Chapter Eighteen
Aren
Our journey begins in silence.
I watch the passing countryside change outside my window as the carriage bounces along the dirt path heading south from Evandale toward Loegria.
The landscape is a pleasant distraction while Dietan reads a book on the other side of the carriage.
After a few hours, I’ve already traveled farther than I ever have in my life.
The longer we’re on the high road from Evandale, the more the weather clears.
Evandale sits in the shadow of a mountain far to the west, which collects rain clouds in its bowl-like valley.
As we journey south, the skies turn from dark gray to silver, and then blue peeks out between bursts of sunlight, casting the land of Alarice into the golden beauty it’s known for.
Most of eastern Alarice is made of flatlands and fields, but dense forests darken the horizon, broken up here and there by farmland on the outskirts of towns, some of which are large or important enough to warrant a visit from a prince and his betrothed.
Dietan has been briefed on the itinerary and tells me a bit about the places we’re going: one town is an important hub for fabric dyeing; another one grows a type of fruit that is all the rage in his capital.
More than once, the carriage stops to let a herd of sheep pass by, and I throw bits of our snacks out the window to give them treats. Dietan seems amused by this.
I’m nervous about traveling all the way to the Great Waste, but at least I think my family is secure. Ophelia and Sonja’s futures are assured, and they, along with all of Evandale, remain under Lord Jared’s protection. Dietan left enough soldiers in town to ensure its safety.
“Will the Kilandrar return to Evandale?” I ask, still gazing out the window. Dietan looks up from his book—some kind of historical account of ancient battles—as if surprised I spoke to him at all.
“Only if I’m there. It’s me they’re after,” he says assuredly.
“How can you be certain?” I look straight into his blue-green eyes, searching for the truth.
“I can’t be. But I do know that once I left, the town became a whole lot safer.” Once the words leave his lips, I know he’s not lying. Safer because he’s not there to be hunted. Safer because Jared and a small army are standing guard. It’s a relief.
I still have to try my hardest not to imagine the Kilandrar bursting into our carriage in pursuit.
As I stare out the window at the endless fields trotting by, I’m still not sure what compelled me to accept his proposal. I certainly didn’t imagine in all my dreams that one day I would accompany a prince on a Wedding March through the kingdoms—and certainly not as his bride. It’s laughable.
But he needs help, that’s for certain.
And he’s right about me. I’m the kind of person who always comes to someone’s aid. Besides, I do want an adventure. I want to know what will happen next, and if I remain at the Raven’s Beak, I never will.
If I was even remotely worried that I’d miss Dietan when he left, I’ve buried that feeling deep down. I can’t feel anything for the man seated across from me. Nothing at all. We’re playing a game for our common enemies to see. He’s just pretending, and so am I.
…
Our traveling party stops once in the late afternoon, purchasing extra provisions from farmers who are eager to sell their goods. Freshly picked mushrooms and potatoes are in high demand, and I can already imagine the stew I’ll make with them.
“Oh, look, these are truffles!” I’m delighted. Truffles are rare in Evandale. I hold them up to his nose.
Dietan keeps his eyes on mine as he takes a long sniff. “I’ve had these,” he murmurs. “They’re delicious.”
“But so expensive,” I lament.
“Allow me,” he says grandly, paying for the whole lot. “Don’t forget, you’re to be my princess now.”
I refrain from hitting him with my market bag, as I’m too thrilled about the truffles it now contains. “I’ll shave them over the potatoes your men got from the other stall.”
“Gods, please do” he agrees. “I’m starving.”
As we settle back into the carriage, images of last night’s attack still haunt my thoughts.
Three soldiers killed, the general said, and I know they won’t be the last. If the Kilandrar was after Dietan, drawn to the Rings embedded in his skin, then surely they will return.
Every time I see a shadow moving on the horizon, I can’t help but wonder if it’s following us, and I shudder.
“The Kilandrar came from Penrith, right?” I ask Dietan.
He looks up over the top of his book again. I’ve been silently looking out the window for most of our journey. Without my apron, without my bar, I realize I don’t know what to say to a prince who isn’t my customer. It’s going to be a long journey.
“I can’t be sure,” he says carefully. “But most likely. That’s what my father’s spies think.”
“So is the Usurper King of Penrith actually Boreas returned, as rumors say?”
