by Jill Myles
I flopped back in the grass, exhausted and irritated that he was being so stubborn. Hadn’t he ever heard of safety in numbers? “So when do we get there? Tomorrow? The day after?”
If I had to camp for much longer, I was going to lose what little patience I had.
He ran a soothing hand over the horse’s nose, stroking it. “Get where?”
I sat up, suddenly alarmed. “To Lioncourt, of course.”
Aleksandr wouldn’t look over at me. “Soon.”
I didn’t like that tone of his. It was too vague. Too casual. “How soon is ‘soon’?”
He paused, then glanced over his shoulder at me. “Three weeks.”
Three weeks? Three weeks? My heart dropped, and I felt like bursting into tears of frustration. I was doing my best to cope with the next day or so – I couldn’t even imagine three more weeks of hell. My voice wobbled as I spoke, then grew stronger with anger. “We’re going to stay out here for three more weeks? Are you mad?”
“We’re not going to stay here. We’re going to keep traveling to Lioncourt. I’m afraid we’re going to have to go around the main roads and cut through the mountains. We don’t have a choice.” He gave me a chagrined look. “I’m very sorry, Rinda.”
I threw down the waterskin, resisting the urge to stomp on it and destroy it. I didn't care that we'd run out of water - right now all I wanted to do was destroy something in anger. "You're lying to me!"
Aleksandr stepped forward, snatched the waterskin from the ground, and gave me a grim look. His jaw was tight as he struggled to hold his temper. "I'm not lying to you, Rinda. Will you stop and think for a moment? Do you think I want to trek through the woods for the next three weeks, not knowing when we'll run into enemy soldiers? Do you think I enjoy torturing you?"
"I don't know what to think," I snarled back, sliding my shoe off and throwing it at him. "All I know is that I hate you for doing this to me."
"You think I did this to you?" His laugh was sharp and bitter, and he dodged my shoe with ease. "I saved you! Your father was going to marry you off to anyone who stepped through that doorway. You're lucky it was me and not a pig farmer."
I flinched at his words, every one of them striking me in my heart. "At least a pig farmer has a home," I cried out, struggling to remove my other shoe so I could throw it at his head. "You have nothing! No home! No money!"
He gave me a grim look. "Is money all that is important to you?"
"Yes!"
"Well then I'm sorry you're stuck with me," he said in a low, sad voice.
It was like I'd kicked a puppy. I wanted to weep at the sadness in his face. I'd caused that look, and it wasn't fair to him. I knew it wasn't, but I didn't have anyone else to yell at or make miserable, and I desperately needed to share my misery. I crumpled to the ground, and to my horror, hot tears of frustration began to leak from my eyes. Angry, I swiped them away, but they kept coming back.
"Don't cry, Rinda," Aleksandr said, kneeling next to me. His hand reached for mine and he pulled me to my feet. "Please don't cry. I'm sorry. I know this isn't your choosing."
Aleksandr was too nice. Here I'd been so mean to him, and he was comforting me again. "It's not your fault," I muttered, wiping the tears away angrily. "Not your fault that you're not a pig farmer."
He gave a low chuckle and pulled me into a comforting hug, his hand stroking my tangled hair. I leaned against him, noticing how warm and strong his body was against mine. Here I was, completely exhausted despite sleeping the last two nights, and Aleksandr - who hadn't slept a wink - was still sturdy and strong. For some reason, that made me feel better. Safer. I leaned against him and let him stroke my hair for a minute longer, until my tears dried. When I was feeling better, the awkwardness returned. He'd stopped stroking my hair a few minutes ago, but his hand still rested there, as if he liked touching me. It made me blush, and I struggled for something to divert his attention. "Your stupid song was wrong."
"My song?" He asked, puzzled.
"The one about the Ghost Roads."
Aleksandr chuckled. "It's an old song. I might have gotten the lyrics wrong. That would explain the rotten fruit the audience threw at me,” he said cheerfully. “What's wrong with the song?"
"It said that it took three days for the wizards to travel from Lioncourt to Balinore," I reminded him peevishly, and pushed away from his chest, letting some room between us. I glanced up at his smiling eyes. "Three days in the song. Not three weeks."
