And he’s right about me. I’m the kind of person who always comes to someone’s aid. Besides, Idowant an adventure. I want to know what will happen next, and if I remain at the Raven’s Beak, I never will.
If I was even remotely worried that I’d miss Dietan when he left, I’ve buried that feeling deep down. I can’t feel anything for the man seated across from me. Nothing at all. We’re playing a game for our common enemies to see. He’s just pretending, and so am I.
…
Our traveling party stops once in the late afternoon, purchasing extra provisions from farmers who are eager to sell their goods. Freshly picked mushrooms and potatoes are in high demand, and I can already imagine the stew I’ll make with them.
“Oh, look, these are truffles!” I’m delighted. Truffles are rare in Evandale. I hold them up to his nose.
Dietan keeps his eyes on mine as he takes a long sniff. “I’ve had these,” he murmurs. “They’re delicious.”
“But so expensive,” I lament.
“Allow me,” he says grandly, paying for the whole lot. “Don’t forget, you’re to be my princess now.”
I refrain from hitting him with my market bag, as I’m too thrilled about the truffles it now contains. “I’ll shave them over the potatoes your men got from the other stall.”
“Gods, please do” he agrees. “I’m starving.”
As we settle back into the carriage, images of last night’s attack still haunt my thoughts. Three soldiers killed, the general said, and I know they won’t be the last. If the Kilandrar was after Dietan, drawn to the Rings embedded in his skin, then surely they will return. Every time I see a shadow moving on the horizon, I can’t help but wonder if it’s following us, and I shudder.
“The Kilandrar came from Penrith, right?” I ask Dietan.
He looks up over the top of his book again. I’ve been silently looking out the window for most of our journey. Without my apron, without my bar, I realize I don’t know what to say to a prince who isn’t my customer. It’s going to be a long journey.
“I can’t be sure,” he says carefully. “But most likely. That’s what my father’s spies think.”
“So is the Usurper King of Penrith actually Boreas returned, as rumors say?”
“Who knows? Penrith closed its borders when the Usurper killed the rightful king and took the throne. Since then, it’s been difficult to gather information either way. The refugees we’ve questioned hardly know anything.” He snaps the book shut and tosses it to the empty seat beside him, perhaps sensing he won’t be getting back to his reading any time soon.
He’s sitting diagonally from me, leaning against his own window. His long legs take up much of the carriage, leaving me with a quarter of the space for my own muddy boots and hastily packed bag, which I refused to let his men store with the other luggage. I might need my healing herbs or my trusty skillet at hand if the Kilandrar are really following us.
“But if you have the Rings of Fate, you should be able to use the Whisting, right? I saw you wield the power at Veteria’s. Why didn’t you use it last night against the Kilandrar?” I ask.
Dietan sighs. “I told you. I’m cursed with it, but I can’t control it. The Whisting has a mind of its own. It rarely listens to me. Typical of the wind, don’t you think?”
“You can’t control it at all?”
His eyes harden; he shakes his head.
“But what about the Kilandrar? Are they being controlled?” I ask.
“While it doesn’t appear that the Kilandrar are entirely mindless creatures, they’re supposedly extensions of Boreas’s will. At least, according to the legends. We don’t know as much about them as we’d like.”
I frown, thinking of what I saw last night. “It could speak, though. It knew who you were by name. It must have been told to find you.”
“I’m more concerned that the Kilandrar have crossed the border into Alarice at all. Rumors place them in the south of Loegria for now, but if they’re already here… It just means we’ve got to move faster.” Dietan groans and wipes his eyes, his handsome features sagging. The weight of responsibility wears on him. “There was only one this time, but more will come.”
That pronouncement chills us into silence again.
When it’s time for food, the carriage stops just long enough for one of Dietan’s attendants to hand sandwiches and water through the window for us both before heading off again. I’m so hungry, I gobble down the sandwich, and when it’s finished, I’m sad I didn’t get to savor it. It was some sort of smoked pork with sweet sauce in a sourdough bun. I jot down the flavors in my leather journal so I can recreate it one day when I have a proper kitchen again.
Dietan finishes off the last of his sandwich and licks the sauce from the tips of his fingers, which is…distracting. I hand him a clean napkin.
“Strange that we were both able to hit it. The Kilandrar, I mean,” I say. I don’t know how we survived the attack.
“You’ve got quite a swing.” He grins.
