Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
Morning Departure
Skellie’s Inn
How did things return to normal when everything had changed?
Dravic grabbed his cloak off the chair the next morning near the hearth and caught the sweet scent of her hair lingering on the wool. Why did he now only notice how the sweet scent of her hair clung to his cloak? Or the way her lips looked as though the morning dew forever touched them.
He shook his head, refusing such thoughts, and dropped his cloak over her shoulders, and silently ordered himself to remember she was only his trusted companion.
Yet as he watched her turn to face him, he realized one undeniable truth… things between them would never be the same again.
What did not change was that he spoke to her as if she could hear him. “The storm has stopped, though the accumulated snow will make the journey difficult. We have no choice. We must leave and return to the castle.”
She might not be able to hear him, but his actions spoke just as loudly. When his cloak fell over her shoulders, she knew it meant they were leaving.
He opened the door, and cold morning air swept into the cottage. Snow lay deep across the forest, but the sky had cleared and no fresh flakes fell.
Dravic stepped outside, then gestured she was to follow him. She did, his powerful strides clearing a path in the snow as they kept close to the cottage to reach the lean-to where the horse had been sheltered through the storm.
Adira stood aside as he prepared the animal for the journey and could not help but think how awkward it had been from the moment she woke this morning.
The king had kept his distance, careful not to stand too close or allow their arms to brush.
He had spoken little, when usually he was talkative upon waking.
She had come to understand through his gestures and expressions that he talked about his plans for the day and had come to accept them as her plans as well.
This morning, however, was different. He talked little and his eyes had drifted several times to her lips before he quickly looked away.
She could not forget their kisses. She did not want to since there was a good chance she would never be kissed again.
Her fingers rose to touch her lips before she stopped herself. No matter how hard she tried, she could still feel his mouth on hers and the way his arms had held her close.
She quickly dropped her hand as the king turned toward her.
He slipped his cloak off her and around his shoulders. Then he took firm hold of her waist to lift her onto the horse. He hadn’t noticed until now how his hands fit so perfectly at the gentle curve there and how it seemed that she was meant for him and him alone.
A groan rumbled unbidden in his chest and without a word, he lifted her effortlessly into the saddle, then he mounted behind her.
He tucked her close against him, wrapping his cloak around them both.
There was no avoiding it. They had but one cloak to share.
Besides, the deep snow demanded the horse pick his way carefully through the forest. Keeping her close against him was the safest way to keep her secure if the horse stumbled.
He settled one arm around her waist and gathered the reins.
The journey would not be an easy one… in more ways than one.
The horse lurched through the deep snow, each careful step sinking nearly to its knees before it fought free to take another.
Dravic kept one arm firmly around Adira while the other guided the reins. More than once the horse slipped beneath them, only to regain its footing before either rider was unseated.
Hours passed, though little distance seemed gained.
The storm had transformed the forest.
Familiar paths lay buried beneath drifts that nearly reached the horse’s belly.
Branches, broken beneath the weight of snow, blocked trails he would have otherwise taken, forcing him to search for another way through the towering pines.
More than once, he was forced to turn back altogether when fallen trees formed an impassable wall.
The cold settled into his bones despite the steady pace.
He scowled.
They should have reached more familiar ground by now. Instead, the forest appeared endless, each snow-covered ridge giving way to another exactly like it.
He searched for some familiar landmark—a stream, an outcropping of stone, the ancient pines that grew close to the castle—but the storm had erased every point of reference beneath its white blanket.
Perhaps it would have been wiser to remain in the cottage another day. The thought came reluctantly and it was unlike him to question a decision once it had been made. Yet the storm had proven fiercer than he had anticipated.
More troubling still, there were no signs of his warriors and no fresh hoofprints crossed their path. No smoke curled above the trees from a cottage, nor were voices heard.
The forest had fallen strangely silent, as though every trace of human life had vanished beneath the storm.
The horse fought for every step, its hooves sinking deep before it struggled free to continue. More than once, it slipped on a patch of ice hidden beneath the fresh drifts, forcing Dravic to steady both horse and rider.
A shiver coursed through Adira, and he tightened his arm around her instinctively.
