Outside, travelers pass by the carriage, walking in the opposite direction. They are hunched over, weighed down by heavy bags; many pull carts behind them or lead horses on foot. Most look to be refugees from Penrith. Many have fled since the Usurper took charge, threatening to overwhelm the resettlement program my grandfather’s administrators set up.
“Are we almost to the bridge to Loegria?” she asks, turning her head to look at the people walking by.
“I think so.” I roll my shoulder. The scent of her still lingers on my shirt, and I like it. It feels like I’m not alone.
The road grows increasingly crowded, and the carriage slows to a crawl in the traffic. Some curious eyes turn our way, but most people keep their heads down, uninterested in the royal carriage and entourage. Something more than the usual snarl of traffic is going on. I reflexively bring my hand to the knife I always carry sheathed at my hip.
We finally arrive at North Dunston, the Alarician outpost closest to the Loegrian border. The city sprang up generations ago at the foot of the bridge connecting the two kingdoms. Its grandeur is a welcome distraction that catches Aren’s attention. She peers out the window at the vast cityscape before us. As we crest a hill, I signal for the carriage to stop before we descend the gentle slope into the city, so Aren can take in the view.
She leans halfway out the carriage window, her eyes wide with wonder. A grin spreads across her face. I’m glad to see her smiling again.
North Dunston looks as if it has grown out of the ground itself, towers jutting into the bright blue sky like gray blades of grass. Wind cuts through the city; colorful flags flutter in the breeze. The cold air pricks my skin.
The city started as a tiny outpost for travelers passing between the two kingdoms. It quickly expanded as the years passed. Lean-tos and dirt roads gave way to buildings of brick and cobblestone streets. North Dunston became a real city, with all the latest modern marvels from the capital.
Outside the carriage, an Alarician soldier shouts, “Bridge delays expected due to closure. Unnecessary travel is discouraged.”
Tell us something we don’t know.
To call it a bridge would be like calling a log a toothpick. The word doesn’t capture the enormity of the massive thoroughfare justice. The Bandai Bridge spans across a vast, empty canyon between the two continents and is as wide as the metropolis at its feet. The bridge is a relic of the first epoch, a structure made of stone and magic, a testament to the sorceress Skiron’s power. She controlled the winds, bending the earth to her will. It was her vast power that Boreas the Unbeliever studied and inherited.
Traffic jams are common on the bridge, but I’ve never seen such crowds. There are twice as many people as when we passed through at the start of my bridal search. I open the other window as Marcus walks up, matching the carriage’s slow pace.
“I don’t like the look of this,” Marcus says. “Some of the guards are hearing that changes to the refugee resettlement program are causing unrest. There’s a pileup at the border as people scramble to get across before the new laws take effect. You know better than me, though. I’m not in those meetings.”
I glance over at Aren, who looks away but is clearly listening with interest. “Some of my father’s advisors have been urging greater caution, believing that the Usurper might have placed spies and saboteurs among true refugees. Before we left, the king was in favor of maintaining the current level of resettlement, albeit far from the border. I’ve not had news that he’s changed his mind.”
Marcus looks grim. “Some of the vendors on the road are reporting attacks on southern Loegrian villages. And there was an attack on the bridge itself not two days ago. Bandits raided and killed a couple of travelers. The whole city is on high alert until they can figure out what happened. If it’s Penrith’s doing, which seems likely, I’m not surprised by the change in policy.”
If Penrith is already attacking Loegrian villages, then outright war is close at hand.
Marcus interrupts my thoughts with his usual common sense. “For now, let’s get you and Aren into less recognizable clothing. There’s nothing to be done about the carriage itself, but we’re taking down the banner and throwing some plain cloth over the top.”
My valet comes up to the window with a beat-up leather jacket and cap for me to wear. “Sit tight. Stay here with the men,” Marcus says. “A few of us are just going to check out what’s happening. We’ll be back before sundown.”
…
Aren looks a little sorrowful as she shrugs off the coat I had made for her and sets it on the seat between us. My valet hands her one of my leather coats. She dons it without complaint and tucks her hair up under a cap. She looks just like any other traveler making their way through the city. She doesn’t look like a princess. If the kidnappers from Port Tyralis are still on our trail, they’ll have a harder time picking her out of a crowd. She’ll blend in with everyone else. But those striking eyes of hers would stand out anywhere.
It strikes me that I would know Aren in a crowd no matter what she’s wearing. I’m attuned to her now in a way I’ve never been with a woman.
“You look good in my jacket,” I say, feeling warm all over at the sight of her in my clothes. She looks tiny inside the large garment. I imagine removing it with my own hands and feel a hitch in my trousers.
Aren touches her cap, smiling. “You don’t look so bad yourself, for a scruffy peasant.” I can tell she’s scared, making the best of a dangerous situation. On a whim, I take her hand and give it a squeeze.
She squeezes back and doesn’t let go. Warmth runs within me.
“I’m sorry that this isn’t quite the world tour you were hoping for,” I say.
“We’re farther from Evandale than I’ve ever been,” she replies.
“With any luck, you’ll make it all the way to Lundenwic.”
She drops my hand as I realize what I’ve said. In the enclosed safety of the carriage, I got carried away for a moment and imagined her as a real princess in Lundenwic. I forgot she’s just in this for adventure and gold and to help me save the kingdom. She doesn’t actually want to marry me.
“There’s no other path to Loegria, is there?” she asks, changing the subject.
“There isn’t.” The rocks in the canyon below are as sharp as razors, and the wind down there could shred skin from bone. That’s why the bandits attacked the bridge. It’s a lifeline between the two kingdoms.
