Chapter Fifteen
Isla
We step outside of the Grove after a couple hours of weaving through the small animal trails and well-worn roads of the forest. My bones ache from riding all morning.
The village in front of us is dilapidated and worn; one that looked as if it wasn’t under the protection of one of the Prince’s dukes.
The stone wall that surrounds the village is crumbling, making the village look abandoned.
“Where are we?” I ask quietly.
“Dunridge.”
I try to picture the map of Azmerin in my head, but Dunridge didn’t sound familiar. “I’ve never heard of it.”
“I would be shocked if you did,” Rhylen dismisses. He sounds so nonchalant at the derelict village we’re entering.
It’s quiet, eerily quiet. No usual sounds of children playing, people bartering in the square, typical sounds of a busy, bustling village. The only sounds that echo off the walls are the slow, but loud, sounds of Fia’s hooves hitting the cobblestone streets.
“Why are we here?” I whisper.
I feel Rhylen chuckle softly against my back. “To drop off a few things, pick up a couple more. There are people here. Trust me.”
He leads Fia to a small house and dismounts. I look around at the empty streets. It’s a strange feeling. Something screams at me to tread carefully. There’s a tingling on the back of my neck, like we are being watched. Rhylen adjusts the dark hood over his head and takes off towards the house.
“Wait,” I whisper-shout at him. “Slow down.”
“Keep up, love. We have a schedule to keep.” He carries a small pouch and gently knocks on the wooden door. A haggard, young woman opens the door. Five little children play on the floor, ignoring the strange intruders. Another little boy peeks around her skirts.
“Hello?” She greets cautiously, blinking into the sun. It’s impossible to miss the tension and terror in her body.
“Imogen, let us in,” Rhylen’s gruff voice startles her slightly.
“Oh, Rhylen,” relief pours from her voice. “Come in, come in.” She gestures at us.
“We can’t stay long, more deliveries to make. More people to see.” He hands her a small pouch. “Take this. This is all I can manage for now without it being too obvious. Have they been here?”
The mention of “they” has my ears perking. Clearly, he knew this woman, but to what end? Are they lovers? Are these littles his? I look around at the small children playing near the hearth. They’re all too similar of an age for them to be all fathered by Rhylen.
“It’s been several weeks. Caius said they should be slowing down, but what’s happening? All we hear are bits and pieces of news.”
Rhylen shakes his head. “I don’t have much to give you either. Once I find out more, I’ll send word to Caius, don’t fret. Just lay low and when Coley comes for a visit, pay him. Do whatever you can to send him on his way quickly.”
Imogen sighs. She looks around at the children playing. “I don’t know how much longer we can do this.”
Rhylen squeezes her shoulder gently. “Hang in there. It won’t be like this forever.”
Imogen gives him a small smile. My mind spins at their conversation. Coley? So, we were close enough to Breckenton to be under the sheriff’s jurisdiction but not close enough to see the village. Clearly not close enough for Duke Cahir to care on what this place looks like.
Interesting.
I look between Rhylen and Imogen, holding my breath for some kind of slight affection. Something that showed me the man in front of me had a woman and children waiting for him, but that never came. He nods to her, turns abruptly, moves to the door.
“Isla,” he asserts, motioning towards the exit and we’re off to the next house. For the next couple of hours, we bounce from small house to small house, dropping off random supplies or small pouches of coin.
The people of this small village were exhausted, stressed, buckling under the weight and expectations of the kingdom.
Each person Rhylen talked to; he assured them change was coming.
This was the dreaded hood that Oliver hated?
It’s hard to come to imagine that Oliver would be outraged at the help and relief he’s giving these people.
Rhylen moves quietly from house to house. His dark hood stays on, covering his face. He turns back to look at me. “One last stop. I have a feeling you might like this one.”
Curiosity gets the better of me while I follow him. I go through the list of things we needed to do while we were here. We’ve dropped off several pouches of coin to small families. Rhylen listened to their pleas and gave any news he could. What else did we have to do?
We come to a small hut on the edge of town.
One remarkably similar to Healer Sibley’s.
The sight of it makes my heart squeeze with grief.
Oh, how I wished I could see him one last time.
Herbs hang from the side of the building, drying.
A small smile tugs on my face. Rhylen smiles in return. “I told you.”
He pushes open the door, motioning me to go in. “Where are we?”
“Irric needs supplies, remember? So, we get them here.”
The room is dim, only lit by the sun coming through the windows. A man works in the back with his back turned to us. It’s so eerily familiar to Healer Sibley. A wave of grief washes over me while Rhylen walks up to the back counter. He taps on the counter, grabbing the attention of the old man.
“Rhylen,” his voice booms. He looks over his small spectacles with a wide smile on his face.
“Caius, how are you?” Rhylen asks. They grip each other’s forearms in a hearty shake. I stand back and observe the two together. Caius, the old man, has a leather apron similar to what Healer Sibley would wear. A short, white beard dons his face, giving him a friendly appearance.
The shop is filled with shelves of knick-knacks, plants, books, and remedies. My fingers itch to look around, to peruse the shelves to see what I could possibly discover.
The warm smile on Caius’ face falls at Rhylen’s question. “The usual,” he replies, somberly. “More taxes, less food. We’re a starving people.”
Rhylen looks at him. Frustration is clear on his face while he drums his fingers on the counter. A beat of silence passes between them. Eventually, Rhylen starts fishing for the last pouch of coin he has.
“It’s not much,” Rhylen tells the old man. “But I’m hoping it can help stave off the sheriff long enough for us to make a move.
