Chapter 10 Isahn looks at a map.
ten
Isahn looks at a map.
At Villa Senone, Isahn was given his own personal cubiculum, which turned out to be a spacious, well-appointed guest bedroom, not a cell as he’d originally imagined.
It seemed metal shackles, fake branding irons, and dank basements were a thing of the past. Now he had a fresh northern-style wardrobe, shockingly enjoyable, conversation-filled meals, and the opportunity to visit a kingdom he’d only ever read about.
Life was funny like that. They’d indicated he was free to leave if he wanted, but Isahn thought that offer may have gone off the table after he passed through the capital’s iron gates. Still, he didn’t mind.
Stretching, Isahn stood before his bedroom mirror.
He desperately needed a haircut and had meant to ask Solaelia to help him out before leaving Selwas over three weeks before, but he’d rushed off in pursuit of Peros when they heard he was on the move.
His hair had been long then. These days he looked like a blasted hermit who’d abandoned civilization and moved into the mountains.
His new Domossan tunic was basically a tube pinned over the shoulders—very different from what he wore at home but not uncomfortable in the least. He pulled on a pair of flowy linen pants and laced up his new sandals before studying his reflection.
His eyes sparkled when he held up a matching blue embroidered belt beside them.
Whoever bought him accessories knew what they were doing.
The clothing was distinctly Domossan, but Isahn himself looked a bit out of place as a pale southerner in northern attire.
His skin had grown ruddy during his recent days of travel under the early spring sun.
Hopefully the redness would fade to a tan as it did during summers in Selwas.
I look like a Domossan someone forgot to color in.
Making for the door, he belted his tunic and hoped he’d find company quickly.
A long, shadowed veranda ran the perimeter of Villa Senone’s courtyard.
Beneath the dappled sunlight filtering through an old, gnarled olive tree, Isahn studied the green landscaping and sand-colored stone paths.
Matching granite benches, tables, fountains, and planters dotted the space.
The northern sun beat down on the open area, and when he stepped out into the light, he couldn’t help but spread his arms wide and tip his face up to soak in the warmth.
Damn, Domos is beautiful.
The weather was markedly better this close to the North Sea, and Isahn had to admit he’d be loath to leave. George must have felt similarly after spending a few weeks on the road.
Turning in a slow circle, he found her just behind him, sprawled out on one of the sun-warmed stone benches with her luscious black curls fanning out around her perfect soft face.
She appeared asleep, if the lashes feathering her cheeks and the slow rise and fall of her chest were any indication.
But he didn’t completely trust her magic.
Isahn let her rest for a few minutes, watching and wondering just how he got here. Not physically—that was obvious—but mentally. During their ride to the capital, even before that, starting in Sorhaven, he’d been gathering information, fragmented details.
It was like he’d been collecting stones coated in mud.
But that conversation on the road when he’d learned how she’d met her friends, when he’d seen the admiration on Hildy’s hard face and the faint blush on George’s, was a stream of crisp water, washing away the grime.
Every muck-crusted pebble in his pocket turned out to be a gem, bright and sparkling and full of hidden goodness.
She’d been his captor. They’d reluctantly allied. And if he wasn’t too off the mark, it seemed they’d become friends.
Growing bored of the silence, craving her conversation, Isahn sent a tendril of cool water to tickle George beneath her chin.
She shrieked as she shot up, her soft curves resituating themselves.
Suddenly, he was no longer standing in the courtyard, but soaring through the stars. “Ah!” he shouted, enthralled. “I love it.”
“You kulos!”
“What’s that mean?”
“It means you’re an ass. You scared me.” George brought him back to reality, releasing the magical vision she’d wrapped around him.
“In Selwas we’d say esheb.” He smirked, turning sideways to stick out and point at his own kulos.
Running her tongue beneath her top lip, George shook her head.
“Your Most Esteemed Highness,” he began again, “would you be so kind as to permit me to write to my sister this morning?”
“Most Esteemed Highness? If you agree to keep calling me that, I agree to find you some parchment.”
“Deal.” He slid his foot back and forth over the smooth tiles of the courtyard. “These sandals are comfortable.”
George laughed, and it was a lovely throaty sound that seemed to scrub down every nerve in Isahn’s body, setting him at ease.
“Come on, let’s go write your letter.”