"That's because they went through the Ghost Roads under the mountain, and not the main…roads…" he said, his words slowing as wonderment dawned on his face.
My arms crossed over my chest. "So why can't we go that route?"
"Rinda, you are brilliant," he cried out, and in the next moment, he planted his hands on the sides of my face, and in great excitement, kissed me.
It was just a brief touching of lips, but it sent a wave of surprise and rippling pleasure through my body. His lips were soft against my own, firm and warm. As he pulled away, my eyes opened and I stared at him in surprise. I’d felt that entire jolt through my body – it surprised me. I watched him, curious to see if I was the only one so affected.
It seemed that I was. Just when I thought Aleksandr was done with surprising me, he pulled something out from behind his back – another flower. He extended it out to me.
My mood soured immediately, and I reached out and smashed the flower with my hand. “Nice try, but I refuse to stay married to you.”
“I have twenty-eight more days to prove you wrong,” he said cheerfully.
I ignored him, giving the flower one more vicious twist before releasing my fingers and letting the petals flutter to the ground.
Chapter Ten
Despite how completely bizarre our new plan was, Aleksandr was excited, and his shoulders seemed a little straighter, his eyes a little brighter.
I did not share his cheerful mood. I remained surly and uncooperative as we traveled, a counterpoint to his easygoing demeanor.
We journeyed for half the day, doubling-back into a valley we’d already passed. There was a small farm in the valley, and I expected us to steer clear, but to my surprise, Aleksandr wanted to stop by there. As we approached on the rocky path leading to the farm, I dismounted from the horse.
A woman stood in the shadowy doorway of a small farmhouse. It couldn’t have been more than a small room or two, and made from crude logs. A thin whisper of smoke trailed from a fireplace. It looked unassuming. Aleksandr turned to me and unsheathed his sword, and then handed it to me with a meaningful look. Be on guard.
I took the sword and waited next to the horse. He approached the woman with a friendly smile and open palms. As he greeted her, I ran my thumb along the sharp edge of the sword, and then pressed the droplet of blood into a thumbprint at the base. Magic tingled along my fingers and I felt it infuse the sword. Whatever luck I could give myself, I could certainly use.
They talked for a few moments in the doorway, Aleksandr gesturing at me as I stood next to the horse, one hand on the blade and the other on the reins. The horse didn’t seem to be nervous at all – he chewed grass as they spoke. Aleksandr laughed, the sound light and charming, and I almost blushed despite myself. What was he telling her about us?
And then it didn’t matter, because he was waving me inside with a smile. A house. A real, honest to goodness house with a roof. He didn’t have to tell me twice. I sheathed the sword, tethered the horse and sprinted across the lawn to join them. Perhaps we’d even get a bath.
The woman greeted me with a tentative smile, bouncing a baby on her hip. Her smile faded as her gaze skimmed over my tattered gown and my dark, snarled hair. She paled and dropped into an awkward curtsy. “Your Highness! I had no idea that it was you. My apologies.”
I reached out to pull her up – her baby was in danger of tumbling from her arms if she curtsied any lower. “It’s quite all right,” I said. “I’m not looking to be recognized. We are traveling privately.”
Her immediate relief made me uncomfortable. Was I so terrible that she was frightened of me? Was my reputation among the people that bad?
“Of course you are,” she said as we followed her into the small house. “I had heard the rumors that you had been married, but I thought those were just…well…” she blushed. “I thought someone was jesting with me about your marriage.” She gave Aleksandr an appraising look, and I knew what she was thinking. How could this poor minstrel have married a princess of Balinore?
It was a thought that crossed my mind every morning. “It does sound rather ridiculous,” I said in a dry voice. “Are the rumors unkind?”
“Of course not,” she said quickly, in a tone that told me everything I needed to know. She gestured at the rough wooden benches pulled up to the table, the only furniture in the small cabin other than her bed. “Please. Sit down. Make yourselves comfortable.”
