by Rowan, Cate
Alvarr dismounted with an ease that mocked her and uttered a noise suspiciously like a chuckle smothered by a cough. She shot him a death-glare.
He undid a flap of his saddlebag and rummaged for a moment before withdrawing a small silver tub. “Here,” he said, voice gruff with restrained laughter. “Put some of this where you’re sore. It’ll ease the pain.”
After another spiked glance warning him about any more amusement at her expense, she plucked the tub from his palm.
He loosened Blerra’s girth. “I’ll take care of the fydds. When you’re done with the salve, you’ll find fresh cheese, dried fruit and meatrolls in my saddlebags. Feel free to set up camp—if you’re able.”
“Of course I’m able.”
His lips pressed together as if quashing a smile. “Fine. We’ll use our cloaks as bedrolls, and your pack has everything else we’ll need.” His deft hands unsaddled Halbeth and then he led both fydds away.
Jilian found herself glad she’d had experience camping with her mother in the Sierra Nevada mountains. Even here in this strange new world, there was a familiarity about the process of setting up camp that soothed her, though memories of those trips and her laughing mother tugged at her heart. Fortunately, with cold meatrolls for dinner, no cooking was needed, and little talking.
Still, the ongoing silence between her and Alvarr got on her nerves, even though she was equally at fault. She was grateful to crawl into the warmth of her heavy cloak, which she’d carefully placed a good five feet from his for mental comfort.
The prince settled into his own cloak and turned his back to her. She felt relieved…and ignored. Annoyed at herself, she rolled to face away from him. What’s your problem, Jil? You already know not to get involved.
She shut her eyes, and after far too long pretending she wasn’t alone in the middle of nowhere with a sexy, annoying man, she drifted into sleep.
Alvarr’s brusque shakes at dawn pulled Jilian from formless dreams. She peered out grumpily from beneath the cloak’s hood and watched her breath frost in the frigid air. Alvarr turned away.
Yawning, she tried to sit up, but her stiff and aching body felt like she’d died in the night and hit rigor mortis.
Under the voluminous cover of her cloak, Jilian applied more salve to her sore muscles. Alvarr ignored her wrigglings, his expression inscrutable as he packed up their camp. They saddled up and returned to the ascending path.
Despite the biting temperature of the morning, the sun shone merrily, and that seemed a promising omen. Every step the fydds took might be bringing her closer to her mother’s recovery. If only the steps didn’t torture me so much. She eased her weight from one buttock to the other and tried not to wince.
When the early chill wore off, she removed her cloak and lashed it to her saddle. Soon Halbeth’s rhythmic plodding and the sun’s rays relaxed her. As they rode a smooth section of the trail, her eyelids drooped closed. She pinched herself awake, not wanting to fall asleep on a moving animal. With a sigh into the silence, she watched the round-leafed trees sway in a mercurial breeze.
A whiz of black streaked past her eye and jerked her from her hypnotic state. A bird landed on Halbeth’s neck mere inches from his ears. The fydd didn’t seem to notice, or care. The bird’s feathers held an iridescent sheen. It looked at Jilian and cocked its head.
She chuckled. “I’m sorry, I don’t have any food for you.”
“That’s quite all right,” said the bird. “I just wanted to see you better.”
Jilian nearly jumped out of her borrowed trousers.
Alvarr twisted to look at the speaker, then laughed and pulled his fydd closer. “Kalen! Well met.”
“And greetings to you, Your Highness. You haven’t traveled in a long while.” The bird’s voice was papery thin, like crackling autumn leaves.
“I see my disguise didn’t fool you.”
“I’d know your scent anywhere.”
It’s talking, Jilian thought. The bird is talking.
Birds can smell?
Alvarr gave the feathered creature a conspiratorial wink. “Don’t tell on me.”
“Never, my liege. And who have we here?” Kalen hopped down the fydd’s neck toward her.
“I’m Jilian.” And I’m talking with a bird. She found herself blinking stupidly.
Kalen paused just before the saddle. “Jilian. A pretty name for a pretty lady.”
