Chapter 19 #2
“Good morning, Princess,” he said, nodding at the horse. “I thought we’d travel in comfort today. This is Bellhop and his chariot.” He patted the pony’s flank. “Ready to scandalize the entire keep by rolling into the village without an escort of trumpets and banners?”
JingYi felt a genuine smile blooming. Conrad hadn’t mentioned her limp, hadn’t offered a horse she didn’t know how to ride, or asked any questions. He’d simply provided a comfortable solution.
She took the hand he offered, using it to steady herself as she stepped up into the wagon, settling onto the wooden bench.
“How is your injury?” she asked as he climbed up beside her.
He pressed a hand to the bandaged spot just below his collarbone and made a show of wincing. “Only aches when I breathe, laugh, or move. But aside from that, perfectly fine.”
“You shouldn’t be up and about yet. The wound’s deep. If it tears open again—”
“Then I’ll have to crawl back into your care, won’t I?” he said brightly and winked. “It wouldn’t be the worst fate.”
She couldn’t help but smile back.
The wagonette rolled down the lonely country road, its wheels crunching a steady rhythm on the dirt. JingYi watched the open landscape roll by—a freedom that felt both beautiful and daunting when measured by the sluggish pace of a cart.
“It’s a land meant for riding, isn’t it?” she mused aloud, her eyes on the rolling hills that seemed to stretch forever. “To cover this distance properly.”
In Xuên-Sarai, her world had been courtyards and covered walkways, distances measured in steps, not horizons. Here, space was a vast, breathing entity. Her halting, careful walk, the wagon’s gentle pace, felt like a confession of weakness against such expanse.
“It is,” Conrad agreed. “Riding is faster, though speed isn’t always the point of a journey.” He smiled. “The first time I rode a horse, it sent me straight into a barrel of pickles. Tried to show off to my brothers, but ended up smelling like brine for a week.”
A sound escaped JingYi—a brief, startled puff of air that startled her. It took a moment to recognize her own laugh. The unfamiliarity of it lingered, a curious, warm echo. She hadn’t made such noise in months; there’d been no cause for it. But Conrad’s easy confession had disarmed her completely.
“If you ever wanted to learn,” he said, “I know a mare so steady she’d stand through a thunderclap. We could start in the closed yard, just getting the feel of it. No audience but the barn cats.”
The offer was a gentle thing, woven into the quiet of the road.
It wasn’t about the riding, she realized.
It was about the chance to move through this new world on its own terms, to possess a piece of its freedom.
Her hand tightened on the cart’s edge. She imagined it—wind in her face, the road under her own power, not watching from the sidelines.
The wanting flashed hot. Then the old fear wrapped around it, cold and practiced, and squeezed.
“I would be afraid,” she admitted. “My leg . . . isn’t reliable. What if it buckles? I’d look a fool, and you’d have to scrape me off the dirt.”
Conrad didn’t look at her with pity, but with a scrunched-up, thoughtful expression.
“Then we’d both be scraped-up fools,” he said, shrugging.
“I’ve been scraped off the dirt more times than I can count.
So has everyone who’s ever learned. That’s what the closed yard is for.
And the mare, Brisa—she’s more a chaise than a mount.
She won’t let you fall, neither will I.”
His grin returned, reassuring. “The offer’s just there. No rush.”
No rush. Not a test or a demand. Just a door held open. The fear didn’t vanish, but it now stood beside a fragile, burgeoning hope.
“Then . . . I would like to try,” JingYi said, the decision forming.
“Really?” His face lit up, as if she’d just given him a precious, unexpected gift. “That’s—well. Good. Brisa will be chuffed.”
“Thank you, Conrad. For your offer, and your company this morning.”
“An honour, Princess.” He flicked the reins lightly. “Besides, I couldn’t let you brave the village alone. You’ve only just arrived, and I imagine the place still feels half foreign.”
“It does,” she conceded, looking out again. “But not unfriendly. And it’s beautiful in its own way.”
“Aye. Blackwood-Veyrde might not be as grand as Xuên-Sarai, but it grows on you. Like moss, or morning bread.”
“High praise.”
“The highest.” He smiled again, then added, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial tone, “People talk, Princess. They’ll talk today. But they also watch. And I think, if they see you come all this way to help, they’ll start seeing more than just gossip.”
JingYi didn’t reply right away, and Conrad didn’t say another word.
He simply steered them down the winding trail toward Lornhelm that soon came into view below them, nestled between the curve of the hills.
Smoke drifted lazily from chimneys, the scent of pine kindling catching in the crisp mountain air.
When they dismounted just beside the village green, several heads turned. A cluster of women sweeping their stoops paused. A baker’s boy emerged from a cottage with flour on his elbows and stared openly.
Conrad offered a wave. Gingerly, they waved back. To her, he murmured, “They don’t bite. Simply curious.”
He nodded toward a neat, slate-roofed cottage, where a thin, welcoming plume of smoke rose from its sturdy chimney. “This way.”
JingYi adjusted her grip on her medicine chest and followed him down the path.
Conrad explained, “We go to the Hearthstones first. Ulrik, the father, is stubborn as a rock, but good-hearted once you dig deep enough.”
They reached the cottage just as the door banged open.
The charcoal tang of a banked forge breathed from the blacksmith workshop beside it.
At the threshold stood a tall, broad-shouldered man, his thick beard silver-streaked.
A leather apron slung from his shoulder.
Soot streaked his sleeves, ash clinging to his boots.
He crossed his arms, his brows lowering as he measured them.
“What’s this?” he barked. “I didn’t send for any—”
“Ulrik,” Conrad quickly said, “this is Princess JingYi. She’s come to help your daughter.”
The man’s frown deepened as he studied her. “The lord’s new wife?”
“I’m trained in medicine,” JingYi said. “I only wish to help.”
Behind him, a softer voice called, “Da, let her in.”
A young woman appeared in the doorway, round-faced and visibly pregnant, one hand resting on the swell of her belly. She looked no older than twenty, her expression shy but curious.
“Please, Da. I’d like to speak with her. I spoke to Lady Yrenna a couple of days ago about some womanly pains.”
At the mention of ‘womanly pains,’ Ulrik’s stern expression faltered. He shot a searching look at his daughter’s face, then stepped aside, muttering, “She was fine before. Don’t need no poking and prodding now.”
The house’s interior was warm and tidy. A fire crackled in the hearth. Herbs drying near the window. JingYi washed her hands at the basin and sat beside the young woman who had lowered herself carefully onto a stool.
“What’s your name?” JingYi asked.
“Annett, Your Highness,” the girl replied. “I’m due in a month, I think.”
“Is this your first pregnancy?”
“It is, Highness.”