I sat on the edge of one bench, smoothing my dirty, wrinkled skirts. They made me self-conscious, especially in light of the fact that I’d been recognized. Not that I should have been embarrassed – my dress, despite its filth, was likely more expensive than the entire contents of this rude house. The walls were hung with rag-quilts and the small bed had a wooden cradle at the foot of it. A large fireplace took up the back wall, and the entire room was clean if bare of comforts.
“Can I fix you something to eat? I’m making a carrot stew, but it won’t be ready for another hour or so.” An uncomfortable blush crossed her face. “Carrots are my Birthright. It’s small, I know.”
Carrots. That was a ridiculously small Birthright, though no surprise, judging from the dull brown of the woman’s hair. But even my snobbery was conquered by my empty stomach. I glanced over at Aleksandr, hoping we’d eat.
He gave the woman a sunny smile. “Stew would be lovely, thank you.”
The farmer’s wife smiled. An uncomfortable silence fell for a moment. “I knew your mother,” the woman said shyly as she sat down next to me. “She was a lovely woman.”
The world seemed to crawl to a halt. My throat dried and I felt strange – like hope mixed with anxiety. It was an odd feeling. I swallowed hard, gathering my thoughts. “You knew my mother?”
The woman nodded, shifting the baby on her hip and then standing up again. “We grew up in the same village. She was a good woman. So happy to marry your father.” She looked as if she wanted to say more, but had thought better of it. Instead, she took the baby and placed him in a rickety wooden chair at the end of the table, next to where I sat.
My eyes widened a little as the baby’s chair creaked and shifted as the woman turned back to the stew. The baby wiggled happily, but it looked terribly unsafe to me. I reached for my needle, pricked my finger, and rubbed a little bit of the blood on the chair leg closest to me. I felt the magic flow out of my blood and into the chair, and the next time the baby wiggled, it didn’t seem to shake as much. Thank goodness for that. I glanced over at Aleksandr.
He was frowning in my direction, as if unsure of what to make of my actions.
I sat up a little straighter, giving him a defensive look. I didn’t care what he thought of my anxious gesture. Better to be safe than sorry.
“What brings you two out so far from the palace?” She gave the pot a stir and then replaced the lid, glancing back at the two of us.
My tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth, no clever response springing to mind. What could I say?
“We’re heading to my homeland of Lioncourt,” Aleksandr explained, leaning across the table and wiggling his fingers at the baby. It laughed at the sight, and reached for his hand.
“A long journey,” agreed the woman. The look on her face became curious. “And you both traveling without a retinue?”
I opened my mouth to reply and Aleksandr placed his hand over my own. “We’re traveling in quiet,” he said before I could speak. “It’s not safe for a princess to travel with a retinue, so we’re posing as commoners.”
“We?” I couldn’t help asking, raising an eyebrow at him.
He flushed. “Rinda is,” he corrected. “It’s important that she not be recognized. It could endanger her life.”
The woman’s eyes widened and her gaze rested on me. “What can I do to help?”
“We’d like to trade you for some supplies. Dried meat, some bread, enough to last us for a week’s journey,” Aleksandr said. “We can trade you the horse.”
The horse? I pulled my hand out from Aleksandr's and glared at him. “Won’t we need the horse?”
“I don’t wish to deprive you of your mount,” the woman began.
“We won’t need it where we’re going,” Aleksandr continued. He reached for my hand again, and before I could protest, lifted it to his mouth and kissed my knuckles. He squeezed my fingers as he did so, a subtle urge for me to be silent.
Fine. I could be silent. I gave him a gritted-teeth smile back and remained quiet. He was going to hear plenty when we were alone again, though.
He winked at me.
I rolled my eyes.
“I’d be happy to trade you supplies for the horse,” the woman said excitedly. “My husband needs a second horse to pull the plow, but we haven’t been able to afford one. I can give you some of today’s bread and some meat from the smokehouse and we have some vegetables from the garden. Lots of carrots,” she said, and then blushed again.
“Whatever you can give us will be wonderful,” Aleksandr said, his voice warm and happy.
I, of course, had misgivings. What would we do without our horse?
