He returned to unpacking the bags again as he explained, “An unmarried man and woman can’t very well travel together without attracting attention, especially standing out as much asyou do. You and I are going to pose as newlyweds. We were married in Moranton up north, and I’m bringing you home to my family in the Wollin.”
“Newlyweds, Val? Really?” She felt a squeeze of heartache. She’d been arealnewlywed until the night before when she’d so cruelly become a widow.
“It’s either that or have everyone assume you’re my harlot.”
“Just say I’m your sister!”
“We look nothing alike, darling, and you speak Baer with an accent. People would be suspicious as soon as you opened your mouth.”
He took another ring out of the box and slid it on his own finger. “This was Rangar’s idea, by the way.”
“Rangarsuggested we pose as newlyweds? After he broke your nose when you kissed me?”
“Oh, he made sure to threaten me with plenty more broken bones if I try to kiss you again. But he also knew I was the only one who could get you out of the Baersladen safely.”
She hugged her knees tightly with a frown. “Whyareyou helping, Val?”
He frowned back at her. “What do you mean?”
“You and I aren’t soulbound like I am with Rangar. You don’t owe me anything.”
He rested his hands on his hips and looked up at the cloudy night sky. Finally, he sighed. “I suppose I grew bored with being a cad and thought I’d try out this hero thing for a while.”
She rolled her eyes and tossed her apple core at him, but the truth was, Valenden was risking his life for her. He’d sacrificed just as much as she had—and lost perhaps even more.
She said sincerely, “Thank you, Val.”
He settled next to her, holding up his hand beside hers to admire their matching rings. “No thanks necessary, darling wife. Just don’t hog the blanket.”
He tugged teasingly on the wool blanket, and she wrapped it around the two of them, and then fell into a restless sleep. She dreamed she was back at an orange grove she’d visited as a little girl in the south of the Wollin. Citrus only grew in the southern kingdoms, and she’d loved the season when cartloads of oranges and lemons and grapefruit would roll into Castle Mir. For weeks, every meal would be laced with lemon rind, citrus juices, candied orange peel.
She woke sometime later with a start, the smell of lemon rind strong in her memory. Gasping, she shook Valenden awake beside her. “Val, Val, wake up!”
His eyes snapped open as one hand reached instinctively for the blade by his side. She was reminded that when he wasn’t drunk, he was actually a highly skilled fighter. But when he realized that they weren’t being attacked, he relaxed.
“Dammit, Bryn, I’d finally just fallen asleep . . . ”
She pounced on him, grabbing his shoulders. “Val, it’s the lemon rind!”
He gave her a look that said he worried she’d lost her mind. “What are you talking about? You woke me to talk about lemons?”
“I smelled it in the newlywed chamber the night Trei was murdered. I didn’t think much of it at the time because the kitchen had been featuring Mir delicacies in all the meals as a tribute to my homeland. Mir honey, Mir cheeses . . . ”
He nodded, rubbing his eyes. “I’m aware.”
“I assumed they’d included preserved lemon rind in a dish that Trei had eaten, and that’s why I smelled it. But they didn’t. It just occurred to me. There was no lemon or any citrus in the meal.”
“And?” he said groggily.
She sat up on her knees, staring into the fire crackling outside of the shelter. “Alain’s son. The one who’s been helpingwith the fishermen on the docks. Mam Delice told me once that he keeps his flask filled with lemon liqueur.”
Valenden stopped rubbing his eyes, letting his hand fall.
“Alain’s son is the spy,” she breathed. “He’s the one who killed Trei.”
Chapter
Sixteen
