by Wren Handman
“You aren’t going to tell me, are you?”
“No. It is easy to spread rumors when you have no idea know how much of them are true and how much false, but when you do…I dislike spreading the lies, but I hate spreading the truths. If they want someone to know, they’ll tell them.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be a gossip. They just…it seems like there’s so much there. I was curious.”
“And I didn’t mean to scold,” he said with a gentle smile. “Let’s hope their cooking lives up to their mystery, hm?”
Breakfast was, of course, cold, and she called into question Jeremy’s notion of “cooking,” but it filled her empty stomach in such a comforting way that she doubted she would ever be as happy as she was in that moment. She was freezing, but all of her clothing was as wet as what she was wearing, so she took out a shirt and trousers and hung them in a tree to dry before slipping away. Sarah had dug a hole nearby for the company’s use, which could be covered later so that scouts would not find signs of their presence.
Taya was settling her skirt back into place when she heard a low, animal growl from the bushes nearby. She froze, wary, and took a step back. A small black snout protruded from the bush and sniffed the air, and then it gave another low, dangerous growl. She took another step away, her hands out in front of her, and glanced back toward the camp. She took one more step, and then she heard a soft, wailing cry from behind her. She spun, afraid she was surrounded, and saw two smaller snouts in the bushes behind her.
Her back was turned when it hit her, and she felt sharp teeth tearing into the flesh of her leg. She screamed in pain and surprise, and then lost her footing and fell down. She thrashed wildly in an attempt to dislodge whatever had clung to her, and heard a grunt as she smashed it to the ground. She was crying, she thought, and was furious at herself for it, and she felt blood welling from her leg. There was a nest of badgers behind her, and the mother was coming at her viciously, anxious to protect its young. She felt almost sorry for it, but its teeth in her leg were sharp, and she could feel the skin tearing as she screamed again. She kicked out with her other leg and felt it connect, heard a sharp crack and the sound of the animal hitting the ground, and then Jeremy was there, Sarah close on his heels, both of them with swords drawn and wild expressions on their faces.
“It’s fine. It’s fine,” she gasped, struggling to keep back the tears, but it was no use and they were falling despite herself and she turned her face away, making a pretense of pushing herself off the ground.
“I’ve got her,” Jeremy told Sarah, and then he came forward and caught her around the shoulders, helping her to sit.
Taya heard Sarah pause before moving back through the trees, but her only concern was not to cry, to not show such weakness. Not here, not when she had done so well, when the danger was so close to being passed.
“Did it get you badly?” Jeremy asked her softly, and he turned her leg to examine the bite.
“Ashua! That hurts!” she snapped, and then the tears were falling again and she was wiping them away, cursing herself.
Jeremy caught her hand in one of his, applying gentle pressure to the wound with the other. “It’s not a weakness, Taya. You don’t have to be ashamed.”
“There’s too much to mourn. Too many tears to cry. If I start…” Her voice hitched. “If I start I’ll never stop, I won’t be able to, I never will.” She stumbled over the words, but they had lost their meaning because tears were streaming down her face.
He knelt beside her and put his arms around her, and she leaned her head against his shoulder and let the tears come. For Annelle, for herself, for her store, for the pain, for the drowning, for the blood, for the future that loomed so dark and so uncertain, for it all.
The pair returned to camp quietly, and if Sarah had seen the beginnings of the flood, she let no hint of it leak to the others. Jeremy bandaged her leg and told her to get some sleep, and if the smiles that passed between them seemed deeper or closer, no one remarked on it. She crawled into Jeremy’s bedroll and her head fell against the pillow, and finally, after so long, she could close her eyes without forcing them open again, could succumb to the exhaustion without fearing the dark. Nothing had changed. She was exactly where she had been moments before, but somehow everything had changed. She was no safer, or less alone, or drier, and yet she felt somehow safer, and less alone. No drier, of course…
They let her sleep through the day, not giving her a watch, and when evening hit the company began to travel again. They went by night, moving carefully, wary of Darren’s wounds and enemy soldiers. By day they would make camp, sometimes with fires and sometimes without. It was a hard journey, and rough work keeping wounds clean so they would not fester. There was never enough time to sleep, it seemed, and never enough to fill their stomachs.