“Um…thank you.”
The prince chuckled. “Always the charmer, eh, Kalen?”
“You should talk,” the bird retorted.
Alvarr looked mildly put out.
Kalen cocked his head again. “Pretty Jilian, may I come a bit closer?”
“Oh. Er, of course.”
The bird flew to her right shoulder; somehow she managed not to flinch. His short talons punctured ever so lightly through her tunic like a purring cat flexing its claws.
She turned to look at him, but he was so close that she had to crane her head back to see him properly. She faced front again. From the corner of her eyes, she saw his talons shine like burnished copper.
“Kalen,” she began, bemused, “where I live, birds can’t talk. You’re the first I’ve ever heard.”
“Are you sure of that?”
“Well, I thought I was…”
“Maybe they say things all the time, but you just don’t understand them.”
“Huh. Maybe so.” I’m having a philosophical discussion with a bird. A flirting bird. Someone take a video of this.
Kalen began to whistle. She fought to keep her eyes from bulging. “Have you…ah…always been a bird?”
“What else would I be?”
“I’m not sure. But Alvarr turned six men into these…little animals with bare tails.” She heard Alvarr guffaw and shot him a scowl.
“You want to know if I’ve been shape-changed? You think I was human?” The bird snorted, his head twisting almost as if he sneezed. “Glad to say no! I’ve merely befriended a few humans.” He raised his crinkly voice. “Although some of them tend to forget me, and never visit.”
Alvarr harrumphed.
“I’m a jencel-bird,” Kalen told her. “My kind lives in the far north of Whiterim, but I was restless. After exploring many of the realms, I settled in Teganne. And when I met Alvarr—a funny story, really—”
Alvarr whipped around in his saddle, pinning Kalen with a freezing stare.
Kalen coughed.
“How exactly did you meet him?” Jilian asked sweetly, while giving Alvarr the evil eye.
After clearing his throat, Kalen peered at the prince. “Er, um, perhaps he should tell you himself. Someday.”
The prince straightened and stared determinedly ahead.
Kalen leaned his beak toward her ear and said in a loud stage whisper, “We’ll talk later.” Then he cackled at the prince’s sour face.
Not only am I talking to a bird, Jilian thought, best of all, he’s getting up Alvarr’s nose.
Kalen kept them merry company for a few more hours, then flew off for the night as they made camp in a cold clearing under the stars. The next morning, Jilian’s aching buttocks and legs still protested each swaying step, but she was prepared with the salve and managed to squelch her groans. She reminded herself this was all to save her mother’s life, and what was discomfort compared to that?
Up they climbed. The round-leafed forests of yesterday gave way to tall, dignified trees with darker, jagged leaves. The wind, too, turned solemn, smelling cleanly of mountain heights and apt to cascade over their faces and rake across uncovered skin.
A blur of wings and a crinkly laugh announced Kalen’s return. Jilian greeted him and he landed on her right shoulder. “How was your morning hunt?”
“The rularc seeds were delicious. Perfect crunchy texture, too.” He preened in obvious satisfaction.
Jilian smiled. “Really? Bring one back for me next time. I’ll try it.”
Before Kalen could answer, the prince spoke. “Rularc se
eds are poisonous to humans.”
She glanced at him, but he was looking mighty dour this morning. Preferring Kalen’s cheer, she turned back to the bird. “Never mind, then. But if you know of something that’s delicious and is fit for humans…”
“I’d be delighted.” Kalen inclined his head regally. “Meanwhile, have I told you of my adventures among the snowfolk of Whiterim?” He launched into the story with the air of a thespian enjoying center stage, and Jilian happily settled in for the entertainment.
Plodding on his fydd beside Kalen, Alvarr watched his two companions banter. It was obvious that Kalen was becoming infatuated with Jilian, and that irked him every bit as much as it amused him.
Restless now, he flicked his gaze to the thickets of olorin trees, the steeply rising hills around them, and the twitching ears of his mount. He leaned back in his saddle, longing for a solitary, arrow-quick gallop to clear his mind. He was out of sorts and short on patience, but a ride alone was out of the question.
