Chapter 47 The Land of Oranges
The Land of Oranges
Early spring came to Cirancia with riots of wildflowers, and days so warm they could get away with wearing a single layer, cloaks packed away instead of buttoned tight.
But even winter had been gentle, in this new land they’d found themselves.
It had never frozen, even overnight. Snow did not exist here.
They’d both had to buy more clothes in the local styles, and Niel had found a sword that didn’t feel too unfamiliar, though its blade was narrower and a few inches shorter than the longswords of their homeland.
It had cost a pretty sum, and he’d encouraged Ayla that she ought to buy whatever she liked from the markets, too.
The money had mostly been from Blackfell, and he didn’t like to treat it as his own, no matter how often she insisted.
He knew nothing of fashion, but either she was spending carefully, or her true tastes were different than how she’d dressed as a lord’s wife.
Still, Niel liked the way Ayla looked here.
It wasn’t so much the dresses, which were mostly plain and long, with little tailoring or ornamentation.
It was how easily she grinned; how often she laughed.
She wore her rich black hair in simple braids and smiled at everything, pausing to study plants and insects or to buy strange new foods at marketplaces.
She was the same woman he’d fallen in love with Blackfell, and yet…
different. Less fearful. Like a scab had fallen away to reveal shiny new skin healed over an old wound.
Nearly four months had passed since they disembarked Hark’s ship.
They certainly couldn’t settle in a port city where two-dozen Enarian sailors had seen them.
Niel had no doubt his aunt had assassins in her hire, just as his father had Vulmar Cutthroat.
Queen Maribel, or the margrave of Ashbrin, or even the new lord of Blackfell might send someone south for vengeance.
So at first they traveled from fear, never staying more than one or two nights in any place.
And then, as the weeks wore into months, they traveled because they had become accustomed to traveling.
Hills, rivers, towns, villages, cities; in each place they added a new phrase or five to their clumsy foreign tongues, the words like silk against Enar’s harsh syllables.
Ayla picked it up faster than he did, though it was her first time learning a foreign tongue, while Niel had been made to study Aronthian as a youth.
They kept a journal of words they’d learned, with no mind for proper spelling, and practiced together as they walked.
Now they made their way down a worn traveler’s path, a thin tread of dirt between tall grasses and the shade of trees.
Niel led the donkey they’d purchased as their supplies had grown, its back burdened with a tent, blankets, cooking gear, and toiletries.
They’d named her Flower, because she was far less stubborn than either of them had come to expect a donkey to be.
Just now her long ears were pointed agreeably forward as she ambled behind them.
A light breeze from the west carried the honeyed citrus smell of orange blossoms. They’d become familiar with the trees, and the fruit, during their travels.
The only oranges Ayla or Niel had tried before coming to Cirancia were expensive luxury items, too bitter to enjoy raw, nothing like what grew in the southern country they’d come to.
Ayla’s steps slowed as she studied the trees. She reached out to push a branch aside. Niel took the opportunity to pause and fetch a hair tie from Flower’s packs. He knotted his dark hair back as Ayla covered a yawn.
“Tired?” he asked. “We could stop, if you’d like to nap.” She’d been more tired recently, and he’d worried it meant he was keeping her up too late at night.
“I’m fine. But all the ripe ones have been picked over,” she said, showing Niel a green-tinged fruit. “Shame.”
Her eyes met his for a moment, and he felt his whole body react, his heart aching.
By now, he ought to have been used to her, but no matter how many days they spent traveling side by side, or how many beds they shared, his heart still raced and he still felt like a tongue-tied idiot, who’d give the moon and stars just to have her notice him.
“Would you like one?” he asked.
“There isn’t one,” she said with a raised eyebrow. “Not on these trees, anyhow. Maybe later, we’ll get lucky.”
“Hm,” Niel said.
He finished tying his hair and craned his head back, studying the top branches of the trees, some twenty or thirty feet above the ground. Niel took a step back, then another, hunting through the shifting foliage for any burst of color.
He turned to Ayla and handed her Flower’s rope.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Bet I can find one,” Niel told her.
The tree nearest to them was easy to climb. There were no low branches, but the trunk split in two near its base. He stepped into the v and braced himself on either side, reaching up to find a handhold where it split again.
“Careful!” Ayla called.
“I’m fine,” he answered, with a grin.
He knew, logically, that he didn’t need to impress her, but it was hard not to try. He moved faster than was strictly necessary, swinging himself up to the top branches with practiced ease, well aware her eyes were on him.
“Please don’t fall,” Ayla said.
“I won’t,” Niel chuckled. He tested a thinner branch to see if it would hold his weight, then hoisted himself up, keeping a hand wrapped securely around the trunk so his whole body wasn’t on the branch.
There was a cluster of ripe fruit up at the top, as he’d expected, ignored in favor of the easier pickings down below. He took a moment to examine the view from the top of the tree, then picked the two best-looking oranges and worked his way down one-handed.
“Hold this a moment,” he told Ayla, handing her one of the fruits.
“Can’t I eat it?” she asked, taking it from him.
“Not yet.” He used his beltknife to slice off the rind of his own fruit at the stalk, then worked his thumb beneath the peel and tore it off piece by piece. Droplets of citrus oil and juice fell as he worked.
Her eyes watched him carefully. He stood a little straighter for that. Finishing his task, he traded her the peeled orange for Flower’s lead-rope and the other fruit.
“There,” he told her. “And I had a good view from the tree. We’ll reach the next town well before supper, just like those carters said.”
“I don’t know what I did to deserve you,” Ayla told him, as she split the fruit in half and separated off a slice of the orange.
“You’ve got that backwards,” Niel told her softly, utterly sincere. Ayla shook her head, and offered him the first piece. He declined and watched as she ate it.
She had lived in conditions as intolerable as Niel’s, but she’d had more to return to than he did.
A family, and a country she had not committed treason against. And yet she, the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, whether measured in appearance or in heart, was here beside him in Cirancia all the same.
He’d loved her before they left Blackfell, but it had deepened so much more than he’d expected.
It was so easy here, with her. He’d always felt like he was facing down the world on his own.
Now he had someone at his side, and if it rained all night while they camped outdoors, or if the strap of Flower’s saddle-pack broke and spilled their things on the riverbank, or if a peddler sold Niel a bag of dried lentils that turned out to be mostly stones with a layer of lentils on top, they faced it together, and he never doubted it would come out fine.
Even if, after the lentil incident, he insisted on Ayla handling the money.
She was a born merchant, he’d reasoned to her.
He had never had to keep a budget or haggle a price in his life.
Eyron had no shortage of wealth, and making a purchase had always been a matter of simply telling a servant or a quartermaster what he required.
This might have been embarrassing, but they’d had two run-ins with bandits, and one with a large, winged serpent that had shot out at them from a tree with its fangs bared, which was enough to make Niel feel he had something to offer her.
Ayla’s eyes fluttered shut as she ate for a moment. She offered Niel another piece.
“You have to try it,” she said. “You picked the best one. Just perfect.”
Perfect was right. There was nothing he’d change.
“Well,” he said, looking at her and not the fruit as he accepted a piece. “I think luck played a bigger role in that than I did.”
She shrugged and set back off down the path, not seeming to realize he was talking about her. With a smile to himself, Niel followed.