Caius smiles at him. “Every bit helps. It’s only a matter of time. The dam will break soon, son.”
Rhylen squeezes the man’s hand. “Have you heard anything?”
“Come. Let’s go back here. The walls have eyes lately.” Caius looks to the front door, to me, and back to Rhylen. He nods, motions me to follow, heading to the back room.
It’s a dark room, filled with half lit candles.
Books line the walls, along with vining plants.
A fireplace is lit, with a large cauldron boiling over it.
Glass bottles filled with unidentifiable liquids and plants are spread across the table.
I resist the urge to pry into his studies.
Caius follows my gaze. There’s a smile on his face.
“Do you practice?” He asks me politely. My cheeks heat at getting caught.
“I’ve dabbled,” I supply. “Mostly with growing plants. We had a healer in my village that helped me.”
Caius nods. “The plants are everything. You simply have to listen.”
My eyes widen in shock as I look from the plants to him. He chuckles and holds a plant up. “What?” Caius asks casually. “You don’t believe the plants have stories? That they hold memories, feelings, or even, perhaps, souls?”
I glance nervously at Rhylen, gauging his reaction. Is this a trap? Rhylen watches both of us. His hands are folded behind his back, a curious expression on his face. His eyes meet mine. He whips around, looking at the medicines Caius has for him.
“I, I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I stutter.
Caius nods, gently. “I understand, my dear. When the time comes, bring your questions to him. He can help.” The old man squeezes my hand and looks at Rhylen. “You two best be off. Don’t want to be caught here. It’s too dangerous.”
Rhylen nods, patting the bag he’s packed. “You’re right. Isla,” he looks at me.
I look back at Caius one last time before following Rhylen out the door.
My heart feels as if it’s going to pound out of my chest. My knees feel weak as I push myself to take another step through the streets.
Who does he mean? Surely not Rhylen? I can’t trust him.
I can’t trust any of them. My mind spins as I absentmindedly follow Rhylen.
I lean against an empty house while Rhylen assists one last stop before we travel back to our camp. My arms are crossed over my chest.
Ignoring the small tug of the scars on my back, I think about the events that have unfolded with the terrors that are ruining the kingdom.
Every lie runs through my head as I try to align what Oliver has told me with what I’ve seen tonight.
I never hear Rhylen walk up to me until his voice startles me out of my thoughts.
“Ready?” He asks, looking back at me staring out at the old buildings. Stopping what he’s doing, Rhylen turns towards me and examines my face in the dim lamp light from the house he’s left. “What’s wrong?”
I look away, causing him to step closer. One hand grips my arm, while his other hand tilts my chin up, making me look at him. “Isla,” he warns.
I want to shy away, to step out of his space, to put distance between us and the lies that are threatening to topple me. “Who is she?” I ask.
“She?” The slip has the corner of his mouth turning up.
“Who are these people?” I remedy, silently cursing myself. “Why do you help them?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
His brows knit together in confusion. “What do you mean?”
“Why do you steal for the poor? Isn’t that what you’re doing?
You’re stealing from the crown to feed its people.
You risk everything. You hide in the silence.
You’re not planning some rebellion, but you’re allowing a group of people to use you as the figure head of it?
You’re not really after the crown?” Words spill out.
The confusion and conflict are overwhelming.
“If I don’t, who will?” He supplies. With that, he turns abruptly, leaving me in his wake.
I silently follow him back to Fia. Rhylen grabs my hips and pushes me onto the horse.
When I’m steady, he climbs into the saddle.
His hand finds my waist again. We travel back to the camp in a comfortable silence.
∞∞∞
Raia, Maisie, and Rhylen’s band of men sit around a fire when we arrive back at camp. Ewan greets us as we slowly dismount. My scars stretch uncomfortably on my back. Irric eyes me curiously, watching my movement.
“Has something happened to your back?” he asks. My entire body tenses at the question, pulling me back to that moment. I’m on my knees, hearing each crack of the whip split my flesh.
“Isla,” Rhylen steps in front of me. “Hey,” he calls again.
I shake the living nightmare from my gaze and give them a tight smile. “Old injury, is all.”
“I could look at it, if you’d like. Maybe brew something for the soreness,” Irric offers.
I roll my shoulders, trying to dissolve some of the tension that’s built from the attention.
I didn’t want any of them prying into my scars, reliving the death of papa over again.
They’d look at me differently. Sympathy isn’t something I want from them.
They already have the upper hand as it is.
“Thank you, but I’m fine. The healer in our village has already tried everything.” I glance at Raia. There’s anger all over her face as she listens to my lies, but she never says anything. She doesn’t call me out on it in front of them and for that, I’m grateful.
Wyll strums his lute near the fire while Argus sharpens his arrows. They watch the exchange from their seats. Fia stomps her hoof in impatience, so Rhylen unsaddles her and sends her off to the other horses.
“How was Dunridge?” Ewan probes. Rhylen crosses his arms against his chest.
“Worse. Imogen sends her love.”
Wyll sighs, “does she miss me?”
Rhylen rolls his eyes, “she didn’t once mention you.”
Wyll clutches his heart. “You wound me.”
“I think we should be off. Move towards Rockstall. There are things I want to show Isla,” Rhylen discusses. Ewan cocks his head to the side, examining my face.
“You think that’s wise?” He asks.
“Better now, than never. She needs to see it. Argus, take the first watch. Everyone else, sleep. You’ll need the rest.” Rhylen comments the last bit looking at me. I roll my eyes and march off towards his tent.