Chapter Eight
Eight
The prince had arrived at the Western Gate in carriages of gleaming silver drawn by magnificent stallions. The wooden carriage that awaited us in the western market, where we’d make our departure to Vhrania, was hitched to a pair of dark draft horses, their feet stomping impatiently.
A soldier perched on the narrow bench in front, reins in hand and a wide woven hat shielding her face from the sun.
She tilted the edge of the hat, revealing pale skin, dark eyes, and long dark hair in a braid that reached nearly halfway down her back.
She looked at Wren, then me, then lowered the hat again.
“It’s not a silver carriage,” said a voice behind us. “But it should work.”
We turned back. Nik and Galen came toward us.
They wore different uniforms today. All black again, but this time with short-collared jackets with columns of silver buttons and a hem that hit midthigh.
Fancier garb than their usual uniforms, maybe because we were visiting another country on behalf of the prince.
Their dark and shiny boots made me instantly envious.
I bet I could walk from one end of the stronghold to the other and not feel so much as a single poking stone.
Galen and another soldier led two more horses, lighter in color and a little smaller than those hitched to the carriage.
“The bribe also worked,” I said. “You’ve bought at least a day of Lys’Careth loyalty from the Lady.”
“And what about you?” Nik asked, his gaze moving between me and Wren. “Are you feeling loyal?”
“I’m feeling the desire to see the border and a caravanserai,” I said.
Wren crossed her arms. “I’m feeling like I want Fox and me to survive the trip. You two are optional.”
“There are three of us,” said the woman with the reins, impatience tightening her voice. “And we’ve got a journey ahead of us. We need to go.”
“That’s Yue,” Nik said. “Yue, this is Fox and Wren. Yue’s weakness is remarkable impatience.”
“Efficiency is a valuable skill,” Yue said blandly. “Which is how I’d like to proceed right now. Efficiently.”
“We’re wrapping up,” Nik said, and glanced at Wren as Galen mounted one of the horses. “Do you prefer carriage or horse?”
“Horse,” she said without hesitation.
“You’re going to leave me with him?” What the hell was I going to talk about with an imperial bodyguard the entire time?
“I can hear you,” Nik said mildly.
“I know. Hush.”
His eyes widened in surprise. Probably not often a soldier was told to quiet down.
“I don’t get this chance often,” Wren said, and the excitement in her eyes melted my irritation.
“Fine,” I muttered. “But you’ll have to deal with Galen.”
“I plan on ignoring him completely. Be careful.” That was a request and a warning, and she held out her thumb to seal the deal.
I pressed my thumb to hers, and she strode to the horse, took the reins from the soldier, and mounted it with acrobatic ease.
Her back was straight, her chin high like a queen.
She’d learned to ride as a child, and apparently she remembered the skill despite the lack of opportunity to practice.
Galen stared at her in shock. Which was extremely satisfying.
“It appears she can handle herself,” Nik said. “Into the carriage, Fox, so we can get your misery underway.”
He pulled down a short ladder that led to the carriage’s driving board, where a small curtain covered the narrow doorway into the carriage.
I guess we were doing this.
I climbed up and inside. The walls were painted a creamy golden yellow, and there were benches on the back and sides topped with dark blue cushions.
Above them, wooden shutters could be opened for air or visibility.
It probably wasn’t as nice as the prince’s carriage, but it was much nicer than the room we slept in.
I took a seat on the right bench and tested it. Softer and less lumpy than my mattress.
Nik took a seat on the back bench. “First time in a carriage?”
“As far as I know. Why aren’t we riding horses with Galen and Wren?”
“To irritate you.”
I gave him a look.
“It’s a long trip. I didn’t want a horse to have to carry us both all the way, and the border isn’t the place to teach you how to ride.”
The carriage jolted as the horses started forward. I managed to grab the bottom of the bench just before pitching over onto his lap. Which would have cast a very different light on the already awkward situation.
“Have you been to Vhrania before?” he asked.
“I’ve never been beyond the district, at least that I remember.”
Nik leaned toward me, unfastened the shutter, and flipped it open; when he sat back, the scent of a winter forest—piney and sharp—lingered behind him. I liked it. And I didn’t like that I liked it.
“In case you want to look outside.”
I did. It was getting entirely too warm in here.
“Right. Thanks.” I turned to sit sideways on the back bench, arms folded on the narrow window ledge.
“Wren seems very formidable.”
“She is. So watch yourself.”
