Chapter Twelve #2
Pel’s mind boggled a little at the notion of the High King cooking, but he supposed he was also just a person, at the end of the day.
Pel would try to concentrate on that thought, since he was going to meet the man properly at the end of this journey, not just as a minor prince from Tond but as the man Tor wanted to marry.
Pel’s stomach roiled rebelliously, and now he was even less sure about that sausage. He blew out a breath and tried to push the thought from his mind. They had a week or so before they were going to reach Nexa. He did not have to think about this yet.
No one wanted to linger over the meal, so they soon had the fire out and everything packed up.
They were back in the boats and on their way not long after the sun had properly risen.
Denil was in the boat with the two of them today, indicating with a wink that he thought Beluna and Cavun should have a boat to themselves.
They rowed hard, Pel’s muscles aching with the strain.
(He had strong arms, honed from years of archery, but it turned out, rowing didn’t use all the same muscles.) By early afternoon, they finally reached the Great River, and Pel wasn’t the only one who heaved a sigh of relief when the swiftly moving water began to work for them, sweeping them south.
With the help of the current, they just managed to pass beyond Tond as the sun was setting. Tor insisted they spend the night on the Bessar side of the river.
Pel laughed when he realized that Tor was avoiding Filon just because he didn’t want even a chance of having to deal with King Nostex.
“I’m telling you,” Tor said, looking aggravated, “you’re altogether lucky if he never noticed you.
I’d think it was the greatest blessing if he didn’t notice me.
Every time I go there—every time—I get a tour of the entire castle and every artifact it contains.
Every single trophy and memorial item from the war and from before the war.
All the art—because he doesn’t appreciate art that much, you understand, but his dear, departed wife did—and the garden—because while he doesn’t appreciate plants, his darling daughter does.
Every time. It’s like he’s in love with the sound of his own voice. ”
Pel couldn’t help but laugh. “I feel like it might be worth it just to see the look on your face.”
“Bite your tongue,” Tor admonished.
Pel just kept laughing. He didn’t think he’d ever heard Tor whine so much.
“All right, all right, we’ll stay on the east bank, you big baby,” Pel promised.
“Just you wait,” Tor said, pointing at him. “Soon enough, you’re going to have to deal with him, too, and then the joke will be on you.”
Despite the prophesied doom, Pel couldn’t help the silly smile that came to his face at this matter-of-fact linking of them together in the future.
As unappealing as King Nostex sounded as a host, that future sounded pretty awesome.
(Also, knowing how Tor felt about High Queen Fernila, Pel had to wonder if King Nostex was really that bad.
Tor definitely wasn’t impartial. Besides, Pel would be interested in learning more about Filon’s history.
Although they’d visited Filon a few times, it had been years.
Pel’s father wasn’t particularly sociable, and they hadn’t spent much time in any of the other realms.)
Of course, before they achieved that future, they would need to convince High King Varex—and before they did that, they needed to sort out what had happened in the mountain. Pel had always worried about his people, but this was a step further than that.
“Do you think my father is going to attack the exiles while we’re gone?” Pel asked.
While he should know his father better, Tor had more military experience.
Tor made a face. “I don’t think so, but I’m not certain.
He’s certainly angry enough, but he lost guards up that mountain, and now the landslide is in the way.
I’m next to certain that the exiles will stay out of the way—which will only help if Forex doesn’t pursue them all the way over the mountain.
But the exiles will know that land best, and he didn’t get the decisive victory he wanted before.
While that no doubt infuriates him, my best guess is that he’ll now wait and see if the High King will support him and send more guards to help. ”
Pel nodded, hoping Tor was right. Forex was so bitter about so much, and Pel wasn’t convinced that even crushing the exiles and taking back the land beyond the mountain would actually appease him.
He suppressed a shiver. He didn’t know what to do with people like that, who wanted more and more and more.
“Something’s going to need to be done about the exiles,” Pel said carefully.
Whatever the High King thought of all of this, the situation had grown too fraught in Tond.
Tor nodded. “I agree. We have to talk to them, no matter the objections. They were fleeing in a torrential rain storm. Why did their raiding methods change so drastically? What was so important? No part of this makes sense.”
He eyed Denil suddenly. “We haven’t asked for your opinion. Thoughts?”
Denil was silent for a moment, looking a little surprised to be asked. And then he said, “If Beluna had mentioned all the difficult questions being asked in this boat, then I would probably have stayed in the other one.”
They laughed, and Denil’s lips tipped up, lines forming around his light blue eyes.
“I don’t know any more than you. I’ve done patrols by the mountains, of course.
I’ve seen the aftermath of the normal raiding.
” He sighed. “I’m a Tondian guard. It’s my duty to the King and our people to keep everyone safe, and that includes from theft.
I’ve never engaged directly with any exiles because none of my patrols have ever caught sight of them.
They’ve always been careful, and they’ve never taken all the supplies from any one person or place.
I’m not saying I condone it, but…” He shrugged helplessly.
“It seemed manageable, and I always assumed there was a reason for it, right or wrong. That last raid was terrible—and abnormal. Were they angry and lashing out? But who exactly? And why? I’ve no idea. ”
That seemed to be what everyone was feeling—which probably meant that Tor was right, and they needed to actually talk to the exiles. Never mind twenty-five years of supposedly leaving one another alone; the situation had changed, and they didn’t know why.
So they were rushing to involve the High King and explain what had actually happened.
They stopped only when they had to, and Tor napped.
“I’m feeling much better,” he told Pel later in the day. “I’m sure I could row for a little while.”
“Not happening,” Pel told him flatly.
“But—” Tor protested.
“Do you want to row, or do you want to do something fun tonight?”
Tor opened his mouth, shut it, and then finally said, “I’m going to rest now.”
“That’s what I thought.” Pel sounded as smug as he felt.
Denil looked altogether amused, but he didn’t make any comment about Pel’s negotiation technique.
Tor definitely looked better, less pale and more energized, but Pel was certain rowing wouldn’t help with his recovery.
He’d recently seen the man nearly drive himself into the grave, after all, trying to help others, so Pel was smart enough to cut him off completely this time.
There were other options now, and Pel was going to make use of them.
That night, when they pulled up on the eastern bank in Bessar, they were close to the bridge that led across to Filon. It meant there was a large enough town nearby that they risked stopping at an inn.
Pel bargained for the rooms. He might not generally appreciate being unnoticeable, but it actually came in handy when you were trying to be unobtrusive. He explained that his companions were out in the town but would be coming by soon.
Beluna asked after the tap room, so while the innkeeper escorted her there, the rest of them were able to get upstairs. Pel had only got two rooms in an effort not to flaunt too much wealth, and Denil already looked resigned.
Within a few minutes, Beluna had joined them and assured them that there was enough dim lighting in the tap room that Tor would be able to eat with them. They didn’t linger, but they all appreciated the well-cooked meal.
Upstairs, Beluna pulled a grinning Cavun into the second bedroom, and Denil rolled his eyes.
“I’ll get one more drink,” he proposed. “Bela, you have thirty minutes.”
“Make it an hour!” she called before closing the door in their faces.
“You can stay with us?” Pel offered.
Denil laughed at whatever expression was apparently on Tor’s face, though the man looked perfectly neutral by the time Pel glanced at him.
“I’ll be back in an hour,” Denil said firmly.
Once the door was closed and locked, Tor pulled Pel into his arms.
“Hey,” he said. “Missed you.”
“You’ve seen me all day.”
“But not very privately.”
“And what would you like to do privately?” Pel asked.
Tor grinned. “Let me show you.”