water tonight. Since you’re the only woman staying, you can have the first bath of the evening.”
I blink. “First…bath?”
“I’m not going to go heating water separately for each one of you, now am I?” She laughs like I’ve made a joke. “You’re fortunate to show up on a bath day at all.”
It’s at this moment, the door to the privy opens, and a balding, middle-aged man walks out. He’s covered in grime, and I swear a cloud of dust poofs around him with every step he takes. He sees us and tips his cap, giving us a cheeky grin. “Morning, ladies.”
Unbidden, my hand rises to my mouth, and I hold in a mew of distress.
“Good morning, Stanley.” Unconcerned, the innkeeper steers me back inside. “He helps out about the place.”
I manage a nod.
“Now, when you get hungry, you go to The Spotted Pumpkin. Silvie serves a right decent venison stew for supper. But listen now, listen, if you walk in and she says she’s trying a new recipe, you just walk right out.”
I almost hate to ask. “Why…?”
Ignoring me, the woman continues, “Stay clear of Rudger’s shop—not only will he attempt to swindle you, but he’ll leer at you while he’s doing it. He’s a pig, that man. Oh, and don’t go into Natgan’s tavern at all—you understand? Stay clear of Natgan’s.”
I nod dumbly.
“If you’re looking for a bit of extra money and are decent with a needle, see Petra. She’s been complaining something awful since her apprentice ran off with that young man—what was his name again?”
I feel as though I’ve been caught by a wave and swept out to sea. “I…I don’t know—”
“Haddler! That’s it.” She nods to herself, and then she turns to me, her eyes brightening. “Have you heard that bit of gossip yet?”
Unable to help myself, I say, “Only that he ran off with Petra’s apprentice.”
“So, you are familiar with it!”
A slightly hysterical laugh escapes me. What have I gotten myself into?
No—what has Father gotten me into?
“Amalia.” Gage steps into the front room, rescuing me and not even knowing it. “Why are you still up? You must be dead on your feet. Go, get some rest.”
I turn to our hostess and give her a respectful nod. “Thank you for showing me…around.”
She beams at me. “If you need anything, dear, you let me know.”
As I walk down the hall to my room, I meet a young man leaving. He’s not old, likely around Keir’s age. When our eyes meet, he gives me a smile.
“Mother didn’t scare you off?” he asks warmly.
I pause, unsure how to answer. After a second, I answer, “She has a flair for the dramatic.”
He’s nice-looking, with blond hair and an easy way about him—far less intense than his mother.
“My name is Evan if you need anything.” He bows his head as he passes. “Enjoy your stay.”
“Wait,” I command, and then I wince at my tone. I can’t order people around like this, not here.
He turns back and raises his brows expectantly.
“What…what happened to the girl in the room down the hall?” I ask quietly, still a bit spooked.
He winces. “Ah, that. An inebriated man mistook her room for his.”
“Oh…”
“The man apologized, but the young woman was not impressed.” A grin flashes across his face, but he quickly controls it. “Neither was the man’s wife.”
“The way she spoke…I thought the poor girl was murdered.”
“No, it was nothing like that.” He turns to leave, but then he looks back, his eyes traveling over me in a way that takes me off guard. “Don’t worry; I’ll keep an eye on you while you’re here.”
I don’t find that sentiment as comforting as he might hope.
9
Amalia went to the inn, but I can’t follow her in broad daylight. I have a plan, and it doesn’t involve meeting her again this soon.
Needing to kill time, I push through the door of a local tavern. The sign hanging from the eaves reads, “Natgan’s.”
I grimace as soon as I step inside. The place is dark, filthy, and it smells of stale ale. It’s early in the day, so most of the tables are empty. I sit at one in a corner and nod toward the barman, requesting service.
“What’ll it be?” he asks when he comes over.
After I order, I idly listen to a trio at the bar boast about things that aren’t bragworthy. They’re young, likely not even past twenty years of age, and nothing about them seems remarkable.
Perhaps I’m prejudiced, however. I can’t say I’ve ever met a Renovian I’m fond of.
Inconveniently, a memory of Amalia leaps into my mind. Groaning out a sigh, I close my eyes and clear my head.
I don’t like her, and I can’t respect her. She’s weak, naïve, too trusting, and entirely too helpless. And yes, all those things aggravate me more than they should. As I’m coming to terms with the fact, yet again, that the princess is going to be a thorn in my side, I overhear something I wish I hadn’t.
“She’s gorgeous,” one of them says after mentioning the young woman who arrived at the inn this morn
ing. “Long brown hair, dark eyelashes, pink cheeks.”
“Who cares about her face?” one of them quips, making me grind my teeth.
The boy telling the story laughs. “Believe me, the rest of her is just as tempting. They’ll pay a lot for this one.”
They go on to speak of the women they’ve sold to a man in Brecklin, and I clench my hand into a fist. Apparently, they’re auctioned off to men who want pretty young wives or mistresses.
What vile business is this?
“Is she traveling alone?” the third boy of their party asks, his tone far too eager.
“With her brother,” the first boy answers. “But they’re in separate rooms, so it won’t be hard to get her alone.”
“How long is she here?”
“A night or two.”
The third boy laughs. “You’ll have to work fast.”
The barman sets my drink in front of me with a thump. Momentarily startled, I turn to him, tossing him a coin. I’m not even sure what it is, but it must be enough because he leaves.
Full of bravado, the first boy extends his arms wide. “When have I ever failed?”
They laugh and jeer, and I’m so angry, I nearly bust the handle off the ceramic mug. I finish my drink and leave the tavern, in a fouler mood than when I came.
There’s a chance they weren’t speaking of Amalia.
Maybe there’s another beautiful girl with long, brown hair who’s staying at the inn with her brother for the night.
I pause on the street, resisting the urge to return inside.
Why is this girl such a headache? If the princess is not looking for trouble, it seems it’s looking for her.
But her cousin can handle the boy—there’s no reason to get involved. The time isn’t right, and I’m not going to ruin everything by acting rashly.
I wait in the shadows behind the shack that’s parading as a bathhouse, feeling like a criminal. I’m not sure why I’m bothering to stand guard. There’s no possible way Amalia is going to come out here.
The young man from the bar hauls hot water from the nearby fire, prepping the tub within.
Excluding the fire, the only light comes from a lantern on the back step. Its candle flickers, not terribly effective at chasing away the darkness of the night, which isn’t necessarily a bad thing since I’m making use of the shadows.
Forest of Firelight Page 5