“I always do. How long have you been friends?”
“She showed up at the Lady’s manor a few months after me. I was bonded at ten. I’m twenty now.”
“You were a child.”
“I didn’t know my mother. My father died of the traveling sickness. I was bonded to pay off the healer for his treatment. Or so I was told.” How would a child know if debt had actually been incurred, or if the healers had done anything to help?
“Ten years hasn’t been enough time to pay it off?”
“The master is responsible for that calculation.”
“And the healer?”
“Long gone, I’m told.”
“That’s a broken system.”
That had me shifting uncomfortably on the bench. “I don’t need pity.”
“I don’t pity you. I’ve seen you literally run into danger, so I know you’re courageous, and you’ve clearly figured out a way to survive. But I’m sorry you weren’t protected. I’m sorry Carethia failed you.”
It wasn’t the worst response I’d heard. “Tell your prince that children shouldn’t be used to pay off debts they didn’t incur.”
“I will,” he said.
I almost believed him.
Since there was no point in talking about it, and I didn’t need the reminder of how far from freedom I was, I changed the topic. “Is the prince friendly?”
Nik stretched out his long legs and crossed them at the ankle. “He’s a paragon among men.”
I snorted. “Can a Lys’Careth be a paragon?”
“I know you didn’t think much of the former Western Prince.”
“I never saw the former Western Prince, and I don’t know anyone who did. Were he and the current prince close?”
He shook his head. “They’re both sons of the Emperor Eternal, but they have different mothers. They grew up in separate palaces, and then the former Western Prince was sent to the gate. Hard to get close to someone you rarely see.”
“What about you?” I asked. “How long have you been a soldier?”
“Most of my life,” he said.
He added nothing else, so I came up with my own theories. Maybe he’d been a prisoner before becoming a soldier. Maybe he’d been impressed by the surly captain of a Carethian ship searching for treasure.
Maybe I was obsessed with adventure.
“Why are they hanging white eggs?” He gestured to the open window.
I looked back and grinned. “They aren’t eggs. They’re moons.”
“Since when are the moons shaped like eggs?”
“Have you ever built a moon of glue and paper? It’s harder than it looks.”
“I have not, so I’ll take your word for it. Why are they hanging moons?”
“Springmarket is in a few days. The festival for the year’s first double full moon, which is lucky for farmers, especially those who grow mountain lilies.
If the bulbs are in the ground by Springmarket, the harvest will be good.
There are celebrations in the markets with food and performers and dancing.
You don’t have that in the City of Flowers? ”
“There’s a buttercup festival in the spring.”
“It’s because of the first empress, right? The flower thing?”
“Yes, the flower thing. Do you know the story?”
“Warlord falls for the daughter of one of the kings whose lands he conquered, kidnaps her, wins her over with flowers?”
Nik didn’t look impressed by my summary.
“The king of the Edgelands had a daughter,” he said.
“The man who would become the first emperor conquered the Edgelands and fell in love with her. She said she’d only marry him if he built a beautiful capital city—not the run-down fortress it was then—and filled it with flowers.
He upped the ante—said he’d not only build a capital but unite the nations and bring peace to the land. ”
“And did he?” I asked.
“He won the war, created Carethia, and built the City of Flowers. It still blooms today.”
“Sounds like a storybook tale. Pretty to hear, but nonsense.”
“How so?”
“The first emperor probably didn’t plant the flowers; he made servants do it. And she’s the one who had the idea to build it in the first place.” I shook my head. “If that’s romance—giving over your stories so a warlord sounds like a hero—then I don’t want it.”
“What do you want?”
“Freedom.”
We reached the gatehouse and came to a halt while Yue chatted quietly with the soldiers. And then we passed beneath its shadow and into the sunlight toward Carethia’s border.
“Are you going to stare out the window the entire ride?”
“I don’t know when I’ll have another chance to see this,” I said, and put my chin on my hands. “So I intend to see it all.”
It was remarkable to see so far, and remarkable that there was so little to see.
Once we were fully out of the stronghold and the district, the landscape was entirely flat—an endless field of gray-green grass that shifted in the wind like waves in an inland sea.
The road was clear and well-traveled, but it was impossible to tell how far we’d gone—and how much farther we had to go.
We stopped after a while at the edge of a narrow stream to water the horses. I got out of the carriage and stretched. Wren climbed off her horse as easily as she’d gotten onto it, then led it to the water. And was glaring at Galen when she walked past me.