Chapter Twenty-Six
Ingrid
Convincing Xandril to let me join him on his travels wasn’t difficult (“It’ll be the perfect opportunity for the Unveiling!”), but Morwen was another matter altogether.
“Your boots are already muddy!” she cries after scolding the footmen about their method of securing my trunk.
Well, trunks. I have no idea what all Morwen thought to pack for me, but with the number of trunks and cases she had brought down, she may not be expecting me back.
The amount of fuss is embarrassing, but I also have to remember that I have to consider more than practicality and comfort when it comes to my wardrobe choices.
There are an endless number of traps and pitfalls I might tumble into—wearing the wrong color to the wrong house, mixing up the gowns which are meant for dining and travel, and perhaps most horrifically of all, getting my boots muddy.
“Morwen,” I say patiently, “they’re boots. Mud is why they’re worn. Even on my royal feet.”
Her face scrunches once she realizes I’m poking fun at her.
“It won’t do! I can’t send you off on your Unveiling with muddy boots! I’ll get you another pair. I’ll—”
“Morwen.” I stop her with a hand on her shoulder, dragging her back before she can scurry away.
“Thank you,” I say, pulling her into a hug.
Maybe demon rulers don’t thank their subjects, but I refuse to give up civility for station.
“I know you’re worried, but there is no one in all the realms I would be safer with than the king. ”
Morwen pulls back, her mouth thin, glassy eyes darting down as she nods.
“And if you find you miss me too terribly much, you could always visit Brightstar. I’m sure they’ll be lonely too.”
She scoffs, muttering under her breath while I try not to laugh as she walks away.
I’ve got one foot on the step up into the carriage when I spot Xandril talking to one of the drivers. I wave at him, and he looks my way, eyes burning brighter when they land on me. It’s the only sign I get that he saw me, but it’s enough to make me flush all the same.
“Your Highness?” the footman asks, still bent with a bow.
Xandril finishes his conversation, and my heart jumps when I think he’s on his way to join me. He turns the other way, slipping between carriages to inspect things on the other side.
Frowning, I step down from the stairs, circling the carriage to find my betrothed.
“It hasn’t been covered in my lessons, but I’m quite sure it is not one of the king’s duties to inspect his own carriage wheels,” I say, taking far too much delight in the startled flare of his heat.
“It’s your carriage, not mine, and I won’t take chances with my bride’s safety,” he says. The low rumble in his voice makes me feel like I’m sinking into the mud. It takes a moment to set my thoughts right.
“Wait, you won’t be riding with me?”
Xandril straightens to his full height, head and shoulders above me—a head taller than the carriage, even.
Oh… My heart sinks. I’d spent all last night in giddy anticipation of riding alone with him in close quarters for long hours. I even skipped breakfast this morning, too excited and nervous for the whole affair.
“There are no carriages large enough to suit me. I will be walking alongside the caravan should you need anything.”
You next to me, my mind supplies unbidden, all of my enthusiasm for the trip suddenly gone.
I’d envisioned long conversations, ample time to acquaint ourselves, comfortable stretches of silence—everything I’ve come to appreciate about our dinners together without such strict time constraints—but instead I’ll be spending most of the journey on my own.
“Our first stop is Harvestmarch,” Xandril says, leading me back around the carriage to my poor, stupefied footman. “If we make good time, we’ll arrive by midday.”
I nod, mute. I don’t trust what I might say if I speak, and right now, I simply want to savor the warmth and pressure of Xandril’s hand on my lower back, guiding me up into the carriage before leaving me alone and cold without his touch.
We don’t make good time.
Heavy plops of wet snow fall on the roof of the carriage, each one making my heart race, convinced we’re being ambushed until I look out the window and see Xandril walking steadily, unbothered.
Twice we have to stop to free a carriage wheel from muddy ruts in the road, and by midday, we’ve made it barely halfway to our destination.
We stop to let the animals rest, giving everyone and their beasts a chance for food and water, a stretch or a moment off their feet.
“Care to join me for a walk?” Xandril asks as I step down into a mud puddle. Sorry Morwen.
“I’d love to.” I hook my arm through his and let him lead me away from the others, deeper into the snowy woods.
The trees grow denser and denser, eventually blocking out the silvery sky.
