Her laugh is breathy, nervous. “My father once told me stories of the Legion warriors, and none of them were particularly comforting. This way to the stables, Your Highness.” She guides me along a garden path and beneath a vine-covered trellis. As we round corners and move farther away from the garden, the floral scent gives way to horses and hay, the crickets to whinnies and soft, rhythmic snores.
We pass the wagon where Jarek was occupied with his tributary, but it’s vacant now. Still, my cheeks burn with embarrassment, knowing I’ll likely hear about my spying later from the abrasive warrior.
Gesine is where I saw her last, sitting on the barrel, her slim body slumped, her hands trembling as they hover over Zorya’s damaged eye.
“Is that the king’s healer?” Eden whispers.
“A high priestess. Yes.” A lie, but maybe also the truth now because she’s as valuable a tool to Zander as I will be when I know what the hell I’m doing.
“I’ve never seen one before.”
“Yeah? Well, now you’ll see an exhausted one who’s about to collapse.” I shake my head as I march toward her.
Zorya sits on a stack of wooden crates, watching us with a severe gleam as we approach. She cradles her leather eye patch in her hands.
“Gesine, you’ve done enough for the day,” I say.
Of course, Gesine doesn’t answer, her focus undeterred.
I sigh, shifting to the warrior. “She’ll be no good to the Legion like this. She needs to rest now.”
The warrior’s jaw clenches. “We are done for the day, witch.”
Another few beats pass and Gesine’s hands drop.
A strangled sound escapes Eden’s throat at Zorya’s damaged eye staring back at us. The enemy blade cut right through the center, splitting her iris. Now it’s nothing more than a cloudy gray mass with a line through it.
“They need to be at their strongest for what is to come.” Gesine’s lids are heavy.
“But you already know you can’t fix that.”
“It was worth a try.”
I shake my head at the stubborn caster. Is she doing this to win the Legion’s trust? Or maybe Zander’s? Regardless, she’ll be lucky if she can climb the steps. She’s barely staying on the barrel. “Can you help her to our room?”
When Zorya doesn’t move, I push, “Please?”
Zorya slips on her leather patch with a grim smirk and stands. Grabbing hold of Gesine’s arm, she throws it over her shoulder and hauls the caster to her feet, her treatment not gentle.
But Gesine doesn’t seem to care. “I am not the only one who should be sleeping now, Your Highness.”
I survey the quiet stables and the peaceful warriors. Even the horses are asleep. No sign of Zander anywhere. “I’ll be up soon.” I point toward the house, mouthing my thanks to Zorya.
Her brow pulls tight, but she says nothing, towing Gesine back along the path we took.
“I want to see the orchard. Take me there, please?”
Eden hesitates but leads me across the dirt grounds, past the manure pile I launched Villier into earlier, and through another gate.
A clear night sky and moon allow for some natural light as we walk deeper in, but all I can see are dark forms.
Beneath my boot, something hard gives way with my weight. A fallen apple, left to rot.
“It would be more impressive seen in the daylight, Your Highness.” Eden holds up the lantern, casting light on the ripe red bulbs hanging from branches.
“So this is Lord Danthrin’s prized apple orchard?”
“There are pear and plum trees too. Cherries and peaches in the back.”