Chapter Thirteen
Pel
In the morning, they had a hearty breakfast—including properly-cooked oatmeal and buns packed with eggs, cheese, sausage, and greens. The cook was happy enough to provide them with lunch, too, and they were soon off.
Pel’s muscles were a lot looser, because in addition to everything Pel had expected from Tor last night, he’d massaged Pel’s arms and shoulders, which had felt amazing.
After another long day of rowing, they just made it past Filon and were able to pull up their boat on the west bank this time, camping in Lotar.
Pel and Tor both had their reasons for avoiding Vayrin, not that the capital city of Glomar—and therefore Princess Terila—were at all close to the Great River.
Still, it was the principle of the matter.
Tor spent a lot of time peering to the west, like he could erase all the distance between the Great River and Scala and see through the forested areas.
The area was lushly green, seeming brighter, somehow, than Tond—or maybe it was just Pel’s perception that had changed after what had happened up the mountain.
“You want to visit your sister?” Pel said gently.
“So much,” Tor admitted with a heavy sigh. “But Scala’s a good day and a half out of our way. I know I’ve been gone for months, but I don’t feel like I can dawdle now.”
“We can visit her afterwards,” Pel suggested.
Tor beamed at him, leaning in to kiss him. “That would be wonderful. I can’t wait for you two to meet properly.”
Pel had technically met Princess Adexa before, but only in sporadic formal settings.
It wasn’t like they’d actually had any meaningful conversations.
She’d been with her two young siblings-in-law at the naming ceremony for Crown Princess Cala, which was the last time Pel had seen her.
King Stronex and Prince Thurnil had been talking to King Nostex if Pel remembered correctly.
Yes, Princess Adexa had been alone with the children, and Pel had politely nodded and steered clear—possibly because she was a princess like Terila, which in retrospect was an incredibly foolish conflation.
Pel had spent the event avoiding royals as often as possible, which was awkward, as they were the invitees.
(He’d actually had a whole conversation with Tor that had clearly made no impression on the High Prince whatsoever, which was embarrassing—but Pel was letting that go. They’d both changed since then.)
He’d love to meet Tor’s sister properly now.
Their fifth night was also spent in Lotar, and by then, Pel’s body had finally become accustomed to the rowing, thank goodness. The sixth evening, they’d almost made it into Alossa, and they spent that last night in Lotar before they rowed past the border early the next morning.
Tor’s shoulders relaxed a little, and Pel was pretty sure that despite everything, Tor was glad to be back in his own realm. With all the uncertainty right now, it was no doubt nice to have something familiar.
“Have you ever been to Alossa?” Tor asked.
It was Beluna in their boat again. She’d insisted on rotating throughout the trip, adding with a wink that it wouldn’t do for her and Cavun to spend too much time together. Pel and Tor had done nothing but spend time together, and he wondered now if that was a good thing or not.
Pel couldn’t imagine moving further away from Tor, to be honest.
Beluna shook her head. “No, never. I’ve not been further than the northern parts of Bessar and Filon.
My parents do a lot of trading, of course, but they took turns doing most of the traveling alone.
Mother said it would eat all the profits if we all came along and kept wanting them to buy us things. ”
She rolled her eyes.
“You’ve a large family?” Tor asked.
Beluna told them all about her nine siblings, and they all reminisced about silly childhood moments.
They camped out in Alossa that night, and then went on their way again, and by the evening of their eighth day of travel, as the sun was setting, they reached Nexa.
The city sprawled on both sides of the river, so much bigger than Baless in Tond.
At the end of the war, a number of citizens from the other realms had wanted to settle in Alossa instead.
High Queen Ralexa had won the war, after all, or at least convinced the others to end it and seek peace, and people believed in Alossa’s safety or prosperity or future.
It was part of why Alossa had wound up so large when they’d redrawn the borders for the peace accords—something Pel’s father was still bitter about.
Pel never voiced the thought that if King Forex took better care of his people, maybe they’d want to stay in Tond in greater number, too.