The towering evergreens are big enough to make even Xandril seem small.
In the darkness of the forest the air is colder, and I huddle close to Xandril’s side for extra warmth that wasn’t needed back on the road.
“Here,” he says, taking a sharp turn. He effortlessly vaults himself over a boulder that’s almost as tall as I am, and before I can begin to wonder how he expects me to follow, my feet are leaving the ground and Xandril’s strong hands are lifting me up and over the rock with the same ease.
On the other side of the boulder, the world falls away, dropping into a river canyon below. The empty space ahead of us is the real wonder, though. For the first time, I’m able to see Crownwood from the outside. From the perspective of the reach. And it’s…
“Incredible,” I mutter, fighting back a surprising prickle of tears.
The tree looks like it was placed by the gods themselves, its branches reaching for the sky, its roots spread out across the land.
From here, it’s hardly more than a hazy blue shape in the distance—the most beautiful shape I’ve ever seen.
“That’s what we’re fighting for,” Xandril says.
I thought I got it before. I thought I understood that he cares about the reach like I care about my brother, but this is…
More. This is so much bigger. This is…
Home.
That single word is enough to make me forget everything else, guilt clawing at the back of my throat.
How could I think something like that? My home is with my brother. With my own kind. How can I turn my back on them?
Hot tears stinging in my eyes, I scramble back over the boulder, ignoring Xandril calling after me. It takes everything in me to not break into a run back to the carriage, but that would only make people curious. Projecting calm will keep them from talking, at least.
I maintain that false calm until I get to the carriage, and then, door shut and isolated again, there’s no holding it back. I’ve tried so hard to do what seems right at every step. I never wanted to let anyone down. I thought if I was clever enough, I could help everyone.
What a fool I’ve been. I can’t devote myself to Emerald Reach without betraying Phillip. But I can’t save Phillip without abandoning the reach and everyone I’ve come to know. How can I be the queen Xandril needs without failing as a sister?
No matter how many times I turn it over in my mind, there seems to be no answer. No end to the tears and heartbreak, either. I know what must be done. I know when spring comes, I’ll have to turn my back on these demons and their world.
I just hope we can stop the rot before then.
When we arrive at the estate of Lord and Lady Harravel, it’s well past suppertime and much of the food has gone cold.
The itinerary called for a trip around Harvestmarch, visiting the local temple and speaking with the trades guild.
With our late arrival, we’ll have time for little more than dining, bathing, and sleeping.
Which suits me just fine, if I’m honest. I’m not feeling very social. Or royal.
“Your Highness,” Lady Harrevel says, dropping into a sign of respect as she greets Xandril. “Harvestmarch welcomes you and your Bride-Ascendent. In such times, we are relieved to see you both.”
“You honor us with your welcome,” Xandril says in a flat tone I’ve never heard from him. “We regret our tardiness.”
“Roads have been more unpredictable lately,” Lord Harrevel tuts, eyeing Xandril like he’s the one who personally threw water on the roads to make them mud. “Makes trade difficult. Routes always changing. Roads closing. Merchants prefer certainty.”
“Tareth, let them change into dry things and fill their bellies before airing your grievances,” Lady Harrevel says with an affectionate look to her husband.
Lord Harrevel’s list of grievances, it turns out, is quite extensive.
To his credit, despite the long day of travel and the fraught tension between us, Xandril gives the lord his undivided attention.
He takes care to be sure he understands the problems of the region and is generous with his support, promising councils and reviews to address each issue.
He’s doing the exact thing I asked of him, and fighting for the reach with everything he has.
What right do I have to be the one who gives up now?
I’ve hardly said a word throughout the dinner, letting my gracious hosts assume I’m weary from travel—though for all I know, they might consider consorting with a human beneath them—and it’s not until the meal is finished and we’re being led away from the dining hall that I realize I’ve overlooked a very important detail about this trip. Mainly, the sleeping arrangements.
In the castle, it makes no difference that we sleep in separate chambers, but will that raise questions on the road?
Would it be so terrible to share a bed with Xandril? He’s no longer a stranger, both his body and heart more familiar to me after our time together. For the sake of the reach and the Unveiling I think I might be willing to alter our typical arrangement.