Taya woke in the evening with tired eyes that refused to obey her, and when she collapsed into bed the next morning it was with every muscle in her body protesting. She had never traveled so hard in her life, nor gone so long in such proximity to others. She learned a lot about her companions: that Liam was rougher when he was worried, that Sarah had a beautiful singing voice, that David was the best of them all at cooking, that Jeremy always had a story to put a smile on your face. Even Ryan, who spoke only a handful of words to anyone but David, let Taya quietly sit beside him and study his work as he whittled small shapes from scraps of firewood. These creations always went as kindling to the flames, but Taya got the sense that it was the activity that mattered, not the results. Darren, too, began to convalesce, and Taya once again shared laughter with her old friend.
Chapter Eleven
HE ADJUSTED HIS COAT in the mirror, turning ever so slightly sideways to ensure that it fell just right along his back. With an impatient flick of his wrist he motioned his valet to step away, and ran his fingers through his hair so it fell more naturally to frame his face. He eyed the effect critically, and then turned with a slightly raised eyebrow toward his wife.
“Well, Eneika? Will it do?”
She laughed, rising gracefully from her chair and moving to stand in front of him. Playfully, she reached up and readjusted his jacket, leaving it to fall almost exactly as it had before she touched it.
“White silk all the way from Sanitos and gold trim that matches my dress exactly?” She pursed her lips and eyed the ensemble. “I don’t know…I suppose it will have to do.”
He laughed and caught her around the waist, crushing her body against his and catching her lip between his own. She pushed him gently away.
“Now, Peter, you’ll crumple your clothes.”
He made a dismissive noise, but released her with a smile. “Very well. We do want to look our best.”
“Well, it isn’t every year our daughter turns sixteen, you know.”
“Ah, but we do have two others. They aren’t in short supply,” he countered, and she tsked.
“Now, don’t let Celia hear you talking that way. You know how jealous she is of her younger sisters.”
He snorted through his nose, but there was a hint of a smile behind his dark black beard. “Yes, yes. Women do get like that,” he told his wife with a hidden smile. He adjusted the cuffs of his jacket one last time, and turned at a knock on the door. His demeanor shifted slightly, and his voice, when he called out, was solemn.
“Enter.”
Eneika retook her seat behind him, demurely crossing her hands on her lap. In a gown all of gold silk, with her black hair braided through with matching golden chains, she was a sight to behold. Bearing three children had put matronly curves on her once willowy figure, but she carried it well, and he was always proud of how restrained and polite she was in the public eye. The door swung open and a messenger bowed to the couple.
“Forgive me, sire, but there is urgent news about the matter in Miranov,” the messenger explained, and Peter swore under his breath.
“Very well, come in.”
King Octarion crossed to the desk a
gainst the far wall, picking up a handkerchief and stuffing it rather violently into his pocket.
“There’s a missive, sire. From Lord Mendaci.”
The messenger held out an envelope, which King Octarion’s valet took. He checked the wax seal to ensure it was from Lord Mendaci, and then ran his hands carefully over the paper to check for any topical poisons or powders. Assured that there were no harmful residues, Adam handed the letter to the king, who took it impatiently. He ripped the wax seal off and snapped the letter open with a scowl on his face.
The trio in the room waited with baited breath. King Octarion’s face grew darker. A muscle bulged in his jaw. He took a calming breath, poised and perfect—except one traitorous hand, which slowly crumpled the missive into a ball.
“Thank you, that will be all,” Queen Eneika said briskly, standing and practically shooing the other two men out of the room. “You too,” she admonished Adam, who left only reluctantly, closing the door behind him. She had no doubt he was still there, his ear pressed to the door, but gossip was the coin of a servant’s life. There was nothing to be done about it.
