Chapter Thirty-Four
Aren
Just when I think our luck has finally turned, here comes this prick.
I’ve always prided myself on reading people as soon as they sit down at my bar, and there’s something unsettling about this haughty stranger. His face is too perfect and his voice too smooth. “Smug” sums him up.
I dislike him immediately.
And then, of course, there’s this whole business of how he stopped the storm with his immaculate control of the Whisting. At least that’s what I assume happened, since Dietan says he didn’t do it. I’m grateful this stranger saved us, but his attitude I could do without.
“Do you know this guy?” I ask Dietan.
Dietan doesn’t get a chance to answer as the stranger speaks for him. “I believe Prince Dietan and I have yet to be introduced. However, we know all who enter our domain, barmaid.”
Talk about an arrogant bastard. Even more annoying is that whoever this guy is, he doesn’t even think I’m worthy of a name.
“And you are?” Dietan asks.
“King Osian’s emissary.” He bows elegantly.
Why does he look familiar? I squint in the bright sunshine and study his face, but I can’t place him. Maybe he traveled through Evandale? I’m good at remembering faces, even ones who only passed through the Raven’s Beak.
But I’m coming up short.
He looks to be about twenty years old, with thin lips and striking blue eyes. He carries himself with a grace that gives the impression that he’s floating.
Dietan raises his eyebrows, and I know he’s thinking what I’m thinking: something’s off about this so-called emissary.
“I am indeed Prince Dietan of Loegria,” Dietan says imperiously. “I wish to speak with your lord.”
“Of course. He is expecting you. Word of your engagement has reached our ears, and the king himself would like to congratulate you on your upcoming nuptials.”
The emissary turns his gaze to the mound of sand nearby, then narrows his eyes. A stiff wind cuts through the sand, revealing the horses trapped underneath.
I gasp at the amount of control this man has over the Whisting, so unlike Dietan’s chaotic outbursts.
The emissary smiles, and it brightens his whole face, making him look even younger. “There you are.”
The horses are unhurt but dazed, and they stand up on jittery legs. They shake out their manes and stamp their hooves, clearly frightened by what happened. With high-pitched whinnies, they rear up on their hind legs, kicking out, and take off east, toward home.
I watch them until they disappear into the horizon, wishing Dietan and I were dashing away with them.
If this emissary has such abilities, I shudder to think what powers Osian himself might wield.
If Katharine is to be believed, fear twists my insides when I consider what he could be using that magic for.
What possessed me to insist on coming with Dietan all the way here? My heart squeezes uncomfortably, and I place a hand over my chest. I know the answer to that but don’t allow myself to dwell on it. There’s a lot more at stake than my silly feelings.
“You stopped that storm with the power of the Whisting,” Dietan says.
The emissary bows his head modestly.
“How?” Dietan asks, and I can hear the desperation in his voice.
“The King of Estyrion is quite powerful,” the emissary replies.
“He is very generous with his gift and will teach any who seek the knowledge of the Whisting, unlike those outside our borders. Now,” he studies us with a baleful eye, “I must request that you surrender your weapons to me before we proceed into the city.”
“May I ask why?” Annoyance is clear in Dietan’s voice. He probably doesn’t want to part with that knife he always carries with him. Harvest Mother, I’ll be dead before I give up my frying pan, though it’s not a weapon—in most hands, anyway.
“Everyone is most welcome in Engel, but those who seek our protection must surrender any instruments of violence. We are a peaceful people.”
Dietan looks wary as he hands over his royal knife and sheath.
I clutch my weathered rucksack close, and when the emissary gives it a pointed stare, I lift the flap so he can see inside. “It’s just a pan,” I say. “It’s for cooking.”
The emissary looks thoughtful. “I suppose if we are to be fearful of a skillet, we are not much of a people.”
Thank the goddess that worked.
Dietan straightens, standing tall like the real prince he is. “Lead the way,” he commands.
This is it, then. It’s time to meet the mad King Osian of Engel.
Instead of leading, the emissary walks by Dietan’s side. I follow, with only a skillet to protect us, hoping it’s enough.
I fall back a few steps, assuming the role of dutiful woman—not a role I usually play. But by letting the men walk ahead, I have a chance to finally breathe. Knowing the emissary isn’t watching my every move like a snake ready to strike gives me cover to observe.
But my relief is only momentary. As I trail behind these two men, it occurs to me that I don’t belong here. I don’t mean here as in this hellscape; nobody belongs here. I mean I have no business consorting with royalty.
My eyes begin to water, and I blink to clear my vision.
Must be the sand.