~~ * ~~
The woman – Joanne – was so warm and friendly that it was hard for me to stay upset about the horse. My temper grew better when she pulled out a wash-basin and gave me water to wash my face, as well as a new change of clothes from her own trunk. The dress was worn and a bit too short at the ankles and the most unbecoming shade of brown, but it was clean and comfortable. Joanne admired the fabric of my dress and I ended up giving it to her – she wanted to make nice things for baby Ninae when she got a bit older. I didn’t see how anything nice could be made from that fabric any longer, but perhaps Joanne had cleaning skills I did not.
As we waited for the food, Aleksandr chopped wood while Joanne braided my wet hair by the fire, and told me stories about my mother as a young girl. Stories about the mischief they would get into during the long, boring winter months. Stories of my mother letting out the neighbor’s goats because she thought he was mean. Stories of my mother laughing and happy and lighthearted. They were good stories, and there were far too few of them.
I liked Joanne. She had been kinder to me than most people in the palace, who had muttered compliments out one side of their mouth, and then laughed at me behind my back. I vowed that if I married the king of Lioncourt, I’d send Joanne a dozen horses in thanks for her kindness.
Then, after we ran out of her memories of my mother, she talked about how much she liked Aleksandr. “He’s a good man, Your Highness. I can see it in his eyes. And he’s very much in love with you.”
I did not comment on her words, choosing to keep my reaction to myself.
A few hours later, with hot food in our bellies and full packs of rations strapped to our backs, we waved goodbye to Joanne, baby Ninae, and the horse. Aleksandr immediately chose a path for us through the thick of the woods once more, but it was not hard to determine where we were headed. The nearby mountains loomed ever closer. By late afternoon, the terrain had changed to rocky cliffs interspersed with trees, and we continued to move along the valley below.
That night, Aleksandr kept watch again, and I fell into an exhausted slumber. My shoes had been fine for riding on the back of the horse, but they were no match for hours of walking, and my feet and lower legs ached madly.
The next morning, I awoke to a hand pressed over my mouth. My eyes flew open and I went to scream, silenced by the look on Aleksandr’s face and the finger he had pressed to his lips. He looked exhausted, the circles under his
eyes pronounced. I was just about to give him a scathing retort when I heard it, too.
Soldiers. Searching through the woods.
I froze in place, sitting up and clutching at his sleeve. We sat in silence, watching as flashes of blue and green – the colors of the Lioncourt military uniforms – moved through the forest, calling out to each other. They slashed at ferns and poked at nearby trees, walking the woods. Looking for something, or someone.
Looking for us.
Aleksandr gently pushed on my head, indicating that I should flatten to the ground, and I did so without a word of complaint. The grasses that grew here were not tall, but our campsite was surrounded by thick ferns and canopied by heavy trees. I glanced over at him as he lay down next to me, his eyes on the soldiers, his sword gleaming in the grass next to us. I glanced over at our small green tent, terrified that they would see it and know we were here. They were so close.
Out of habit, I reached over and skimmed my thumb on Aleksandr’s sword. He looked at me like I was crazy, but I rubbed my thumb in the grass, feeling the tickle of Birthright magic and thinking hard about what I wanted it to do. Don’t let them see us. Make them walk past.
Whether it was my poor magic or something else, the soldiers eventually turned away and began to head back the way we’d came. After a few minutes, they disappeared from sight and we could no longer hear their conversations echoing through the woods. I heaved a sigh of relief and glanced over at Aleksandr.
He smiled over at me. “That was lucky.”
I scowled at him. Was that a jab at my poor magic? “Let’s just get out of here before they come back.”
We hastily broke camp, our movements quiet as we rushed to get out of the area. Once our things were packed, Aleksandr grabbed my hand and we tore through the woods at a fast pace, the branches tearing at my hair and long skirts. I didn’t protest – being bruised and scratched was far better than being dead.
After a time, we felt safe again, and Aleksandr slowed. He pulled out his dagger and began to show me moves with it, and mentioned some of his stories as a soldier. I could tell he was trying to distract me from the close call we’d had, and I allowed him to do so. They were silly stories, designed to make me laugh and take my mind off of my aching feet and the heat of the day. I knew that, even as I laughed at one story of how he’d knotted two horses’ tails together before they’d ridden into battle.