25. Chapter 25 #3
The soldiers broke off to make camp half an hour before sunset. Green and red moved together with practiced efficiency, as if there were no old rivalries between them—no chance that, on another road or under a different crown, they might one day meet as enemies. The sight was encouraging.
When I offered my help, the men stared at me as though I’d spoken in a foreign tongue. One of them cleared his throat and informed me, with unmistakable firmness, that I was to rest instead.
I bit back a sharp reply. Men had been dismissing women since the first fire had been lit, but this was the first time I’d been ordered to do nothing.
But I was here under duress. There was little sense in exhausting myself for the comfort of those charged with abducting me. So I took Muffin’s cage, chose a place at the nearest fire, and settled there with all the dignity I could muster.
To my surprise, Nisien labored alongside the men, hauling tent poles and driving iron spikes into the half-frozen earth.
He worked without complaint or pretense, as though such tasks were neither beneath him nor worthy of comment.
Which, I suspected, was exactly why the men from Darreth and Larethia followed him so readily.
Annoying how good Owain’s taste in friends seemed to be.
The evening produced yet another surprise—this one delivered on bended knee.
I’d just accepted a cup of wine from the young hunter when Richart dropped, steel and all, to the ground before me. “Forgive me, Lady Lunette,” he said.
For a long moment, I could only stare. What the…
“Commander Allard,” he continued hoarsely, “and Prince Shadowborn”—he spoke the latter with a reverence I refused to allow to sink beneath my skin—“would be well within their rights to flay me for my conduct. I beg your pardon, my lady.”
I searched for a response and came up empty-handed. I was used to being slighted, avoided, spoken of in lowered voices, but honest repentance was a language I barely understood.
Then, as if the moment required further ceremony, Richart extended a small offering toward Muffin’s cage: a wood mouse, thankfully quite dead.
Muffin smelled it with interest then snatched it away like a starving thief.
“You’re forgiven,” I mumbled to Richart, hiding my shock by taking another sip of wine.
He quickly left, looking relieved, only to be replaced by Nisien joining me at the fire. “Poor sod nearly got beaten by the other guards for his impatience.” He lowered his voice. “That man is religiously devoted to serving the monarchy—it’s weird—but that explains his concern.”
“I have no doubt you have plenty of admirers yourself,” I said, feeling the wine go to my head.
Nisien’s smile held a hidden ache. He looked like a man who’d accepted what had happened to him but still hated the person it had forced him to become. That left a bitter taste in my mouth because something about him told me we could’ve been friends in a different life.
His face rapidly became a deliberate pretense of cheerfulness.
“I heard you also have a talent for warding.” He reached into the pouch hanging on his sword belt and pulled out a carefully folded piece of parchment.
“This is a bit of reassurance for you about that. Apologies for not telling you earlier. I wanted Owain to be the one who told you.”
I took the proffered note. My hand immediately started quivering.
“That’s your tent.” He pointed to the nearest one. “Know that your safety is not in question tonight or during the rest of the trip, lady. These men are devoted to your security unto death. Sleep well.”
He stood, dusted off his trousers, and disappeared into the tent nearest mine. My fingers hesitated on the smooth parchment for a long moment before a disapproving squeak from Muffin got them moving.
Elegant handwriting flowed across the page:
Lunette,
Your selfless warding of Selmont has not been forgotten, nor will it be abandoned in your absence. I have ordered a ward-weaver to stay behind and take up your task until the snows pass and you can return home.
You were gracious about one stranger sleeping on your floor. I hope you won’t object to another caring for your home and Selmont while you’re away.
I miss you.
— Owain
I read it once. Again, slower. Then a third time, because I miss you had no business sitting at the bottom of a letter that had also contained the words ordered and task. I pressed the parchment flat against my knee, my thumb smudging the place where his signature rested.
But this wasn’t an apology. This was consideration layered so carefully over a political decision it made my head spin.
“You don’t get to miss me like this,” I whispered into the quieting camp filled with men whose job it had been to seize me by force if necessary.
My vision blurred despite my efforts not to care. I blinked hard, refusing the indignity of tears—until the second one today escaped anyway, landing squarely on the ink of his name.
Today, I’d said goodbye to the one place I’d ever known. Tomorrow, I’d say goodbye to Nisien and see the plains of Larethia for the first time. The day after that…I would see him.
And, damn my heart, I hated—with every careful, sensible part of me—how much I wanted to.