Chapter 37
Chapter thirty-seven
Olivia
“Tell me the plan again,” she prompted Seraphina under her breath as they journeyed by horseback along the road north of Goldreach, winding through the once lush meadows and rolling hills of the midlands.
Straight into the unknown.
The world outside the capital was painted in varying shades of gray and brown rather than the splashes of autumn color she had expected.
Dry grass. Cloudy sky. Even the scant leaves still left on the trees they passed looked dull and withered, as if the land had simply shifted from summer to winter, skipping autumn entirely.
How cheery.
Seraphina sighed and glanced her way sidelong, a hand stroking Alyx where the usuru lurked beneath the fur ruff of her cloak.
Over the thud of their horses’ hooves striking the packed dirt of the road, her friend whispered, “We have been over this, Olivia. The others will accompany us until we get to the meeting place and then—”
“No, no, not all that nonsense,” Olivia hissed, fighting to keep her voice low. “My plan.” She chased the words with another swig of cordial. The herb-laced wine burned down her throat all the way to her belly, cutting through at least some of the bitter cold nipping at her through her clothing.
But only some.
It had already soaked into her bones, that cold.
Into her left leg. Her ruined muscles. Her knee.
But she still sat tall on her horse all the same, refusing to let her Pain show.
They had been riding since dawn, and it was only midday.
They would be riding for hours more to reach the border of Coreto’s duchy.
More hours stuck in the saddle.
More hours spent pretending this wasn’t all a terrible idea.
With any luck, Coreto would simply kill them all once they arrived so she didn’t have to make the long ride back.
Seraphina pursed her lips, saying nothing.
Olivia rolled her eyes and turned her attention back to the road. Sir Arkwright and Sir Tristan rode ahead of them, leading the charge straight into the grave. Two dozen guards in total surrounded her and the queen.
And the Umberlys who had refused to be left behind.
Their somber procession carried no banners—no identifying markings that might draw the unwanted attention of highwaymen and Arathian scouts that had slipped past their lines. But still, they were too large a party.
Large enough to make Coreto skittish if he spotted their full number before she and Seraphina peeled away from the main party for the false surrender.
Assuming he didn’t have an ambush waiting for them.
Assuming he didn’t have archers rain arrows down the moment they arrived.
Clenching her teeth, Olivia cut another look sidelong toward her friend and bit out, “Repeat the plan back to me. Please.”
Seraphina breathed out another sigh, misting the air before her.
“If there is danger, I will retreat back to the ridge and let you handle it. If we are separated, I will”—her mouth worked—“strike my assailant with my right fist, thereby breaking the glass jewel on the poison ring you gave me and administering to them a nonlethal dose of sleeping poison. And then retreat to the ridge.”
Olivia bobbed her head, nodding along with each point. “And you’ll have to not be wearing your gloves to do it. Don’t forget that. Now, what if there is more than one assailant?”
“Olivia.” Seraphina’s voice rang out loud. Sharp. Loud enough to draw the attention of ol’ Percy and Edith, who rode nearby, their expressions grim, as though they were part of a funeral procession.
Loud enough to draw the attention of Sir Dacre, who turned in his saddle to stare back at her.
The sudden weight of his gaze charged the air in a way she immediately hated.
He was always watching her these days. Always waiting.
No doubt hoping she had changed her mind since that night he confessed his feelings.
Well, she hadn’t.
She kept her attention on Seraphina, making a point to ignore the man completely.
The queen’s expression gentled, turning apologetic. “I am sorry. I know you are simply worried about me. But I am begging you to please have a little faith and stop imagining all the worst things that could possibly happen. You are making me nervous.”
Olivia expelled a breath out of the corner of her mouth. This was Seraphina’s problem. Her friend always hoped for the best. Sometimes, she also planned for the worst.
But she never planned for the worst of the worst.
“I do have faith,” Olivia contradicted. “I have plenty of faith. But just because you hope for clear skies doesn’t mean you shouldn’t also take your cloak with you just in case it rains.”
Seraphina chewed over that for a time, clearly mulling it over. Because her friend knew she was right. She always was, of course, but Seraphina didn’t always like to admit it.
At last, the queen murmured, “If there is more than one assailant, I will retrieve the paper packet of poison from my sleeve, rip it open—”
Olivia opened her mouth, ready to interject an important point.
But Seraphina shot her a knowing look and hastily added, “And—being very careful not to inhale it myself or let it get into my eyes—fling it at my enemies before then retreating to the ridge.”
“Bravo,” Olivia drawled, bobbing her head, satisfied. “Well done.”
Her plan didn’t account for archers, only a close-quarters confrontation.
But with any luck, there wouldn’t be any archers in range.
She had tried to choose a meeting place on the border between Coreto’s lands and the farms surrounding Goldreach free from too much brush or cover where an ambush could be laid.
There was just the ridge, but that was on their side.
They would have the high ground.
And besides, she had forced Seraphina to wear chainmail beneath her gown.
“Olivia!” Duke Percy called to her.
With a lackadaisical salute to the queen, she reined in her horse and fell back by several paces to fall in line with the Umberlys. Rogue padded along beside the Lord Chancellor’s mount, his tongue lolling. The varhound was probably enjoying the cold.
She envied him his thick fur.
“What was that about?” Percy asked, his tone brittle with poorly veiled concern.
Though nearly forty years her senior, the man looked far more at ease atop his horse than she felt atop hers.
His eyes were bright behind his spectacles.
Alert. He looked just as warm as his varhound beneath the heavy dire bear cloak draped about his thin shoulders.
Olivia dipped a nod to Duchess Edith, who met her silent greeting with a pinched smile, before she shrugged for Percy and hunched her shoulders against the biting wind. “Just the usual,” she muttered. “She thinks I’m worrying too much. I think she’s worrying not enough. But everything’s fine.”
The older man’s lips twitched—not into a smile, but a grimace. “And here I was hoping you had nearly convinced her to abandon this fool’s errand.”
Olivia barked out a laugh, earning another backward glance from Sir Dacre. Their eyes locked for the briefest of moments. She looked away. “You underestimate how much she actually listens to me.”
From up ahead, Seraphina called out, “I can hear you, you know!”
“Good!” Olivia called back, a grin quirking her lips.
Nudging his horse closer until his leg nearly bumped against hers, Duke Percy dropped his voice to whisper, “Protect her, Olivia.” The man’s voice grew thick as something rather like frustration contorted his features for a moment.
“There will be civil war if she dies today. We might as well set all Elmoria ablaze and be done with it.”
Olivia’s amusement over Seraphina’s shout died in an instant. Grim determination swept in to take its place. “I always have protected her, Percy,” she exhaled, her attention drifting back toward the queen. Her best friend. The closest thing she had ever had to a sister.
The girl who had brought her along to every Wintertide celebrated in Varoa with the Umberlys even though she was a commoner.
The princess who had loved her as a friend even though she was nothing more than a kitchen rat born out of wedlock.
The queen who had raised her to Spymaster despite knowing full well about her disability.
As if sensing her gaze upon her, Seraphina glanced over her shoulder. Their eyes met. Her friend offered up a small smile—radiant as her smiles always were. But that was Sera: a woman woven from sunlight and hope.
“Stop whispering about me and come keep me company instead,” the queen invited, beckoning her closer with a wave of her hand.
Shooting back another sip of her cordial, letting her Pain ebb away a little bit more on a rosy wave of medicinal herbs, Olivia clipped her flask back to her belt and leveled her gaze at Percy.
To him alone, she promised, “I always will.”