Chapter 17
Isca
I woke before dawn with the ghost of a dream and a throb between my legs.
All I could remember was the imposing silhouette of a man’s broad shoulders hovering above me, the scent of aged leather and hearth smoke clinging to the memory, the feel of rough hands trailing up my thighs.
Even awake, the phantom warmth of the stranger’s nearness lingered on my skin.
Thank all the gods I’d woken before Catrin crept into my room again, a tray of food in hand. I wasn’t ready for questions about why my cheeks were burning like I’d just left a brothel. I never had dreams like that—ever.
When she did breeze in, I was sitting by the hearth I’d rebuilt myself, watching the world wake up through the window.
“Rough night?” Catrin’s auburn braids were covered with a crimson scarf today, and her usual black servant’s gown was accented by a matching red cape. By comparison, my hair was a fright thanks to the thrashing I’d given it while dreaming.
I’d been so exhausted yesterday that I hadn’t been able to appreciate the castle’s profound quiet.
The stone walls were a blessed barrier that blocked out most of the world’s emotional noise.
Not even a whisper reached me from Emrys’s apartment, though I suspected that was a deliberate shield, just like the one he wore when awake.
It was bliss.
“Used to waking up early,” I demurred, a blush creeping up my neck despite my best efforts to remain composed.
More like used to waking up with one of my sister’s feet in my face since we’d had to fit four to a bed. But that didn’t sound nearly as refined.
Though Catrin walked at a slow pace, the air around her fizzed. To my magic, it felt as if she were bouncing up and down on her heels, giddy with excitement over whatever was planned for me today.
“Eat,” she said, placing a tray piled with sweet pastries before me. The scent of cinnamon and honey made my stomach growl. “If you’re up for it, we have an escort waiting for us to visit the city below.”
“An escort?”
She started rifling through trunks again, flinging out one gown after another. “Of the manly sort. How’s this?” she asked, holding up a violet dress that gleamed with gold thread.
“I’ll certainly look the part of an Assembly diplomat.” The words were a pretty veneer on how I actually felt: like a peasant playing dress-up. As if everyone would see the moth-eaten wool through the silk.
“Exactly.” She grinned, oblivious to my inner turmoil. “Perfect to meet Darreth’s people.”
After a bit of cajoling on my part, Catrin eventually joined me at the breakfast table to share the pastries.
I listened intently as she described her duties.
I’d thought the life of a servant would be nothing but grueling hours, but she seemed happy and not overworked at all.
With only tales of how the servants were treated at the Mage’s fortress to compare it to, I had no idea if her experience was unique to Darreth.
Belly full, I dressed swiftly, and we made our way out of the castle. The door Emrys had shattered had already been replaced with something that lacked its predecessor’s ornate carvings.
I felt a bit sad about that until the echoing sound of the front doors being opened by a pair of footmen snapped me out of it. The cracked steps beyond held four fully armored men, weapons at the ready, staring at us in silence. Now I understood what of the manly sort meant.
As Catrin led us past them, they shifted in perfect unison, two flanking us ahead, and the others bringing up the rear. The clank of our guards’ steps was jarring at first, but Catrin’s vibrant voice quickly made me forget all about it.
“The princes thought you’d want to ‘take the pulse of the people’ while they were occupied today,” Catrin explained.
Which brother had truly suggested this? The thoughtful charmer, or the cursed beast? I pushed the thought away.
“Thoughtful,” I mused. The cobblestones gleamed beneath my shoes, worn smooth by centuries of boots treading to and from the castle. Back in Caervorn, I knew every crack along the market path. Here, even the ground felt foreign.
The path was so bright, with none of the gray that had marked every step of my life before. We took a winding route downhill to the city below. The descent was invigorating, but the thought of the arduous climb back up already filled me with dread.
Each guard radiated a calm watchfulness that reminded me of my father’s demeanor whenever I’d dropped by his post at the Mage’s fortress. The familiarity of their emotions set me at ease and allowed me to soak in the sights.
Past the castle’s fortifications, the streets narrowed, with ornate buildings lining either side. These were the wealthy families that could afford to huddle next to the castle’s safety. Catrin led us toward the market squares that fanned out below.