At Jilian’s melodic laugh, he glanced over at the odd pair. Kalen’s head bobbed merrily as he held forth on his tale.
His gaze crept back to Jilian. The wind whipped her sable hair, tousling and toying with it. She laughed again at one of Kalen’s anecdotes and raised her head, baring her throat.
The bird looked very pleased with himself. Something in Alvarr growled.
He yanked his attention away and stared up the path. I’m jealous of a jencel-bird. The notion was so ludicrous that he should have been able to laugh it off—but instead he wanted to throttle his avian friend until Kalen’s inky feathers fell out.
What a fine mess, he thought. Really grand, Alvarr. Not only do you lust after a woman who could determine the fate of your people, she might be a liar who plans to abandon Teganne to Bhruic’s assaults.
Not to mention that she’s a Source, and thus forbidden to you by the Old Letters, the very foundations of your realm and reign. Oh yes, well done, O Prince.
And how proud your parents would be.
At that, ice raked down his spine.
Not true, he told himself. They’d realize I’m doing my best. But his free hand fisted on his thigh.
He glanced at Jilian again and allowed his thoughts to linger on her new necklace. His gaze traced the chain’s path from her nape to the front of her tunic, where the pendant lay hidden against her breasts.
The pendant was the symbol of her fealty, but damn it, he knew her vow hadn’t been fully given. The hesitation in her eyes had been as evident as Kalen’s current crush. He couldn’t trust her.
True, he was attracted to her. What of it? He’d been attracted to many women, and they to him. Nothing need come of it.
But none of the other women had been so dangerous to his goals.
A flutter of black wings drew Alvarr’s attention to Kalen’s departure. Jilian called out a goodbye and he hastily added his own.
She watched the bird circle up and disappear north through the treetops, then turned to Alvarr. “He told me of your escapades in Kad.” She flashed him a saucy smile.
The tightening in Alvarr’s groin was as quick as it was unwelcome. He ordered his body to stop reacting—to no avail. Thank Fate his tunic covered him. “Did he, now?”
Her lithe form swayed with her fydd’s steps. “He mentioned that fight you had with the emir’s guardsman. Very amusing.”
“Amusing? I was young and foolish and could have been killed. Though at least the guardsman ended up with a bucket on his head and his backside in the stream.”
“How odd. Kalen said it was you who got wet and wore the bucket.”
Outraged, Alvarr prepared to defend the truth, then he caught the teasing glint in Jilian’s eye and deflated. Mischievous, this one. He told himself to relax and attempted a grin. It felt rusty.
Another dozen steps up the trail, her gaze strayed to the scabbard of his sword. “When did you learn to fight?”
His hand went to the leather-bound hilt, which fit his palm like part of his own body. “I began at twelve.”
“I bet you practiced when you were younger though, didn’t you?” She smiled.
“No.”
“Really? Not with wooden swords, or broom handles, or something?”
His palm squeezed the hilt in memory. “My parents had forbidden me.”
“Why?”
“They felt my time would be better spent learning the ways of a mage and how to rule Teganne.”
“You disagreed?”
“Yes.” But it was too curt an answer. Just tell that part. It will pass the time.
He sighed and began. “When I was tested as a boy, it was clear I’d be powerful in the mystic arts. My parents wanted me to concentrate on that so I could join their Council as a mage to help guard and protect our people. But I believed a ruler should know how to wield a sword if he’s to properly command his soldiers and defend the realm.”
“So you defied your parents’ wishes? Did they catch you?”
He was silent for a moment. “I learned after they died.” And covertly, at first. Jonek, the new Captain of the Guard, had finally agreed to teach him. Alvarr had been little more than a stripling—but a persuasive one. Under Jonek’s experienced eye, he’d discovered how to power his blows from his hips, how to sense his opponents’ next move almost before a thought had formed.
Alvarr’s lip twitched as he remembered the day Thoren had caught him practicing in his room with his father’s ancient sword of state. He’d felt sure his great-uncle would combust and scorch Alvarr’s ears in the process. “Your parents wanted you to use the talent Fate gave you to become a great mage—not a common soldier whose brains turn to mush after being repeatedly hit in the head!”