They docked their boats in one of the wharfs for small vessels. After they moored and paid a docking fee, which Tor quietly explained ensured the boats would be there when they returned, Tor insisted they spend the night at an inn.
Pel eyed him. “I thought we were in a hurry to see your brother?”
Tor arched a brow. “And do you think they’re going to let us all have a good night’s sleep, or is everyone going to be summoned after a very long day when we’re not at our best?”
Pel was pretty sure there was still a bit of procrastination in Tor’s decision, but he also had a point.
Tor unabashedly wore Sir Rinil’s helmet and put his hood up on the cloak he absolutely didn’t need to be wearing in the warm weather. They got some funny looks, but Pel supposed they weren’t trying to be inconspicuous at this point, just not get recognized.
Tor seemed to know the city well, leading them with assurance through the winding streets.
The buildings crowded around them, often two or three stories high, and Pel was soon completely disoriented and had no idea where the wharf was.
Even at this hour, the streets were filled with people going about their business, and street hawkers added to the general noise and confusion by loudly proclaiming their wares to everyone.
Movement kept catching Pel’s eye, making his gaze snap in that direction only to find it wasn’t a threat but some other person—or horse or cart or stray animal—that had nothing to do with them.
Maybe Pel was more on edge than he’d realized. He’d gotten used to their solitary travel, and he knew what happened at the end of this journey.
He breathed a sigh of relief when they finally arrived at what appeared to be their destination, a three-story inn called The Green Blade. It was made of sturdy-looking red brick with a green door that looked like it could use a new coat of paint.
Inside, it was quieter than the street, although Pel could hear a background babble which he assumed meant the tap room was full.
Everything looked a bit worn but reasonably well cared for.
Pel splurged for three rooms so that Denil could hopefully get a good night’s sleep as well.
He also got dinner delivered to the room for a few extra coins, because they couldn’t rely on poor lighting to protect Tor’s identity in his own capital city, and honestly, Pel just didn’t want to deal with the crowds of people.
A few more coins ensured that their clothes would be cleaned by morning after their week-long journey.
Their room was small and simple but seemed incredibly spacious after the tent they’d spent the last week in.
There was a small fireplace—unnecessary in the summer warmth—a little window that looked out onto a narrow alley and the brick building next to the inn, a bed that would fit the two of them with a bit of ingenuity, and a table with a basin and ewer.
When the staff brought the food for them, they carried in a tiny table and two chairs that was set up right next to the bed, because otherwise they wouldn’t be able to get out the door. Pel was still grateful they could eat here.
As Pel sat down at the little table with Tor—who’d carefully been peering out the window when the staff had arrived—his stomach felt like it was full of both lead and butterflies, which was a very odd sensation.
The food looked fine, plentiful and hot, but the smell was turning Pel’s stomach a little, and he was quite sure that was down to him and not the meal.
He really wanted Tor’s brother to like him, only that was probably the least important reason they were here right now.
But Pel couldn’t seem to shake the thought off.
As much as the two of them fought, it was clear High King Varex meant a lot to Tor.
Pel couldn’t help but worry that the High King would immediately see all the reasons that Pel wasn’t the best candidate for his twin.
And the thing was, Pel couldn’t entirely disagree with that assessment.
Any other royal choice would be more magical, and there were wiser political alliances, as well.
His heart sank even as he tried to remind himself that there were other considerations.
He did think that Tor was right, and happy rulers were more likely to rule their people well.
But could they convince High King Varex that this was a smart choice, that the advantages could outweigh the disadvantages?
Tor suddenly pushed his plate aside, startling Pel out of his introspection. Tor rose to his feet and reached for Pel. He gratefully abandoned the meal he’d been toying with and allowed Tor to pull him up and into a kiss. It was deep and devouring, and Pel was very happy to be consumed.
Tor’s hands slipped up the back of Pel’s tunic. Pel’s hands clutched a little too hard at the man’s hips as he ground against him.
“Bed,” Pel managed to gasp out.
Tor allowed himself to be tugged to the bed, but Pel went down first, and Tor climbed on top of him, settling down as the perfect warm weight against Pel. Yes, Tor was definitely very functional today.