The shops favored by the affluent were not open-air stalls like mine back in Caervorn but occupied their own buildings with painted signs hanging above the doors and armed guards standing outside day and night.
Catrin sent me a look as we passed a jewelry shop, asking silently if I wanted to peek inside, but I shook my head fervently.
I wasn’t prepared to pretend to be a high lady in a place where my facade would be easily uncovered.
I knew nothing about the different types of jewelry or even the basics of gemstones.
We moved on to the cloth and leather district, with canvas roofs in a hundred different colors. Under these, simple wool cloth was displayed alongside the vibrant colors and textures of imported cotton and even silk. Ornate saddles sat alongside plain, serviceable ones.
Merchants sat up at attention as my troop of guards walked past. I’d always been invisible among muddy boots and coarse hands. Now, eyes followed me everywhere. The silk gown I wore grabbed attention and carried an authority I hadn’t earned.
Catrin leaned over to whisper in my ear, regal scarf fluttering in the breeze, “We’ll stop when you’re comfortable, okay? No pressure.”
I nodded, eternally grateful for her understanding. Chatter dimmed wherever we roamed. The clouds of emotions I walked through were mostly respect and curiosity rather than fear of what I represented. Interesting. In Caervorn, anywhere a purple cloak walked, alarm followed.
The scent on the air shifted from the familiar smell of old leather to the rich aroma of the earth as we entered the bustling marketplace filled with fresh produce and grain.
Here my feet slowed. Given their vital role in keeping a kingdom fed, farmers knew more than most about the forces shaking a nation. This was where I might find the truth.
As I slowed, my sabaton-shod followers took a step back. I stopped and picked up a parsnip, studying the faint trace of soil still clinging to the top. “Fresh,” I murmured appreciatively.
The farmer behind the stall was an older man with a sun-browned face and gnarled, work-toughened hands. He gave a cautious nod, his eyes flicking between my guards and my gown, uncertain where to settle.
“Picked before dawn, my lady,” he said at last, voice rough. “Best ones this side of the river.”
I smiled at that, letting warmth fill my tone. “Oh, I believe you. These would make the creamiest soup.”
He blinked at me as if he couldn’t believe what his ears had heard. Duh, Isca. High ladies don’t cook!
“At least that’s what my cook would say.” I tittered, the lie clumsy on my tongue. “I’d wager you know the rhythm of this city better than anyone behind those castle walls.”
He plastered a false smile on his face as dread churned from him. “As you say, my lady.”
I was tempted, oh, I was so tempted, to guarantee the success of this conversation with a flicker of magic.
It would be easy. I could’ve pushed his fear aside by filling him with a sense of trust. But that would make me as bad as the Assembly.
There wasn’t much of a difference between persuasion and control if the other person never had a choice.
I drew in a breath and curled my hands into balls under the sleeves. I could do this the hard way.
“The Mage Assembly sent me to help Darreth flourish,” I said, meeting his worried eyes.
I kept my gaze soft, my tone warm. “To do that properly, I need to understand what problems the people face.” I gestured lightly to the bustling market, to him.
“That means speaking with the people who keep the kingdom’s heart beating.
Anything you say to me is not a complaint or slight against the royal family.
Your complete honesty is, in fact, a direct service to them. ”
A flicker of suspicion crossed his face, immediately followed by a look of curiosity. He leaned in slightly, as if weighing whether he could risk saying anything.
“If it’s the heart you want, it’s a tired one these days,” he said.
“Taxes—” He stopped himself, eyes flicking to the sword in my guard’s scabbard.
“The weather, of course,” he finished, rubbing his palms on a scrap of cloth.
The motion was habitual more than necessary.
This was a man cleaning away worries, not soil.
“Taxes?” I asked lightly, as though it were idle conversation. As his shoulders eased, mine did too. “They’re higher this year?”
His lips pressed into a thin line. “The crown needs money to protect the borders,” he said, a rehearsed line if I ever heard one. His eyes drifted north, toward the misty hills beyond.
I followed his gaze, pretending curiosity, though a faint prickle crept up my arms. “The borders?”
He hesitated, glancing around the market as though the wind itself might be listening. “You’ll hear rumors, I’m sure,” he muttered. “Travelers whisper of problems between here and Gelida.” His hand tightened around the edge of the stall, knuckles whitening.