DISGUISES . . . a new look . . . stories from the past . . . rest at last . . . a very small bed for two people
Valenden sat up straighter at the bold accusation. “Are you certain, Bryn?”
She squeezed her hands together tightly. “Have you ever smelled lemon in the Baersladen? I certain haven’t. The assassinhadto be Alain’s son. I don’t know if his father is also a spy—maybe his son was acting on his own. Alain certainly seemed willing to work with Trei and me as regents, but maybe his son didn’t. I think his name is Broderick.”
Valenden stroked his chin. “There isn’t much we can do about it now. My family will need to know this information as soon as possible, but if we return now, we risk getting caught by Broderick and whoever else he might be working with. I’ll send a messenger as soon as we reach a town.”
They tried to return to sleep, but Bryn’s mind was too occupied. She started practicing her spells to distract herself. Valenden watched, unable to sleep either, and eventually sighed.
“Your wording is fine,” he said, “but your hand gestures need practice. You look like you’re fingerpainting with mud. The spirit of the hex needs to come through in how you move your hands.”
She tried again, and he said, “A little better. Look, we have two weeks together on the road. I’ll help you practice if you like.”
“Will you really?” Her eyes lit up.
“We have to dosomethingto pass the time, and Rangar made it clear we can’t do my preferred activity.”
He watched her perform the finding spell hand gesture and critiqued her form until morning, when he looked at the rising sun and tossed her the bag. “Time to keep moving. Pick out a dress, wifey.”
She sifted through the dresses inside until she found a plain dark blue one that looked her size. She started to undo her buttons, then frowned.
“Turn your back, Val.”
He had stripped to his waist, running a damp cloth over his chest before they set out again, and now he scoffed at her. “You think I haven’t seen a naked woman before?”
“I think you’ve probably seen hundreds,” she retorted. “But you aren’t going to seethisone.”
He cackled as he turned his back. She found herself sneaking looks at the hexmarks on his shoulders, curious about them. But then he pulled on his shirt and, once they were dressed and packed, they set out to hike again.
After several hours, they emerged from the woods onto a dirt road that looked like it was used fairly frequently. Valenden consulted the sun for directions. “If we head that way, we’ll reach the village of Timmon by noon. If I can pawn some of the silver candlesticks I took, we might be able to afford a pair of horses.”
They set out down the road. At one point a carriage passed, and Bryn began to panic, instantly afraid her darkened hair and simple dress wasn’t enough of a disguise and they’d recognizeher. But Valenden told her to keep her head down, and the carriage rolled on by with nothing more than a wave to them.
Once they finally reached Timmon, she found it to be little more than an outpost village at a crossroads. Other than a few clustered houses, there was only a single storefront that served as a restaurant, tavern, and trading post.
Valenden adjusted his bag and started for the door while Bryn hung back, nervous.
“I’ll do the talking,” he reassured her. “It’s better if they don’t hear your accent. Just pretend for once in your life to be a meek, obedient wife.”
She shot daggers at him. He took her hand and led her inside, where a lanky young man sat behind a counter with several shelves of staples behind him. There were two tables for patrons to eat at, both empty now.
Bryn pretended to inspect some rope for sale while Valenden went up to negotiate a price for the candlesticks.
As she browsed the goods, she found herself far more interested than she’d expected. Her whole life had been spent behind castle walls until Rangar had saved her from the siege. She’d gotten a brief sampling of life camping out under the stars, but then it had been back within the walls of Barendur Hold. She’d never experienced the life of a commoner. She’d never been in astore. She marveled at the buckets of iron nails for sale for a penny each; the sacks of flour and wheat; the jars of hard candies, bolts of fabric and thread; various tools.
My parents should have shown me all this. How could I ever rule people when I don’t know what their lives are like?
Valenden finished his bartering and bid the shop boy farewell, taking her hand and leading her outside.
“He bought the candlesticks for a decent amount of coin, but this village has no horses for sale. He said there’s a publiccarriage that will come by tomorrow bound for Garriston, but I think it’s too risky to travel in close proximity to others.”
“So it’s more walking?”
“More walking.”
Bryn found that she didn’t mind the walk. It was fascinating to see glimpses of daily village life. The road from Timmon to Othwall was dotted with humble cottages and farms, and she enjoyed watching the people go about their lives. Previously, she’d always been sequestered in a royal carriage, and everyone had politely stopped and waved. Now, no one bid them the slightest interest, and she found it refreshing.
“Tell me about when you three were boys,” Bryn asked to pass the time. “What trouble did you get up to?”