Without thinking, he offered her his hand, and she accepted, her warm fingers curling around his palm.
His breath stilled as George stood, then paused to straighten the beaded cord belting her long dress.
Though she’d dropped his hand, her warmth still coursed through him, coiling up his arm to settle in his chest. Through a haze of rose and black curls, he followed her inside.
The tablinium was empty, and George gestured for him to take a seat at the large desk.
“Isn’t this the viceroy’s table?”
“Yes, but it’s also a family work station. You’re welcome to use it. Don’t think about sealing your missive until I’ve read and approved of it.”
“Oh, and why’s that?” he baited her.
“Because I said so.” George pursed her lips as she lowered herself onto a low sofa.
“Beciss.” He winked.
She rolled her eyes hard, but recovered swiftly, saying, “Oh, I almost forgot, there’s something for you, there.”
Frowning, he pointed to a small paper-wrapped packet sitting on the side of the table. “This?”
“Yes.”
Isahn peeled open the weighty package and laughed when he saw what was inside. “Thank you so much.” It contained a small pouch with his signet ring and a decent number of coins inside. Though it definitely weighed less than when he’d been forced to leave it at the inn in Sorhaven.
“It seems you are who you say you are.”
“Is that why you were sleeping outside my room this morning? Waiting to share the good news?”
“Perhaps.” Her soft lips pulled up in a smirk.
“How long have you known?”
“Since before this package arrived. Since Nevellium. Elio traveled with a delegation to Selwas a few years back. He saw you at the palace, recognized you, and vouched for you. Do you really think we’d have given you your own mount if we’d had concerns?”
“It seems I owe Viceroy Neninios my gratitude. Unless, of course, my option would’ve been to ride double with you?”
“It would have been a box.”
“And would you have been sitting on it?”
“No.”
“Shame.”
George’s dark eyes widened ever so slightly. “Are you always this forthright?”
“I’m a straightforward man.” He slipped his ring on, back where it belonged. It pressed against his other fingers, bulky and unfamiliar after so many days without it.
“We’ll see.”
Isahn cocked his head in question, but she wasn’t paying any attention. Instead, she studied the mosaic floor, tracing the lines with her eyes like she’d discover the secrets of the universe hidden in the grout.
Forcing himself to focus, Isahn wrote out a note to Solaelia. He told her he was hot on the heels of their pesky uncle, had made a few Domossan acquaintances who were taking care of him, needed another month or so, and would write again as soon as possible.
George approved the missive before passing it off to a member of the household staff.
“Would you like to explore the estate?” she asked when they were alone again. “The grounds are beautiful.”
“That sounds fantastic.” Isahn beamed as he stood from his chair, his hand already extended to offer an escort.
“We need to talk.” The princess’s words rode a sigh as she eyed him over the secunda mensa, or “dessert” as he commonly called it.
“Oh, that’s not foreboding.” Isahn raised his brows as he plucked a honey cake from the platter situated between their group.
The friends—and Isahn—had shirked order for the evening’s dinner.
Wynnie, the hostess, had plopped down beside him on the lectus medius, the middle couch.
Dunstan and Burke sat on the sofa to his left, and George sat with Hildy on the one typically reserved for the host. He was picking up on Domossan customs with alacrity, and was quite proud of how well he was learning.
Dunstan chuckled. “It is, and it’s not.”
“Thanks, man, I feel so much better,” he grumbled.
George offered an apologetic smile as she dropped an arm to dangle over the side of her seat nearest him.
“Go grab the maps, Burke,” she commanded as her hanging fingers twitched.
Wynnie’s wandering toes tickled Isahn’s calf and he jolted, trying to shake her off.
She’d taken it upon herself to try to garner his attention throughout the whole of the cena.
The batty woman had been sending him visions since she’d first laid eyes on him two days before.
The first one was simple, a flash of her standing exactly where she was on the drive to Villa Senone, only she’d been completely nude. He thought he’d imagined it at first.
But the sight mage ramped up her attempts each time she was near him. His during-dinner show consisted of flashes of her, bare, with her legs spread as she touched herself on the table. He groaned, earning a titter from the wispy brunette.
She thought she’d gotten to him, as indicated by her incessantly wandering toe. Really, he was annoyed, and wished George were sitting beside him, as had become their norm.