“Right. Of course.” Eden nods, as if she grasps what’s happening.
I’ve been in her shoes—so many times.
Elisaf smiles at the back of her blond head, but it isn’t condescending—not like Jarek. “But traveling in this manner, they are less likely to pay us heed.”
I survey the group that’s left—nine servants, Gesine, and me, who wouldn’t appear to be a threat to the casual observer. Only three single riders. I see what he means—not exactly a threat. “When will we see the Legion again?”
“We will rejoin them closer to Bellcross, where we can set up camp away from view.”
They obviously came up with this plan when I wasn’t around. Resentment stirs inside. Not too long ago, Zander divulged everything to me. I miss those days.
As if privy to my thoughts, Zander half turns, gazing into the distance. But I know him well enough to know he can likely sense my emotions from there. Thanks to my inability to shield my feelings from him as the previous Romeria could, we've always had a peculiar connection. I only hope that changes when I learn how to hide them as Wendeline can. It’s high on my list of priorities.
Until then … I slip my ring from my finger and welcome that uncomfortable buzz, pouring all my focus into centering myself for the next several hours.
The trek away from the king’s road to our camp for the night takes us past fields of wheat and corn and along a stream the horses welcome. When we reach the crop of tents, a fresh kill is roasting over a campfire—a goat, from the looks of it.
“Whose farm is this?” I take in the wooden barn and the small stone cottage nearby. On the other side is a small pond.
“Someone willing to accept a bag of coin and stay out of our way.” Jarek steers our horse toward the rest.
Zander and Abarrane have galloped off to meet two cloaked warriors. They push back their hoods in greeting. It’s Drakon and another I haven’t met but I recognize.
Both wear somber expressions.
I wait for Jarek to dismount before I ease off, my body aching. “What’s that about?” It’s far too hot to be wearing cloaks, which tells me they must have been using them to hide their identities.
“The commander sent two scouts ahead to Bellcross to learn what they could about the current situation in the city.”
“And they’re back already?” The entry gate to Bellcross is still an hour’s ride away, according to Elisaf.
“They never stopped riding ahead, our first night at camp.” Jarek hands the reins to Brawley, who has eagerly assumed his previous role of stable boy.
Jarek’s right. I haven’t seen the burly and loud Drakon in some time. “What do you think is going on in the city?” By the dour look taking over Zander’s face, nothing good.
“If I knew, we wouldn’t need to send scouts, would we?” Jarek strolls toward them.
I’m tired of standing on the sidelines, especially if Zander thinks I’m going to help him regain his throne.
I rush to pace myself at the warrior’s side, my chin held high.
Jarek cuts a sideways glance. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“Same as you. Finding out what’s happening in Bellcross.”
“Yes, but I’m second-in-command of the Legion. And you are …”
A key caster who Zander needs. “Just an heir to a throne?” I finish with a saccharine smile before speeding up to pass him.
“… several of the seedier taverns. The whispers are endless, but we could not confirm them as truth, Your Highness.” Drakon’s voice is far more serious than the last time we crossed paths.
“And the mood in the city?” Zander’s back is to me, but I can practically see his body stiffen as I approach.
“Most do not care who calls himself king,” the other legionary, a wiry man with rich, russet-brown skin, says. “Their focus is on which of their mortals shouldn’t be trusted.”
I can’t help myself. “Maybe their focus should be on how they treat those mortals to earn their resentment.”
Zander sighs heavily. “Thank you both. That will be all for now.”