Another followed, and he scowled again. Even tucked securely against him beneath his cloak, sheltered from the biting wind, she continued to tremble.
The cold was winning.
His gaze swept through the snow-covered forest. They needed shelter, and soon. Another few hours in the saddle could prove dangerous for them both.
The horse fought through another stretch of deep snow before Dravic reined him to a halt.
Ahead, the wind had carved the drifts differently. Instead of towering banks, the snow lay shallower between the trees, winding through the forest in a narrow ribbon as though countless feet had packed it down before the storm buried it.
It was as if nature had carved a path just for them.
He turned the animal toward it and urged him forward.
The way proved easier, the horse finding firmer footing beneath the thinner blanket of snow. Even so, the forest seemed unwilling to release them. The path twisted between ancient pines, curved around rocky outcroppings, then climbed steadily over one ridge only to descend into another hollow.
Time slipped by and Dravic began to wonder if the trail led anywhere at all.
Then something stirred on the cold air.
He lifted his head and sniffed. He caught the unmistakable scent of roasting meat.
Relief settled over him, tempered immediately by caution. Where there was food, there were people.
He slowed the horse, allowing his gaze to search ahead while he kept his hand near the hilt of his sword.
The trees gradually thinned and it wasn’t long before Dravic spotted a small village tucked quietly among the snow-covered hills.
Relief eased some of the tension from his shoulders.
Thin ribbons of smoke curled from stone chimneys, while the inviting scent of roasting meat grew stronger with each step the horse took. After hours surrounded by nothing but snow and forest, the sight of homes and the promise of warmth was welcome indeed.
He slowed the horse as they entered the village.
Children bundled in wool cloaks paused in their play to watch the strangers pass. A woman carrying a basket offered a polite nod before continuing on her way, while a pair of men stacking firewood spared them little more than a curious glance.
No one appeared alarmed by travelers riding into their village. Nor did anyone show the slightest sign of recognizing him.
Dravic preferred it that way. He had no desire to announce himself until he learned where the storm had carried them.
Another shiver rippled through Adira.
He drew the horse to a halt before a two-story building, a sign above the door reading, Skellie’s Inn. Its chimney poured a steady stream of smoke into the crisp winter air along with the mouthwatering scent of roasted meat.
Before he could dismount, the door opened.
A broad-shouldered man with silver threaded through his dark beard stepped onto the porch, his gaze settling first on Adira, then on Dravic.
“Looks as though your wife could use some warmth,” the man said with an easy smile.
Dravic glanced briefly at Adira before returning his attention to the stranger.
“That she can,” he answered without hesitation. “We’ve been caught in the storm. I seek shelter for us until it is safe to move on.”
He would not take the chance and continue to travel with the cold and mountains of snow to contend with. No doubt his men searched for him, and they would not abandon the hunt until they found him.
“Go on in,” the man said, stepping aside. “Skellie, the short, bald fellow with a never-ending smile, will take care of you.”
A king had no need to say thank you, everyone in the realm served him but since he preferred his identity not to be known he did something he rarely ever did.
“My thanks,” Dravic said.
“All are welcome here,” the fellow said with a tip of his head. “And so you know, you can’t go wrong with any meals at Skellie’s. His wife Mona is the best cook in all of Caerith. And for an extra coin Skellie will see your horses properly stabled and fed.”
The best cook was at Caerith Castle, but Dravic didn’t argue the point and dismounted as the fellow walked away. Then he reached up and lifted Adira off the horse. Once on her feet, he tucked her beneath his cloak, then tied the reins to his horse at one of the posts in front of the inn.
Before entering the inn, he tapped Adira on the chest, then his own and locked two of his fingers together.
He was pleased when she nodded, understanding he was ordering her to remain close to him.
With an arm around her, they entered the inn.
The warmth that greeted them was almost as welcome as the smell of roasting meat. A large hearth dominated one end of the room, flames dancing over thick logs. Men and women lingered at sturdy wooden tables, their voices low and easy as they shared a meal.
Behind a wide counter stood a short, bald man whose smile seemed as permanent as the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes.
“You’ve found your way to the right place,” he said cheerfully. “I’m Skellie.”