Peter slammed both hands down on his desk, quivering with rage. There was a splintering noise, but the huge piece of wood held. Eneika quickly walked up to him and laid her hands across his back—not massaging, just letting them sit there, a quiet and simple warmth. He stood for a moment in silence, bringing his rage under control. When he spoke his voice was quiet, resigned.
“I was always afraid this day would come. When we could not find the boy…”
“Is there truly danger?” she asked.
The pause before he answered was long, and told the story better than his words. “I find it hard to believe one man can elude all the forces I have at my disposal to remove him. But so far my beliefs have been sorely challenged.”
Eneika squeezed his shoulders once and then let him go, fussing mindlessly at his desk to keep her hands busy. “I’ve been thinking it would be good to send the girls to visit my family in Marabour. It might help trade relations. A sign of good faith.”
“Celia must stay. It would look bad if she didn’t. But Evelyn and Clara should go. It would be good for them to see a bit of the world. And you must go with them.”
“Celia stays and I go?” Eneika demanded. “I think not!”
He spun on her, gripping her shoulders fiercely enough to bruise, their noses almost touching. “You will go,” he snarled.
“I love you too,” she whispered, and he released her, closing his eyes.
“Let’s not make hasty decisions,” he finally said. “Tensions are wild. Bad plans come from bad news, as they say.”
Eneika nodded, and she went to the mirror to fix her dress. King Octarion sat and penned a quick response to the disappointing Lord Mendaci, and then another, to someone he hoped might be a better envoy than the grasping old nobleman.
“Which nobles will be for you, do you think?” Eneika asked. “Should it come to…”
King Octarion snorted. “The nobles. Not worth the salt they lick from my boots. It was their greed that saw my brother slain, and now we bleed the people and they still want more. They will only suffer under this upstart ‘People’s King,’ and they have no love of his cause. But if they believe the tide is going his way, not a one will risk their land to stand with me. Mark my word, their solemn oaths will mean nothing; I’ll have no soldiers from a one of them. It will be my soldiers against his.”
“You have more soldiers than he does,” Eneika scoffed. “He’s no real threat.”
“Yes. I’m sure you’re right,” Peter agreed, but the words were empty. That was this rebel’s greatest threat—his numbers were impossible to know. As he marched toward the city, how many would follow? The people buckled under the new laws. Their stomachs grumbled and they remembered freedoms gone these twenty years. This firebrand was a spark on dry kindling—it could set the world ablaze.
It took seven days of hard traveling for the small company to reach the safe house. By the time they arrived alliances had been founded, friendships made, and Taya was looking sadly toward the moment when they would leave her behind. She had made Jeremy begin to teach her the basics of swordplay, and found to her chagrin that she was not much good at it. She didn’t have the upper body strength required to hold the sword steady while smashing it against her opponent’s, and she was too wont to force an offensive when she felt threatened. Every time they sparred, it ended with her lying on the ground and his sword at her neck. And while she had to admit she enjoyed the way he traced his hands down her arms to adjust her grip, or lined his body against hers to fix her posture, she was somewhat less fond of how he kicked her feet out from under her when she got distracted by his sparkling eyes. She knew if they brought her along she would end up dead, or end up killing someone else as they rushed to her aide. She was resigned to staying behind, though it galled her immensely to know how useless she was. Oblivion and Tears! This journey has been horrible and agonizing, trying and testing…but I have never felt more alive.
They reached the safe house a finger-span past noon, and Taya was surprised by the sight that greeted them. The cottage was idyllic. It nestled in a clearing in the woods, well-hidden from prying eyes, with a small stream running past and a quaint little bridge spanning the water. There was a vegetable patch under the window, and the small stable behind the house looked well-cared for. The cottage itself was a two-room building with a thatched roof, and had a window set into the wall. The shutters had been painted a cheery yellow, with a tracery of vines clumsily but happily painted up its length. There was an expanse of well-tended lawn around it, and this was covered in rebels, sleeping rolls, and the remains of a large bonfire. Two of the companies had already arrived, and since there was no room in the cottage for them all, they had set up wherever there was space.
