25. Maren
25
Maren
W e rode until the sunshine ebbed away from the world, settling on a high scrap of ground without any sort of cover for camp.
“The skies are clear,” I said, mouth twisted in irritation that the trees had thinned.
Kye followed my gaze, then shot his own around the sparse site. “Wind might chill us, though,” he warned.
Without civilization, the days blended together like blood in water. Bedding down next to each other, we placed our horses on either side of us, Kye offering to take the first watch. I slept fitfully, my dreams as obscure as the days, moving images in my mind.
A man with golden eyes, drowning in a room dry and dark. He banged against the wooden walls, his face purple then blue—the color of the sea, deep and silent. Muscles went slack, body sinking to his knees over the floor. His jaw fell open, and water surged out, falling down his front and eating him whole, until the wooden room was full of waves, and he was no more than a pile of clothes heaped on the watery floor.
My eyes opened to the darkness of night, sweat slick over my skin.
Kye sat beside me, his eyes quietly shifting over mine. Heavy warmth sat over my palm, and I realized he was holding it.
“Sorry if I woke you,” he murmured.
“You didn’t.” I sat up, pulling the blanket over my shoulders. “Your turn to sleep.”
Crickets sang in the autumn grass. Kye stretched his empty hand as though it were sore, and I wondered how firmly I’d latched to it. “Wake me if you hear anything. Or if you see anything. Or if you just want to talk.”
“I don’t need to talk,” I said softly.
His eyes held mine for a moment, glittering even in the dark. Then he loosed a silent sigh, laying back over his bedroll.
I waited for his breaths to grow peaceful and heavy with slumber as he stared at the sky. But he stayed awake for a long time.
I finally woke Kye after the sound of a horse and cart clomped through the valley below us. He leapt up in an instant, hand wrapped around the hilt of his sword, darting into a low squat so fast he almost caught my temple with his elbow, and I realized he’d shaved his face while I slept the night before, his jaw smooth and bright.
I pointed down to what had been an empty field the evening before, where a line of horses rode in one after the other, drawing into a large circle. Music chased away the stillness of the hills the way sunlight preys on darkness, and before we were able to make a plan to leave or stay, more of them carved in.
As dawn broke, they became clear, one side of their face painted in white and streaked with black.
Tucked into the side of our ledge, Kye noticed along with me. He inhaled a sharp note of sudden understanding. “It’s the first day of Scorreo . The Reaping of Lost Souls. Zbierka Stratenych Du?í.”
I raised a brow. “And that means?”
“It’s a Rivean tradition. The men dress in black. Their wives paint skulls on half their faces to trick the Guardians of the Sky at the Gates of Perpetuum into thinking they’re dead. Once they’re past the Guardians, they’re free to cross the Sea of Stars and find loved ones who have died to bring them home. They leave half their face clean so the lost soul they search for can recognize them.”
My brows tightened. “You can’t bring souls back from Perpetuum.”
Kye smirked. “It’s like any other Rivean festival—an excuse to get slobbering drunk.” He pushed to his feet, offering me a hand. “Let’s leave while they’re still setting up.”
I took his proffered palm, and he hoisted me up as easily as a ragdoll thrown at the sky. A warm shiver threaded down my spine at the ease in which he’d vaulted me upright, and I held on as he began to let go. “They’ll have food?”
“Yes.”
“And spices?”
Kye considered me side-long, reading my thoughts.
Hand scratching the side of his neck, he squinted an eye. “And crowds.”
“Crowds of commoners, though, right? This is a festival in the woods. Would there be guards here?”
He sighed, propping one foot on a rock and crossing his arms. “Leihani, I’d love nothing more to take you to a festival in the hills and dance you around a fire from dawn to dusk. But we’re quickly approaching the mountains that border this kingdom with ours. You don’t speak Rivean, and my accent is just obvious enough to put a fucking target on our backs.”
I grinned at him, though I was ready and willing to take defeat. He’d amused enough of my requests already, and we weren’t in dire need of supplies. Just a bit of flavor.
Tongue sweeping along the edge of his white teeth, he ran a rough hand over his chin. The tight line of his shoulders deflated.
“Alright,” he said slowly. “If we go now, while they’re still preparing.”
My smile widened. I stepped around him, sinking low to pack up my bed, but Kye caught my arm, gently holding me in place. His warmth burned through the sleeve of my homespun dress, and I felt myself tilt towards him, hungry for the heat I’d steal if I pressed my body into his.
