The woman goes very still.
She watches me with a look I can’t decipher, as if she’s peeling back my skin with her eyes, examining my insides and finding me wanting. “Tell me everything,” she says.
No. I won’t.I fight against the magic, sweat pricking at my forehead, my whole body trembling as pain grips my head like a vice—but in the end, the poison wins. I tell her everything she wants to know. I tell her about the Whisting, about the Rings in my back, about my fear that Loegria will march against Penrith without them, and about how I need to find a way to remove them before I kill everyone. About how Engel is our only hope, as I’ve been told Osian has arcane knowledge of the Whisting.
“We’ve been wandering the desert for days,” I say, finishing my story. “No food. No water. Until you found us.”
“Please,” Aren says to the woman. “We’re just trying to save him and everyone else in Albion. Just let us go. The less you know, the safer you’ll be.”
“The Kilandrar are after us—after me,” I correct. “The sooner I find Osian and get the Rings removed, the sooner I can stop the war. I can stop everything.”
No one speaks again for a long while.
The woman rubs her jaw, her eyes fixed on the fire, her gaze distant as she contemplates all I’ve told her. I clench my fists on my lap, praying I haven’t gotten us into even more trouble. Oddly enough, though, her wariness has started to ebb. I relax my hands as she lets the silence stretch on.
Like any diplomat, she’s waiting for us to fill it, to offer more information unasked. I keep my mouth shut and let my eyes wander to the sword and belt on the table. I wonder if it was her birthright or if she has a collection of stolen treasures to which she will soon add my royal knife.
“You’ve gotten our names,” Aren says. “Now tell us yours.”
“I know her name,” I say. It’s a gamble.
Aren starts, looking at me in confusion.
The woman’s eyes meet mine, and I don’t shy away. After a moment, her gaze softens, and she relaxes back into a pillow, propping herself up on her elbow. “Who am I, Prince Dietan of Loegria?” she asks.
I cough. “You are Princess Katharine of Penrith, daughter of the last true king and ruler-in-exile of that kingdom.” I think for a second. “And my second cousin once removed, I believe.”
Aren’s eyes grow wide.
“I know my history,” I say with a proud smile. “I saw your sword and the sash you wear. There were reports that you might have escaped. That you were in exile amassing a small army. My father sent emissaries to find you after the Usurper first took your father’s throne. We’ve been looking for you for a long time. I’m glad to discover you’re still alive.”
“Good work, cousin. Yes, we fled Penrith and settled here, in the Waste, for our safety. Not that we’ve been at all safe, and to be honest, both of you should probably go back where you came from.”
“You survived,” Aren says, ignoring Katharine’s warning. “Everyone said you were killed when the Usurper took the throne.”
“I had to let the world believe I was dead so I could live. I thought to make a stand from here to retake Penrith, until this Osian fellow came and claimed the Waste for himself. Ruined my plans.”
Another woman enters the room and nods a greeting. “She’s right, you know. You both should go back to wherever you came from.” She’s smaller and gentler-looking than Katharine, though she’s dressed in the same fine linens as Katharine.
“This is my wife, Jingu,” says Katharine.
“Trust me,” I say, “I would rather not be here, either. But I have no choice.”
Katharine sighs. “The land itself is hostile and unfit for even the most prepared travelers, which is exactly how Osian wants it. He may not have created this environment, but he has taken advantage of his kingdom’s isolation to exert unnatural control over his people. I doubt he will help you. You are a fool to seek his counsel. He cannot be trusted.”
This is exactly what Veteria said, lifetimes ago, but neither she nor Katharine seem to have a better solution.
“Perhaps not, but I don’t know how else to get the Rings of Fate back in the hands where they belong. I’m running out of time. Please, let us go so I can see this through.”
“And let you die out in the desert? I think not. Jingu’s people have learned how to survive in the Waste, and even we know we can’t outsmart the land. Believe me when I tell you, you won’t discover any solutions in Engel. Go back to Loegria while you still have the chance and find another way.”
She picks up a larger ceramic pitcher and refills our cups. When she notices us watching her warily, she adds, “Trust me, it’s just water this time.”
I can’t afford to doubt her, so I drink some more. It’s just as delicious as the first cup, but I hope it’s untainted.
“Slowly,” Katharine reminds me just as my stomach cramps.
Aren and I drink quietly, slowly. Jingu sets food on the table beside us—a small platter of fresh fruits carved into exquisite shapes. She pushes the plate toward me. “One bite at a time.”