There was a strange moment when Darren and Jeremy left them and went to greet their hosts. Jeremy indicated for David to follow, but with a shake of his head he remained in the clearing. Something silent passed between them, but then Jeremy nodded and the two men disappeared inside. Taya hovered where she had stopped, not sure what to do with herself. This was where she would be staying, she knew, so by all accounts she ought to go inside, but it seemed somehow presumptuous to enter without invitation. She heard a loud cry from inside which sounded like Darren’s voice, but it was it was a joyful sound, so she didn’t worry about it. Instead she followed David and Ryan, feeling a bit like a lost kitten, as they staked out some ground for their bedrolls.
Taya was starting to feel quite forgotten, but she wasted no time on self-pity. She helped her friends set up their equipment, and then she sat with a large group around the fire. They all seemed to know David, and greeted him eagerly. They were sharing stories of their journeys, and she learned that the other companies had run into as much trouble as her own. One had been ambushed as they were leaving the city gates, and they had lost two men before they managed to escape. A third man was recovering, but they feared he had lost the use of his right arm. Another group had evaded the spies and armies of Sephria, but had fallen down a veritable cliff in the middle of the forest. Two of their number had disappeared down the crevice, but in so doing discovered that the fall was actually a shortcut. One of those who fell had suffered a nasty broken leg, but the rest managed to climb down without injury, and their company was the first to make it to the safe house. The final group ran into the Sephrian army on the far side of the river, who were no doubt in search of Taya’s party, and had an altercation that had left three dead and several more wounded. They carried their scars proudly, and had asked Marce to give a service in honor of the fallen warriors.
Everyone was eager to put their losses behind them, but with nothing pressing to do, distraction was hard to find. The large group dissolved into smaller ones. David seemed to be making the rounds of the injured, checking in with every man, if only to touch his forehead or squeeze his hand. Alone, Taya fell into another game o
f cards. Her hair was a flyaway mess, full of brambles and bits of twig, and her face was in need of a good scrub. Her secondhand clothing fit ill, and was filthy on top of it, and her feet ached where blisters had raised and broken and raised again. Yet somehow she had never felt so free. It was what she had been searching for all her life, but she could never have put that into words. Now that it was here, she regretted that it would be gone so soon.
She was sitting with her knees splayed awkwardly so she could kneel around the makeshift table they had constructed out of someone’s rucksack, taking a swallow from a skin of ale that was being passed around the table, when she felt someone tap her on the shoulder. She looked up and her jaw dropped. Darren was standing in front of her, a smile on his face the likes of which she hadn’t seen in ages, and standing with an arm through his was one of the most beautiful women Taya had ever seen. She had blond hair so pure it was almost white, and her eyes were a luminous blue that shone from her face. Her dress was made of a pure blue silk dyed the exact shade of her eyes, and her face was smooth and perfect alabaster. She wore careful, very subtle touches of makeup: a hint of berry brightening her lips, a tracery of kohl around her eyes. She was wearing a small fortune in jewels, tiny opals in her ears and a necklace of opal and white gold around her neck. She wore a beatific smile, and seemed unfazed by Taya’s haphazard appearance.
Taya stood, almost dropping the ale skin she was holding, and a hand strayed unconsciously toward her hair. She stopped herself just in time, not wanting to seem ill at ease. She doubted that priss of a woman could have survived the journey she had just had and look even half as composed!
“Taya, I’d like for you to meet Princess Nicola. Nicola, this is my friend Taya.”
She started to stretch a hand out, intending to insult the princess by treating her as she would a common lady, but a flash of gold caught her eye as she drew her hand out, and quickly she slipped it back behind her, hiding it in the folds of her dress. The engagement ring! Oh, Ashua, I never took it off! What kind of a fool am I? She covered the nervous gesture by bobbing a polite curtsy, and as she did she pulled the ring off her finger and secreted it in the palm of her hand.