Chapter 6
“I pledge my life until death or decree,
to serve the Kingdom of Ravaryn and the Ethorian gods in equal measure.
I recognize The Old Book as the one true holy script, and the Ravaryn Crown as its enforcer.
In body and soul, so I swear it.”
- The Order of the Veil’s Oath of Servitude
My body was stiff and ached after so many hours in the saddle.
My bound hands were tied to the Veiler’s saddle. His hands were on the reins, and my back was pressed against his front as we rode. It was my first time on horseback, and I prayed I wouldn’t get trampled.
It was midday, and we had stopped only once to drink and eat stale bread with squirrel stew. It was enough to curb the hunger and thirst amassed from riding for hours. However, my body still craved more. Exhaustion was beating at my door, but the pain and discomfort I felt kept me awake.
My bare and blood-crusted feet dangled from the sides of the horse. My toes were numb, the pads of my feet twinging. I deeply regretted the decision I had made to forgo footwear.
My choice of clothing was also questionable.
My nightgown was sullied and ripped, exposing my bruised knees. The temperature was near freezing, and I visibly shook. The only fabric keeping me from falling victim to the elements was my lined overcoat.
“Stop!” my captor shouted.
The horse jerked to a halt, and I barely caught myself before pitching forward.
The cold air hit, making my limbs feel even heavier. Before I could take a full breath, my captor was dismounting.
He walked over to another horse carrying several satchels. Then he dug around and pulled out a pair of boots and two articles of clothing. When he walked back to our horse, he lifted me up and onto the Ground without warning.
“Here,” he said, handing me the clothes. “Change. Before you freeze to death.”
“I can’t. My hands—”
Steel flashed. He cut the rope, holding the last fiber between his fingers. His eyes narrowed.
“Don’t run.”
“I won’t.”
The rope fell, and I unwrapped the bundle: a boy’s tunic, black trousers, boots. Worn, but intact.
“Where did you get these?”
“Not everyone survives the road.”
The breath caught in my throat. “You stripped a corpse.”
I shoved the items back into the Veiler’s arms, looking at my hands as if they were plagued with the smell and feel of death. I brushed my hands on my nightgown, trying to rid myself of that stench.
“He wasn’t using them.” He then shrugged as if it were nothing. “It’s only going to get colder where we’re going.”
“Where are we going?”
“Just put the clothes on.”
I grabbed the clothes from the Veiler’s hands, letting my fingers rub the thick fabric. Disgust curdled in my stomach, but the cold bit harder.
“Turn around,” I snapped.
“No chance. You’d bolt.”
“I said I won’t run.”
“And I said I don’t trust you.” His smirk was icy, and it made my skin crawl.
I huffed because he was right. If I wanted information on Willam, I needed to survive long enough to find it.
I turned my back, stripping fast, one arm shielding my chest as I snatched the tunic from his lazy hand. His silence pressed on me heavier than his eyes.
The clothes fit well enough. The boots blessedly so.
It’s one thing to wear slightly baggy or tight clothing, and quite another to trudge around in uncomfortable, ill-fitting footwear. That could cause blisters, and blisters pop and become infected.
“Are you done?” he asked impatiently. “I want to reach the prairie by evening.”
“When will we stop to rest?”
“This was our break.”
When I straightened, the Veiler was already holding another piece of rope.
“Is that really necessary?”
“You had five minutes unbound, be thankful.” He caught my wrists before I could argue, tying them quickly, almost carelessly.
Then he lifted me back onto the horse.
“You seem sure of yourself, Veiler,” I remarked, curling my lip.
He glanced up, his lip momentarily twitching upward before straightening again.
“Rowan.”
“What?” I raised a brow at him.
“My name is Rowan,” he stated, mounting behind me.
Why did he tell me willingly? If I ever made it home, knowing his name could endanger him. No one pitied the death of a Veiler, masked or not.
Names were weapons. Why hand me his?
I hated Veilers with a burning passion, and perhaps this Veiler even more so because of the harm he had caused Alona. However, I acknowledged that my traitorous body wasn’t as repulsed by him as my conscience demanded.
He smelled of sandalwood and leather, and I had to shake my head to rid myself of the intrusive thoughts. I didn’t need to learn all the little details about him. I didn’t want to know.
He was a Veiler. Plain and simple.
Even if he wasn’t personally responsible, he was the very representation of the people who took Willam and countless others. He was a murderer.
I had to remember that.
“Why would you tell me your name? Isn’t your identity one of your most treasured secrets?”
The horse began moving again, and I fell forward in my seat. I promptly sat up and rolled my shoulders back. He chuckled.
“It’s just a name.”
“I suppose you believe that my death is inevitable, and hence knowing your name won’t put you in any danger.”
I felt him shrug again.
“Well, Rowan, unfortunately for you, I plan on surviving.”
I would survive. I had to.
Silence lingered between us, broken only by the steady clop of hooves. Then, almost too softly to hear, Rowan muttered, “That will go away.”
“What will?” I asked, my attention drawn back to him.
“Hope.”