“Who knows? Penrith closed its borders when the Usurper killed the rightful king and took the throne. Since then, it’s been difficult to gather information either way.
The refugees we’ve questioned hardly know anything.
” He snaps the book shut and tosses it to the empty seat beside him, perhaps sensing he won’t be getting back to his reading any time soon.
He’s sitting diagonally from me, leaning against his own window.
His long legs take up much of the carriage, leaving me with a quarter of the space for my own muddy boots and hastily packed bag, which I refused to let his men store with the other luggage.
I might need my healing herbs or my trusty skillet at hand if the Kilandrar are really following us.
“But if you have the Rings of Fate, you should be able to use the Whisting, right? I saw you wield the power at Veteria’s. Why didn’t you use it last night against the Kilandrar?” I ask.
Dietan sighs. “I told you. I’m cursed with it, but I can’t control it. The Whisting has a mind of its own. It rarely listens to me. Typical of the wind, don’t you think?”
“You can’t control it at all?”
His eyes harden; he shakes his head.
“But what about the Kilandrar? Are they being controlled?” I ask.
“While it doesn’t appear that the Kilandrar are entirely mindless creatures, they’re supposedly extensions of Boreas’s will. At least, according to the legends. We don’t know as much about them as we’d like.”
I frown, thinking of what I saw last night. “It could speak, though. It knew who you were by name. It must have been told to find you.”
“I’m more concerned that the Kilandrar have crossed the border into Alarice at all.
Rumors place them in the south of Loegria for now, but if they’re already here…
It just means we’ve got to move faster.” Dietan groans and wipes his eyes, his handsome features sagging.
The weight of responsibility wears on him.
“There was only one this time, but more will come.”
That pronouncement chills us into silence again.
When it’s time for food, the carriage stops just long enough for one of Dietan’s attendants to hand sandwiches and water through the window for us both before heading off again.
I’m so hungry, I gobble down the sandwich, and when it’s finished, I’m sad I didn’t get to savor it.
It was some sort of smoked pork with sweet sauce in a sourdough bun.
I jot down the flavors in my leather journal so I can recreate it one day when I have a proper kitchen again.
Dietan finishes off the last of his sandwich and licks the sauce from the tips of his fingers, which is…distracting. I hand him a clean napkin.
“Strange that we were both able to hit it. The Kilandrar, I mean,” I say. I don’t know how we survived the attack.
“You’ve got quite a swing.” He grins.
“A bit of luck and practice breaking up bar fights.” I can’t help but crack a smile as Dietan chuckles.
He shakes his head. “I think you don’t give yourself enough credit. You’re kind of a badass.”
I flush with pleasure. That’s the first compliment he’s given me that sounded truly sincere. “Pure luck. But it still doesn’t make sense that it worked.”
Dietan cocks his head to the side contemplatively and scrunches the sandwich paper in his hands. He leaves the wrapper on the seat next to him, and I scowl at it.
He notices the look on my face. “What?”
I pointedly glance at the crumpled paper beside him and the crumbs littering the carriage floor around his fine, polished boots, and then back at his face. His wide-eyed innocence and handsome confusion are not enough to sway me this time. My lips twist. “Really?”
“What?” he asks again.
“I suppose you grew up so used to everyone picking up after you, you hardly think about it.”
Dietan studies me for a moment, his eyebrows slowly rising.
I imagine this is one of the few times anyone, let alone a peasant, has called him out on his privileged upbringing.
“If my lady commands, I’ll have someone clean the carriage the next time we stop to rest,” he says.
Wait, he’s not even going to pick up after himself? I let out a disbelieving grunt and rest my head on the window. “Do you have to be such an asshole?”
“Me? An asshole?” he asks, feigning mock distress. “Look, you’re free to do whatever you’d like here, too, fiancée. No one is stopping you. Do I dare suggest that you could clean it up? If you wanted to, of course.”
I shoot him a look that would freeze even the most powerful Kilandrar in its tracks.
“I rescind the suggestion,” he says putting his hands up in the air in surrender.
The urge to pick up the paper, to tidy up after him, is like an itch I can’t scratch.
My hands clench together in my lap, but I refuse to budge.
I do like things tidy. I like organizing the pantry, and I like stacking cups to look nice and orderly, and I like having the floors of the Beak swept and clean, even if the customers leave them dirty every night.
But I refuse to be a maid to Dietan, not even for Albion’s sake.