Romeria
Deep shadows still linger as I kneel at the river’s edge, splashing cool water against my face and neck. Legion warriors move swiftly and with purpose, disassembling the camp, collecting only what won’t weigh us down on the journey. The most gravely wounded of the lot now have only bloodstained leathers to hint at the battle they endured. Not all, though, I note, watching Zorya stalk past with a black leather eye patch. But she looks better after Gesine’s help, the scar that stretches from her eyebrow to her cheek nothing more than a tidy silver line.
Feeling slightly more refreshed, I aim for the horses and Elisaf.
Gesine sits on a log at the smoldering firepit, studying the black-and-blue rib cage of a warrior who towers over her, his enormous frame layered with muscle.
She spares a second for me, offering a brief smile before refocusing. I fell asleep before she came to bed in our shared tent last night, and she was gone when I woke, the only evidence she was ever there the rumpled skins where she slept. How she is still going now astounds me.
Elisaf is adjusting the strap on his saddle when I reach him. “You certainly look better, Your Highness. How do you feel?”
“Like I should have stuck to those stupid sour berries.” As promised, Elisaf brought me a sliver of wild boar. A test, he claimed, insisting I chew slowly.
But instead, I shoved the entire piece into my mouth, hoping it might somehow fill the empty pit inside, and then I demanded more.
An hour later, I felt the first stomach cramps, and a half hour after that, Elisaf found me curled in the fetal position, groaning in agony. He fetched Gesine to settle my mutinous digestive system for me. It didn’t take long for her to do so, but it left me weak. The silver lining was that I drifted off to sleep on a night where I might otherwise have tossed and turned until dawn. Though I suspect that might also have been the work of the caster.
“I did warn you.”
“Yeah, I know, but I thought I’d be fine. This girl in my art class, Rebecca, was a vegetarian who suddenly started eating meat, and she was fine.” I sat across from her as she devoured it on more than one occasion.
“Was Rebecca elven?”
“No. I mean, maybe.” I snort. “The hell if I know. I thought I was human, didn’t I?”
Elisaf scans around us, checking for ears. There aren’t any, but he lowers his voice, anyway. “Do not forget that our Ybarisan cousins have distinct differences, beyond the obvious.”
“Yes, I got this lecture last night from Gesine.”
“Legion, prepare to move out!” Jarek calls out in his deep, raspy voice, his stride sleek as he rallies the warriors for their horses.
Zander strolls across the abandoned camp, Abarrane at his side, her hand resting on her sword’s pommel. The king’s expression is stony, his jaw set with determination as he speaks to her.
Just looking at him pricks at my chest. Now what? Am I going to have to spend the next however many days with my arms wrapped around his waist?
“What are the chances I’ll get my own horse?”
“Given there aren’t enough, and you haven’t proven yourself proficient at steering one, I would say slim to none.” Elisaf frowns in thought. “Actually … definitely none.”
Great. “Can I ride with you?”
He opens his mouth but falters.
“Please. I can’t go with him. I just … I can’t.” My voice cracks. “I’d rather ride with Jarek at this point.”
His eyes flitter in the direction of his king, his friend. With a heavy sigh, he holds out his hand.
And a lifeline.
From the castle balcony, Islor’s countryside seemed nothing more than lush green bumps that rolled into the horizon, interspersed with crops of trees. Seeing it from this angle, though, the horses cantering toward Bellcross, I realize how high Cirilea sits above its lands, how craggy this terrain is, how vast the forests.
Somehow, in this steady procession of warriors, I feel alone.
We emerged from Eldred Wood to a gloomy sky and a fine mist, and have been riding along the king’s road that borders it at a steady pace for hours, breaking once at a small stream to water the horses. But the clouds have since scattered, we’ve veered off the main road, and the air grows muggier. I’m baking in this wool cloak. Finally having enough, I tug at the clasp around my collar and shove the heavy material between us to keep from losing it.
Elisaf checks over his shoulder.
“I’m hot.” I unbutton my tunic to widen its collar around my neck and shoulders.