Romeria
“Freywich?” I hiss as we gallop forward. “Isn’t that closer to Cirilea?”
“It is. But we need supplies and information, and this is the best location to acquire both. It is a distance from the king’s road and not prominent, having struggled over the years. Atticus will not have sent a messenger here.” Elisaf moves us beside Gesine and Horik. The line of warriors slows as we approach.
“But Lord Danthrin was in Cirilea. He would know what happened. Wouldn’t he have come back by now?”
“We will see soon enough.”
I shake my head. Elisaf is far too calm.
The entry gate is nothing more than two halves of an oversized wooden door, held together by iron straps and propped open with chains. Several men in armor guard it. On the ramparts above, more guards wait, arrows nocked. They seem to be multiplying by the minute.
“What if they don’t let us in?” I whisper.
“That would be foolish,” comes Elisaf’s smooth response.
Surveying the hardened bodies and harder faces traveling with me, I would have to agree. Each of these Legion warriors has at least five weapons on display—and far more hidden beneath their leather.
“What if they shoot arrows at us?” I amend.
“Also foolish, but we are shielded by our caster, just in case. And you must relax. Even if they have heard what has transpired in Cirilea, they would not dare refuse someone of royal blood.”
Our caster. Whatever was shared between Zander and Gesine in that tent, they seem to have come to an understanding. An alliance.
“But I doubt anyone here knows what has happened. It will take weeks for word to spread. Months. There are villages in Islor that believe Zander’s father is still alive and king of Islor. Granted, Freywich will hear the latest sooner than most, given its proximity to Cirilea.”
“Here, eat this.” Gesine reaches between us, thrusting an object into my hand.
“What is it?” Besides something shriveled and brown.
“A special mushroom.”
I give her a flat look. “I’ve taken those before, and they did not relax me.” I spent hours hiding behind trees in Central Park, believing a man on a bike was chasing me.
“These are morels grow on the islands off the Gulf of Nyos. They can disguise the scent of Ybarisan blood.”
“The orange blossoms.” Or rather, neroli oil from the blossoms, Zander had said. An appealing scent for the Islorians and unmistakable. It’s why I can’t move freely among them without stirring notice.
“Exactly. And until we can confirm what these people know, you shouldn’t parade through the gate as Princess Romeria. Just in case. With these morels, they will assume you are an Islorian.” She studies the guards ahead. There’s a slight shimmer in her green eyes to hint of her channeling, and through the material of her dress, I see the outline of the glowing doe emblem. She’s using the air to shield us. “Chew it well before you swallow and it will work faster.”
The mushroom tastes like wood and sunflower shells. I’m forcing it down my throat just as we reach the entrance.
“Halt and identify yourselves!” the guard on the left hollers.
“Are you saying you do not recognize your king?” Abarrane’s voice is crisp and mocking.
The guard falters, his eyes shifting between his partner at the gate and then Zander, to his filthy tunic and breeches that are far from regal. “We were not aware that the king would be paying a visit to Freywich.” Has he ever seen Zander? Maybe they heard the news, and he now assumes this is Atticus?
“Well, he has, so you should beg forgiveness appropriately.”
“I apologize, Your Highness.” His face reddens. “Lower your weapons!” He dips his head toward Abarrane. “My lady—”
Abarrane is out of her saddle and holding a dagger against the guard’s neck faster than I can blink. “I command the King’s Legion, and I will split you in two if you ever call me that again.”
Soft chuckles carry from behind me, the warriors amused.
“Yes, my—” He winces as the tip of her blade digs into his skin. “Yes, Commander.”