Romeria
The stables are bustling when Gesine and I emerge in the morning, the legionaries affixing animal skins to their saddles for the next leg of our journey. Zander hovers near the orchard gate with Abarrane and Elisaf, a rolled parchment in his grasp. Whatever they’re discussing, Zander’s glower is dark, his lips moving fast and furious.
My heart pangs with sorrow at the sight of him. Did he sleep last night? The floor in our hall is full of creaks, and yet, as I lay in bed for hours, struggling to stifle my sobs, I didn’t hear a single sound.
As if sensing me, Zander turns and meets my gaze, revealing nothing in his. I would do anything for a pair of heavy sunglasses to hide my puffy eyes.
He looks away, his conversation continuing, as if I’m nothing more than a minor distraction.
Gesine is wrong. If he felt any sadness for me, he is over it.
“We need to leave,” I whisper, the second time I’ve said those words to her this morning.
She gives me a sympathetic smile. “You know why we can’t.”
Because we wouldn’t survive long out there, just the two of us. And because Zander won’t ever allow us out of his sight, not when he has a powerful elemental and a key caster at his disposal to win back his throne.
But mostly because of this stupid prophecy Gesine clings to, that Margrethe gave her life for.
Gesine may not be willing to run, but I am. I decided last night, staring at the velvet canopy of the bed, absorbing the cold shock of my encounter with Zander. Now that I know where he stands, and what’s likely in store for me once he’s back on his throne in Cirilea, I have no other choice.
One day, after I’ve learned what I can from Gesine, I will run where no one will ever find me.
Where no one can use me ever again.
I scan the stables for Eden. She wasn’t in her chair when I returned last night. It was a relief at the time, not wanting her to see my tears. But the servant who brought plates of food and water for cleaning up this morning seemed cagey when I asked of Eden’s whereabouts.
We pass a group of warriors perched on their horses, Jarek among them. I avoid meeting his stare.
“My arse feels fantastic today, thanks to you, witch,” the burly redheaded warrior announces, stirring a round of chuckles.
Gesine dips her head. “I am so relieved for you and your arse, Drakon.”
He grins. But his humor evaporates when Jarek bites into a red apple beside him. “If I have to see one more of those fucking things …”
“This one’s sweet, though,” Jarek mumbles between chews. “And I do like them sweet. Isn’t that right, Your Highness?” He caps off his words with a wink.
“No idea.” I race away before he can see my flushed cheeks, ignoring the roar of laughter that follows.
Gesine rushes to catch up. “What did he mean by that?”
“Nothing. He’s a pig.” I dismiss Jarek from my thoughts as I make my way toward Elisaf, who has left Zander’s side. “Where have you been?”
“I missed you too.” He strokes his horse’s muzzle with one hand while cupping a palmful of feed with his other. “I was on an errand for the king.”
“Where?”
“Cirilea.”
My jaw drops with shock. “He sent you back there?”
“As close to it as I could get, yes. Atticus is dispatching riders to every corner of Islor. I intercepted one such message.”
The parchment. It was a letter. “What did it say?”
His brown eyes flitter around our surroundings. “That Atticus has claimed the crown. That Zander is conspiring with the princess of Ybaris to eliminate the world of Islor’s immortals and is considered an enemy to the realm, along with anyone who harbors him. He is working with one of Queen Neilina’s collared casters, who she sent to Islor to provide aid for his plans.”
I curse. He knows Gesine is with us. That could be through Corrin or Wendeline. Or maybe Bexley, the owner of the Goat’s Knoll, who deals in valuable information and likely feels slighted by me. “Will people believe it?”