“I need a room for my wife and me,” Dravic said.
“You’ve the last one available,” Skellie said. “Storm has kept more than a few travelers from reaching home. Supper is included. Hot stew and fresh bread.”
Dravic set several coins on the counter.
Skellie’s eyebrows lifted. “That’ll cover your room, your meals, and your horses besides.”
“The black stallion out front. See that he’s well cared for.”
Skellie motioned to a young lad who hurried over to him. “Take the horse to the stables and see to him properly.”
Dravic gave a brief nod before asking, “How far are we from Caerith Castle?”
Skellie grinned. “On your way to see the king, are you? Hope you scheduled an audience with him. Heard he does not take well to unexpected visitors.”
“Would you if you were king?”
Skellie scratched his chin. “I suppose I’d feel the same.”
“Caerith Castle?” Dravic reminded.
“Half a day’s ride in fair weather,” Skellie answered. “Though with snow like this…” He shrugged. “A full day, perhaps longer.”
They had drifted further away then Dravic had thought.
He acknowledged Skellie with a nod. “We will eat now.”
“As you say, sir,” Skellie said and looked to Adira standing beside Dravic. “And what hot brew do you favor, mistress?”
Adira looked at him for a moment before turning questioning eyes to Dravic.
“She will have hot cider,” Dravic said, his hand taking hold of Adira’s and heading for a table tucked in a corner.
He intended to keep an eye on who came and went. If luck was with him, some of his men might show up.
Dravic guided Adira to the bench tucked safely in the corner, taking the seat beside her where he could watch the room.
She looked from one unfamiliar face to another before settling her gaze on him.
He knew the inn had to feel foreign to her. She could hear none of the voices around her and, by now, she had surely realized he had chosen not to reveal himself as king.
As he settled against the bench, his leg brushed hers.
Instead of moving away, she edged closer until their legs remained lightly touching. Then as if realizing what she had done, touching without permission, Adira eased her leg away.
Dravic immediately pressed his leg against hers, briefly rested his hand on her knee, and gave a quick nod.
He had given her permission to touch him.
Relief softened her features as she relaxed against him once again. The unfamiliar place unsettled her, and the thought of somehow becoming separated from him troubled her even more.
A serving girl hurried over carrying two steaming bowls of venison stew, thick slices of warm bread, and mugs of hot cider.
She set the cider before Adira with a smile. “Careful, mistress. It’s hot.”
Adira looked to the king.
He blew softly at the mug of cider.
She smiled, understanding and wrapped both hands around the mug, welcoming the warmth before taking a cautious sip.
Dravic tore a piece of bread in half and set one beside her bowl. Only after seeing her begin to eat, did he turn his attention to his own meal.
The rich venison stew chased away the lingering chill from the day’s ride and tasted far better than he thought it would. Around them, the murmur of conversation rose and fell with the crackle of the fire, the clink of mugs, and an occasional burst of laughter.
Dravic continued to watch the room as he ate, measuring each person who entered through the door. He recognized none of them.
By the time they had nearly finished, the conversations around them had faded into little more than background noise.
“…the Great War…”
The words, spoken by an elderly man seated at the next table, caught Dravic’s attention.
“You’ve remembered it wrong all these years,” another old fellow argued.
“Have I now?” the first challenged. “Then tell me who started the war.”
The other man didn’t hesitate. “Greed started the war.”
Dravic lifted his gaze from his mug and listened.
“Greed?” the other old man scoffed. “Kings started the war.”
“Only because greed ruled them.”
Dravic looked toward the two men. “You believe no kingdom was innocent?”
“I know it,” one replied.
“That’s a bold claim,” Dravic said.
“Only because history has a habit of favoring the victors.”
“And what makes you certain your version is the truth?” Dravic asked.
The old man studied Dravic a long moment. “Because I heard it from a man who lived through it.”
“Many lived through the Great War,” Dravic challenged.
“Not like this man. We speak often about it.”
“And who is this man and what makes him different?” Dravic asked, more than curious.
“His name is Ernach and he was King Halric’s Master of Arms.”
Dravic knew the name well. His grandfather had him hunted and killed for being a traitor.