Chapter 8
Journey
Damien
My bride deserves the softest bed, the sweetest waking, and a breakfast fit for the queen she is.
Unfortunately, when we open our eyes again, we are on the same hard floor on which we fell asleep.
The material beneath us is no match for the rough, splintered wood under it.
I have no coffee to offer her, just more blood and drying meat.
Now that she’s a shade, it will keep her strong, but I suspect she doesn’t enjoy it.
I can see the fatigue setting in. We haven’t even mounted our steeds, and already, she looks tired.
“Damien, whatever is causing that scowl on your face and the absolute brooding coming across the bond, you’re wrong.
” She takes my face in her hands. “Everything is going to work out. You know it will. The prophecy says so. The one with the dragon wins, remember? Trust the goddess. Have a little faith.”
“Did you know when you married me you’d become the queen of a broken kingdom, of battle-scarred men, orphaned children, and land soaked with spilled blood? A queen of ramshackle cabins? What kind of king makes his queen sleep on the floor?”
“Don’t be so dramatic. If you’ll remember, I put it at fifty-fifty odds that I’d be queen of nothing and we’d both be dead right now, so this is a vast improvement.
” She stands from our spot on the floor and cracks her back, then smiles down at me, offering her hand to help me up.
I don’t need her help, but I take it anyway, standing with a shake of my head.
“How can you be so consistently positive about all this?”
She shrugs. “I’m happy.” She repacks her bag, which doesn’t take long because we slept in yesterday’s clothes, and heads outside. I follow, confused.
“You’re happy?” My voice strains on the words. “How can you be happy after everything that’s happened to us? Everything that’s in front of us.”
The giggle she gives as she straps her bag onto Romulus is frustratingly simple.
“Because I would rather be going through this with you than with anyone else on any world.” She snorts.
“When are you going to understand, Damien? We’ve already died together.
We’ve walked the shadowpath hand in hand and faced a vengeful goddess.
What’s sleeping on the floor in comparison? ”
I kiss her with enough vigor she has to arch her back. She’s grinning ear to ear when I stop.
“What was that for?” she asks.
“For being the person you are. The queen I married. The love of my existence.”
She snorts. “Are you ready to become someone else? Velis and Marquis, cousins from the west villages, fleeing certain starvation on their steeds, Scout and Atticus?”
I shake my head. “I was wrong to assume that anyone from the west villages was free to roam Tenebris. After what happened to Victus, I think our safest story is to claim we’re citizens of the Borderlands. I believe Odette’s people still have favor with the crown.”
“Velis and Marquis, from the northwest Borderlands, then.”
“And who shall I be?” Warbill strides from the cabin, looking younger and healthier than he did last night.
His formerly stringy gray hair is full and dark brown now, although still peppered with gray, and pulled into a ponytail.
His previously cloudy eyes are now a bright midnight blue, and the muscles of his shoulders fill out his threadbare shirt.
I turn to my old friend and fellow umbrae warrior with a questioning gaze.
“Did you forget I’m coming with you?”
“I didn’t forget. I just wasn’t sure your decision would survive a good night’s sleep and a clear head.”
He scoffs. “You need warriors. I’m a warrior.
Don’t let my appearance fool you, Damien.
A few more meals and I’ll be back to my old self.
Plus, when New Stygarde isn’t breathing down my neck, I’ve been practicing with Andromeda.
” He draws a sword from the scabbard on his hip, the light of the moon catching on the Stygian steel.
“You’ve kept her, all this time?”
“They tried to take her from me. It’s illegal for me to have her. Bastards never thought to look under the three feet of ash in the cooking pit of my tavern.”
“What about the children?” Eloise asks.
“I will care for them,” Ariadne says, appearing in the yard with Zander and Zarissa at her side. “I cannot fight, but I can do this. We have meat and blood enough to last for weeks, and when it’s gone, I will hunt. I’ve survived this long. The children and I will find a way to survive together.”
“I can chop wood,” Zander says, puffing out his chest.
“And I can make stew. I know what roots are good to eat. My father taught me,” Zarissa says, nodding her sweet little chin.
“Then it’s settled,” I declare, before Warbill can change his mind. I do need him. I need every warrior I can find. “Warbill will come with us.”
Eloise claps her hands. “Then you will be Valerian, brother of Velis and cousin of Marquis.” She circles her hand, and Warbill’s hair grows black, his nose thins to a point that echoes a bony chin, and his body stretches taller.
With Eloise’s hair dark and straight again, they easily pass for brother and sister.
“Not used to seeing you as a blond,” Warbill says as his new whiskey-colored eyes scan me.
“Get used to it. We need to come off as extended family.”
“Got it. Maybe I should come up with a pet name for you then, like runt or blondie. I rather like blondie. It suits.”
I curl my lip at him. “We’re too much for the rabble beasts with our cargo. You can ride Borus. Eloise is on Romulus. I’ll walk or shadoweave.”
“We’ll take turns walking,” Warbill says. “You’re right, we shouldn’t wear out the rabble beasts, but it’s equally important we don’t wear each other out. I’m not at full strength yet, but I can carry my own.”
“I agree,” Eloise says. “I can’t shadoweave, but I can walk or ride Phantom. I think it’s imperative we all stay at our best.”
“Fine,” I say, not bothering to point out to Eloise that she’s maintaining our disguises and therefore should have the benefit of riding Romulus. I know her, and it’s a battle I won’t win. “Let’s go. We’re burning moonlight.”
After saying our goodbyes to Ariadne and the children, we cut through the forest to rejoin the road that leads to the Borderlands and dark forest. We travel in relative silence for most of the day, all of us wary of attracting the attention of New Stygarde soldiers who might be policing Bolvet and the west villages.
Only when we cross into the Borderlands do I breathe a sigh of relief.
As far as I’ve heard, Odette’s region has avoided the worst of New Stygarde’s wrath, although she’s paid dearly for it with her region’s children.
“So…” Warbill says as we trade places on Borus, and he begins walking beside us. “Are you two always this entertaining or only in my presence?”
I grumble. “Just trying to avoid being the next one strung up in a tree.”
“There’s the dark, brooding prince we know and love.”
“Don’t mind him,” Eloise says. “He’s like this when he’s happy.”
“What’s he like when he’s grumpy?”
“No one’s ever survived to tell the tale,” she says.
I glare at each of them in turn. “Is that a tavern up ahead? It might be good to stop to eat and drink, perhaps listen for news of what’s in store for us here?”
Warbill nods. “No place better to hear the local gossip than the local tavern.”
Eloise gestures toward the quaint stone cottage with its steeply pitched clay roof and coiling smoke rising from the chimney. “I, for one, could definitely use a meal.”
We gallop down the hill but slow when we see an entire herd of rabble beasts tied up in front of the place. I dismount and get a glimpse of the sign on the door. “The Road Raven: Welcome, Friends.”
We look at one another and find a nearby tree to tie our beasts to, as the pole in front of the establishment normally used for the purpose proves to be full. “Perhaps this is a bad idea,” Warbill whispers. “Could be silver coats.”
I shake my head. “Look at the packs.” I point to a roughshod bundle of pots and pans. “This is no army of soldiers. It looks like peasants fleeing their homes.”
“Only one way to find out.” Eloise heads for the door.