Chapter 10 #2
“You made this?” I took it gently. It fit in my palm perfectly. I didn’t know Tegil knew how to whittle. I’d missed out on so much time with him spending all day at the market trying to make ends meet.
“It’s dumb looking,” he demurred.
“You’re dumb looking,” I joked.
That made him grin—just a little. “It’s supposed to be an osprey.
” He cleared his throat, not looking at me straight on.
“They’re fast,” he explained. “They hunt by flying super high then they just,” he made one hand into a blade then crashed it into his open palm, “dive straight down into the water with a huge splash. No hesitation. They always come back up with a fish. Always.”
He paused, eyes on the figurine now resting in my hands.
“They live everywhere there’s water. Ocean, lakes, river. It doesn’t matter.” Tegil’s enthusiasm didn’t wane. “I thought you were like that. Going far away, somewhere different. But I figure you’ll still do what you always do. And it’ll work. Same sky, different water.”
His gaze lifted to meet mine, his expression revealing a maturity beyond his thirteen years. I should’ve known. Like me, he’d had to grow up too quickly to help support our family.
He turned away hastily, pretending to tie his own shoes. That was a good thing, because hot tears stung in my eyes.
The quiet murmur of my parents’ conversation as they drew nearer saved us both from a tearful exchange.
“Ready?” my father asked with a broken smile.
No. But I nodded anyway.
The sun was just beginning to clear the mist when we arrived at the keep’s western gate. The caravan was smaller than I’d imagined: two heavy carts groaning under the weight of crates and nine riders murmuring quietly amongst themselves.
The lead rider was a broad-shouldered man with a copper torc and Assembly-purple cloak pinned across his shoulders. His horse snorted and stamped as he turned toward us. “Lady Isca?” he asked, already swinging down from the saddle.
“I am,” I answered, my voice steady despite the new label he’d applied to me.
He studied my family behind me for a long moment, probably noticing their plain dress compared to mine. I stepped in front of them, shielding them from his judging gaze.
He gave a swift, decisive nod. “Good. You’re riding with us, Lady Mage. Can’t spare the space or the weight in the carts for this trip.”
The rhythmic clip-clop of hooves sounded as another rider guided a small brown mare with white socks forward. I didn’t know much about horses, but this one looked sturdy and had a sleepy look in her dark eyes.
“I-I’ve never ridden,” I stammered.
With a subtle raising of an eyebrow, the caravan leader questioned my father. Whether it was a judgment for failing to teach me to ride or a plea for support in dealing with a hysterical woman, I couldn’t tell. Either possibility rankled.
My father stepped up beside me, placing one weathered hand on my shoulder. “Let her feel your weight and don’t yank the reins unless you want to argue with something ten times your size.”
I stared at the saddle, at the unfamiliar leather, the stirrups that looked too far apart.
“But—”
“You’ll do fine,” he said, low and sure. “And if not, you’ll learn fast. Now give us a hug, darling.”
I gave him a hug, being very cautious around his crutch, feeling how tense his body was under all the reassurance he was projecting.
Tegil’s awkward teenage hug was a mixture of bone-crushing intensity and hesitant pats on the back.
My magic told me that, just like my father, he was already grieving my loss more keenly than he was letting on.
My mother’s kiss, soft as a feather, landed on my temple, followed by a hug that stole my breath away. “Keep your chin up and shoulders back, Isca. They want you to straighten out royalty. Don’t forget that. Show them what I made.”
“You made a bundle of nerves with a big mouth,” I replied with a teary-eyed grin.
“And I’d do it again,” she whispered, pulling me into a quick, fierce hug. “Now go.”
My hands shook as one of the riders helped me climb awkwardly onto the mare’s back. The horse shifted once beneath me but quickly relaxed.
Thank the gods for the small mercy of a docile beast.
I looked at my family one last time. My father was silent, with a small, steady smile gracing his face. Tegil stood behind him, his youthful face clenched as if he was bracing for impact. My mother’s hands were folded close across her heart, eyes gleaming with a mixture of pride and fear.
They were my reason.
They were my entire world. And I was being forced to abandon them for a task that had nothing to do with the people I loved, and everything to do with a world I wasn’t sure even wanted me in it.
A brisk wind whipped across my face as I tried to relax on my mount. A sense of foreboding, a premonition as cold as the wind, warned me of the hardship to come.
Then, a barely perceptible movement of the caravan leader’s hand sent the group into motion. The gates leading away from Caervorn’s ruins groaned open, iron hinges shrieking into the morning air. The unfamiliar, empty road loomed ahead.
And just like that, we began to move. Home blurred in the distance, obscured by the lingering mist and the sound of hoofbeats. Everything I’d ever known was disappearing behind me, step by step.
Who was I without my brother’s quiet faith? Without my mother’s disapproving glares and my father’s silent presence that spoke volumes without a word?
My fingers found the little pocket I’d stitched into my inner sleeve late last night. I slipped my hand inside, brushing the edges of the wooden osprey Tegil had carved.
In this new dress, riding a horse for the first time in my life, I already felt foreign.
The moment I’d agreed to this outlandish mission in Chancellor Maeron’s office, the change had started.
Over the past few days while preparing for this trip, piece by piece of who I was had already started to detach.
I wasn’t remotely qualified to act as a diplomat. Chancellor Maeron hadn’t even told me the princes’ names. But he had chosen me, and someone like him didn’t make decisions, didn’t spend as much coin as he had without reason.
To reach the chancellor’s level, you had to be rich, powerful, and incredibly intelligent. If a person like him believed in me, I had to at least try to believe in myself.
As Caervorn disappeared, rooftops faded into gray specks, their outlines were already softening like memories. The saddle creaked under my weight, its stiff leather unfamiliar and cold beneath my palms. My tears were shed privately, drowned out by the clomping of hooves.
Would they still recognize me when—or if—I returned? Worse, would I still recognize myself?