I study the two figures proudly striding ahead of me. It feels strange to see Dietan acting all official. I haven’t thought of him as royal for some time now.
He’s just Dietan.
I only call him “my prince” or “your worship” to get under his skin because it’s fun to annoy him.
As we follow the emissary out of the sand dunes, my thoughts wander back to that kiss at Katharine’s.
It felt so real…
Well, the one at the blessing ceremony seemed real, too, but he had to kiss me then.
At Katharine’s, it felt like he kissed me because he wanted to—because he needed to.
But what do I know? Despite all of the conversations I’ve had at the Beak with all manner of men, I don’t have any firsthand knowledge of romantic relationships.
Though my gut tells me that Dietan has feelings for me, I’m having a hard time trusting that intuition.
I tug my rucksack higher on my shoulder. How far would that kiss have gone if Katharine hadn’t interrupted us? I try not to wonder, but it’s all I can think about. Heat rises in my cheeks, and this time it’s not from the desert.
What will happen when this journey is over?
If we both live, that is.
When we get our first look at the shining city, I feel more like a peasant than ever.
The city of Engel is made almost entirely of gold. Under the bright light of the desert sun, everything—from the towers to the streets—shines tenfold. Walking up to the front gates would make anyone feel insignificant. Especially someone like me who has never seen this much gold in my life.
When the solid gold doors open, I hesitate. Dietan glances over his shoulder at me. For a fleeting moment, I glimpse the concern in his expression before he resumes his royal facade for the emissary’s benefit.
All I want to do is run in the other direction.
Katharine warned us that anyone who sets foot within these gates never leaves. If I enter this city, I might never see my sisters or father again. Even if Dietan succeeds in solving his problem, I may never be allowed to leave.
Dietan is a prince. He is trained to maneuver through the intricacies of court politics. He belongs with people of power, and there is an entire government ready to swing into action to negotiate his release. I’m nothing, no one, compared to him. I’m not even his bride.
I’m just part of a lie.
I hold myself tightly as I follow Dietan and the emissary, willing my knees not to give out.
Goddess, why can’t I just go home—and take Dietan with me?
That’s where he belongs. In Evandale. At the Raven’s Beak tavern, with a mug of ale and a plate of my biscuits. He looked so happy there. We’d have a good laugh together. I’d call him names and order him around. He’d laugh and help me clean up, learn to do the dishes.
We’d be happy.
We could find another way to remove the Rings in his back. I’m sure there’s something his father’s advisors missed.
“Dietan,” I whisper.
The emissary continues walking as Dietan stops and turns to me. “Yeah?”
Let’s leave this place. I don’t have a good feeling about this. We’ll find another way to fix you. I think we’re going to die in here.
But I can’t.
But I don’t say any of that. What was I thinking? He chose to be here. He’s a prince. He can’t live at the Raven’s Beak. War has arrived in his kingdom, and his father needs the Rings of Fate.
I must not be thinking straight because of the heat.
Ahead, the emissary has stopped, waiting for us.
I meet Dietan’s blue-green eyes, and my breath escapes me. This man has given me so many chances to back out. He’s even tried to force me to leave, yet here I am. I can’t leave. Not without him. Asking him to leave when we are so close to his goal would be unfair.
The weight of kingdoms rests on those broad shoulders.
“Nothing,” I say, shaking my head.
“Are you sure?” he whispers back.
No, I’m not sure, but we’ve come this far, and we can’t turn back now. This is why we’re here: to remove the Rings, to change the course of the war, to return to Loegria and save everyone in Albion.
Dietan waits patiently, standing tall and confident and regal, like the prince he is. “Come on,” he says, trying to reassure me with a nod, and I attempt a smile, but it feels tight and unconvincing, as if I’m pulling the corners of my lips up with my fingers.
“It’ll be okay,” he says, taking my hand and looping it through the crook of his arm.
He places his free hand over mine, and I feel steadier at his touch.
“I promise I won’t let anything happen to you,” he adds.
“And if we’re lucky, maybe I can convince King Osian to become an ally in our cause.
Whatever Katharine’s experience, there may still be a way to get him on our side. ”
I’m pretty sure luck has nothing to do with it.
I swallow the anxiety bubbling up my throat and nod.
I don’t trust this King Osian, and I wish I’d never mentioned the mad king all the way back in Veteria’s hut, but I do trust Dietan, and that’s worth more than a city made of gold.
He gives my fingers a reassuring squeeze before we walk side-by-side through the gates.
“Welcome, Prince Dietan of Loegria and Aren of Evandale,” the emissary says, smiling so wide, his teeth look like fangs. “To Engel. The last free city in Albion.”