Alvarr had instinctively entered his fighting stance, weight low and body ready to defend or charge. “To lead my people, I must know them! My men would lay their lives down for me—and they must trust I’d do the same for them, using magic or arms!”
Thoren threw up his hands. “If your parents were here…”
“They aren’t!” All the rage Alvarr had felt over his abandonment rushed to his throat. “They’re gone. They left me behind and can no longer advise me about what I should or should not do. I am the Prince now, and must rule my people, guided by my own mind and heart.”
Glowering, Alvarr’s great-uncle locked gazes with him for a long moment—then, astonishingly, dropped to his knees. “My liege, you are right. Your instincts suit your realm, and your responsibilities to it. It seems that while I wasn’t looking, you grew into a man.”
Jilian’s soft words now seeped through the old memory. “Varene told me your parents died when you were young. I’m sorry.”
Shrugging, Alvarr urged his fydd into a faster walk, but the shades of his parents seemed to follow him. Alongside them came the crimson memories of the day he’d learned of their deaths.
“It must have been difficult,” she continued.
He stared up the mountainside trail as if doing so would get them to their destination immediately. “Yes. Fortunately, they’d trained me well.”
“Trained you? Is that all? Don’t parents mean more here—that is…” She fell silent again.
Alvarr realized his hand still gripped the comfort of his hilt and forced it to flatten against his thigh. “Their deaths came too early, but they’d prepared me for rule.”
No answer from her. Good. Maybe she’ll leave it alone. Her confusion hung in the air, but he wanted nothing more than to ignore it. And her, if he could help it.
And yet he couldn’t. He had to teach her to be his Source, and the teaching might test him as much as her.
Snow-crested peaks thrust up far ahead, blazing white and fierce in the late afternoon sun. He measured the sun’s height. “There are cotters in the next valley who’ll provide beds for the night and a tasty meal.”
Jilian nodded. “Good, my butt will appreciate a rest. Dang, I wasn’t going to admit that,” she added sheepishly.
&n
bsp; He shot her a sideways glance and found himself smiling again. This time it didn’t feel as rusty.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
They descended into a valley in parallel with the sinking sun. On a gentle slope well below them stood a flamingo-pink cottage under a green gabled roof. Jilian’s weary body warmed at the thought of food and the possibility of a real bed.
Outside the cottage, a woman in a worn shift bent over a large washbasin, scrubbing garments and wringing them out. As she washed, she looked up the hill toward them and froze. Despite the distance, Jilian could guess at her startled expression. The woman dropped the clothes into the basin and ran for the door, her shouts just audible: “Mellec! Mellec!”
Jilian prayed that wasn’t code for “Strangers on the path! Get the crossbow!”
Alvarr urged his mount faster. Halbeth followed Blerra into a quirky trot due to his extra pair of legs: stride-HOP-stride-HOP-stride-HOP. Jilian’s bottom and legs yowled at every new jolt.
The woman reemerged from the house with a man who held a long shiny tube. She pointed at the traveling pair, now halfway down the slope. Jilian flinched as the man lifted the tube toward them; the scrub brush along the trail couldn’t hide anything taller than a spaniel.
Sucking in a breath, she crouched low and ducked into the lee of Halbeth’s neck. With each stride, her stomach thudded on the saddle’s pommel and Halbeth’s fur tickled her cheek.
Alvarr, riding as tall as ever, turned to her and raised a regal brow.
She jerked her head toward the man about to…shoot them? Pulverize them with a poisonous dart? “What’s he holding? It’s aimed right at us!”
Alvarr’s expression was pointedly bland. “That’s a viewpipe. It lets him see who’s coming.”
Glancing back at the tube, she saw the instrument was placed at the man’s eye, not near any trigger fingers. She sighed and slowly straightened.
The man took the viewpipe from his eye and talked animatedly with the woman. She nodded, looked up at them again, then headed back inside, taking the man’s elbow so he’d follow.