Chapter 24
Robin twisted the long stick in her hand, watching the hungry flames of the large campfire dance around the other end of it.
The stick was fresh, twisted off a tree she had passed on her way to the distant fire that the bandits gathered around on the night before a raid.
Everyone was present, except for Ian and Lane.
She had invited Ian to join them tonight, as he would be part of their usual harvestreign festival adventures.
He walked toward the fire, deep in conversation with Lane, and sat himself on one of the empty seats.
Robin glanced around at the other members of the group, wanting to see their reactions to Ian’s presence.
Ulli did not even shift in his seat as Ian sat down, a sign he was comfortable.
Rigelt himself was new, and his expression remained unchanged.
Nele smiled at Ian from her place across the fire.
Ian nodded back at her as he continued to give Lane his attention.
Fletcher had his eyes closed, calmly dozing.
Out of all of them, she was probably the one who minded his presence the most. But she had invited him to join them. She had wanted to give him something to focus on so he did not return to the castle, where Gareth would surely find a way to assassinate him.
She did not regret her invitation, but she still found herself slightly tense at his presence.
Robin waited for the conversation to lull. Ulli was already watching her intently, as was Nele. Jette stared at the fire, lost in her own thoughts. When Lane finally realized he was the only one talking, he finished his sentence and gave her his full attention as well.
“The harvestreign festival starts in two days,” Robin said.
Lane’s face immediately lit up, and he turned to Ian again.
“And I hear you are coming with us. It is great fun—there’s food and tournaments, and Fletcher sets up a betting ring .
. .” He stopped himself. “What am I saying? Of course you know all about the festival. It literally takes place in front of your castle.”
Ian was smiling, appearing genuinely happy to be included despite Lane’s blunder.
“I have been to the festival,” Ian said. “Many times. Every harvestreign, in fact, except for the one when I was quelling a skirmish on the Falqri border. And I have enjoyed it immensely. But—” He stopped speaking, looking up at Robin. “I have not been with any of you.”
“It is not only a good time,” Robin said, “it is our most valuable event for gathering information. People travel from all over the kingdom and beyond to attend, and there is a genuine mixture of nobleman to peasant wandering the street. You never know what you will see or witness. And since it is so busy, no one notices you.”
“Unless you are running an unlawful betting ring?” Ian raised an eyebrow. So he had not missed Lane’s words.
Brother Fletcher shrugged, appearing entirely unconcerned that the crown prince had found him out. And Robin found that she agreed with the old monk. The Ian sitting in front of her now was jesting. He had larger injustices to concern himself with than the celebratory exchange of some gold.
“Our mission this year,” Robin continued, “is to get as much knowledge on Gareth’s future plans as we can. Both his immediate plans and his long-term plans.”
“I will try to speak with Onric,” Ian said. “He will have more information on what has been said behind the castle walls.”
“We will try to make that happen,” Robin replied, “but I cannot guarantee it. You are far too recognizable inside the castle, so you will be remaining in the city itself. And while any of the rest of us could get behind the castle walls, it will be difficult to access Onric and then bring him to you. Everyone in the city will recognize him, and he will not be able to move unnoticed.”
Ian nodded, acknowledging her words, but his eyes were locked on to the dancing flames of the fire.
“Is everyone else good with their usual roles?” Robin asked, looking around at the others. More nods and an excited exclamation from Brother Fletcher answered her question.
“What if I enter the archery competition?” Ian said, looking back up at Robin. “Onric always participates in that, and if . . . when we both make it to the higher rounds, I can arrange to stand next to him.”
Robin smiled. That sounded like fun. “That could work! Although it is still a risky plan, as you would have to make it to the higher rounds . . .”
Ian opened his mouth in shock at the rudeness of her words, until his eyes met hers and she smiled at him.
“Then to ensure our success,” Ian said, raising an eyebrow at her, “you will have to enter as well. If I fall out of the competition, you can speak with my brother on my behalf.”
“Maybe I will,” Robin said. “But that still does not solve the problem of your being too recognizable.”
“Then disguise me,” Ian said.
Robin felt her mouth twitch as she failed to hold back a smirk. Her mind instantly imagined Ian in the guise of an old man with a weathered beard, or a gnarled soldier with a facial scar and an eye patch.