He made to tuck a lock of hair behind my ear but changed his mind, withdrawing both hands away. “We’ll get what we need and leave. In and out.”
I cleared my throat. “I wasn’t suggesting we hang around all day.”
He shook his head. “We’re on the verge of war with Rivea, and you want to go shopping a mere seven-days’ ride from the enemy camp.”
I stepped away, shuddering from the cool breath of wind. “We’re a week from Calder?”
“A week from the mountains. It will take a few days to cross the pass.”
Crouching to roll my blankets, I frowned. “Why do Calder and Rivea even want war?”
He sank onto one knee, tugging the edges of his own bedding toward himself. “Calder doesn’t.”
“So, why, then?”
He paused, fixing a fist to his hip as he counted his things. “The Sylus Mountains belonged to Rivea until about forty years ago, when Rivean farms suffered from a wave of diseased crops followed by a drought.”
I lifted my bedroll. “And?”
He did the same, escorting me to the horses. “Rivea is known for their high populace; they have twice as many mouths to feed as we do. So, the Calderian King, Aendras—Emilius’s father—stepped in and sent what Calder could spare up North to aid them.” His mouth quirked. “It wasn’t enough. And Rivea’s coffers were empty after fighting the years of dead harvests, so their king offered to sell us the mountains.”
I belted my bedroll behind Kolibri’s saddle, frowning. “Calder bought the mountains as a favor?”
Kye leaned in to tighten the strap I’d just secured. “Aendras struck a deal with the farming guilds of Calder, lowering taxes for the next decade in exchange for what they’d lose in fraggs when he accepted. The mountains aren’t inhabitable. They protect our borders. Before we owned them, anyone could go traipsing across the mountain pass. There are probably other trails someone could cut, if they're looking to kill themselves in the mountains. But now that it’s secured, the only safe way I know of sits above Winterlight.”
I pulled my hair to the side, separating the strands to begin a braid. “Why would that lead to war?”
“Because.” Kye’s chest deflated with a sigh. He watched my fingers work for a moment, considering my question, then stepped in close to reach for my hair, continuing the weave where I left it. “A decade after purchasing the mountains, Emilius became King. He founded Winterlight at the base of the pass and organized a dig to see if the mountains held any value other than national security. And the miners hit gold.”
I pursed my mouth, my bones enjoying the quiet tugs of his handiwork as he neared the ends of my hair. I remembered Kye mentioning the mines. Months ago, sitting across from my father on our little veranda, he’d mused about someday running them. “Rivea didn’t realize they owned a gold mine.”
“And iron ore.”
My brows furrowed. “If they gave up the mines, they have no right to declare war.”
He dug in his pocket for a strip of leather, then tied my braid. “It hasn’t been declared yet. Not officially. But two years ago, a letter arrived at Laurier Palace from the Rivean King’s nephew, containing a toxicology report from a sample of soil in one of Rivea’s dead farmlands. It showed the presence of Dicamba in their fields.”
I tilted my head pointedly, the word unfamiliar even to my gardener’s catalogue of vocabulary.
“It’s an herbicide.” Kye threaded his fingers, offering me a leg up Kolibri’s side. I stepped into his hands, the weightlessness of being lifted sending my stomach momentarily into my chest. Kolibri huffed at Kye’s nearness, waiting until he stepped away to chomp impatiently in his direction.
“The Rivean King thinks Calder poisoned their crops forty years ago?”
“Well, his nephew.” He climbed onto Sero, clicking his tongue to get the horse moving. “ If you look in the emissary notes from fifty years ago, Rivea and Calder had tried to negotiate the sale of the Sylus Mountains several times before, but Rivea had always backed out.”
“Do you think Emilius did it? Poisoned their crops?”
Kye’s mouth parted, but he hesitated. His tongue smoothed out, wetting his crescent scar as he scratched his neck again. “I’m not sure. It all happened before I was born, but…it’s possible.”
I nodded, watching him in quiet calculation. Something told me he leaned closer to it’s possible than I‘m not sure.
“You don’t call Emilius your father,” I said, feigning nonchalance as I gauged his reaction.
Eyes forward, reins relaxed in his grip, the only change in his movement was the smallest tightening of his back muscles, his tone a firm request for me to drop the subject. “No, I don’t. Not when I have the choice.”