She laid in the tiny bed beside him, and all night, thought about what a tragedy both of their brothers’ short lives had been.
When Bryn awokein the morning, the other side of the bed was empty.
She sat up in alarm, overcome by flashbacks of stumbling into theothernewlywed bedroom only to smell the reek ofdeath. But Valenden’s boots were gone, which meant he must have left willingly. She got dressed and went downstairs, where the innkeeper perked up, giving her a wiggle of her eyebrows.
“Comfortablenight?”
Bryn was growing rapidly tired of all the insinuations about her and Valenden’s supposed romance. “Yes, fine,” she said, waving in the air. “Where is my . . . husband?”
“He left about an hour ago. Said he had some errands to run in town and that you should get breakfast.” She motioned to the tearoom through the door. “My sister is the cook. Best scones you’ve ever tasted. Mir honey in honor of our new queen.”
Bryn froze on the spot. It suddenly occurred to her that she’d forgotten to reapply Roxin’s charcoal paste to her hair that morning. A quick glance into the reflective windowpane reassured her that her hair was still a dull shade of brown.
The innkeeper sighed. “Such a shame about Prince Trei.”
Bryn knew she was treading on dangerous ground. They couldn’t afford for rumors to spread that she and Valenden weren’t the commoners they said they were. But she hesitantly asked, “What do they say about his death?”
The innkeeper’s eyes widened with a glint of gossip. Dropping her voice, she intimated, “They say Prince Rangar’s knife was found at the scene. Apparently, Princess Bryn has been so distraught by the whole incident that she hasn’t left her room at all. She locked herself up with the mages.” The innkeeper shook her head before adding in a whisper, “You know, there are rumors Princess Bryn was involved with Rangar first. She was his Saved, and you know how it goes . . . those soulbonds sometimes turn romantic. They say Rangar killed his brother out of jealousy.”
Bryn turned away quickly before her face betrayed her pain. She should have expected rumors to have traveled this far already, but it still stung. Somehow, she would have to not onlysave her neck and Rangar’s, but clear his name throughout the Eyrie, too.
“Right,” she muttered. “I’ll take that scone now.”
After she’d sipped coffee and eaten her fill in the tearoom, Valenden sauntered back in, placing a messy kiss on her cheek for show. She fought the urge to wipe it away.
“And where have you been?” she asked.
“Taking care of thaterrandwe discussed,” he said, and she knew he must mean the letter to Barendur Hold. “I took your advice. That trick you suggested. A letter is already on its way north.”
It eased her worries to know that soon, King Aleth would know of Broderick’s treachery. Of course, her proof that he was Trei’s murderer was circumstantial, but she hoped it would cast enough doubt that they would free Rangar.
“Were you able to find horses?” she asked.
He smiled smugly as he sipped his coffee. “In fact, I did. A strong gelding for me, an old nag for you.”
“Val— Vayne!” she quickly corrected herself, using the name they’d agree he’d go by.
He raised a shoulder. “What? You barely ride. I thought you’d prefer a slow, gentle nag.”
She rested her chin on her hands, wrinkling her nose. “Oh. Hmm. Yes. I suppose you’re right. I’m just so used to assuming everything with you is a trick.”
“Believe it or not, there are times when I make myself useful.”
Her shoulders softened. He was right. She hated to think of where she’d be if Valenden hadn’t agreed to get her out of the Baersladen.
He finished his breakfast and tossed a few coins on the table, then stood. “We should get moving. Even on horseback, it’s still days to the Wollin.”
They packed their meager bag and paid for the lodging, while Bryn cringed at the innkeeper’s further insinuations about their passionate night together, and then Valenden led her outside to show her the horses he’d bought.
His was a heavyset black gelding; probably a farmer’s plow horse. Hers was a mousy-brown mare with a sway back and knobby knees, but the mare had such gentle, soft eyes, and didn’t flinch with Bryn clambered gracelessly on top, that Bryn felt an immediate affection for the animal.
They set out from Othwall on another dusty, interminable road. Though Valenden complained about the distance, Bryn continued to enjoy the trek. It eased her bruised heart to watch the rolling hills go by, the high mountains far in the distance, to observe farmers going about their business. There was nothing at all remarkable about the villages and homesteads they passed, but it was all new to Bryn, and she soaked everything up.
Besides, it was a great time for another session practicing her hexes.
By late afternoon, they had left farmland behind and entered another forest. The road was pleasantly shaded by towering oak trees and squirrels darting around overhead, chittering down at them. They’d fallen into a companionable silence, and Bryn found herself lulled by the mare’s steady gait. She wondered if the Hytooth family in the Wollin would be as welcoming as Valenden claimed. She hoped so. She needed a blessing after so much heartache and tragedy.
Besides, she’d always wanted to see Hytooth Palace, the sprawling seaside castle known for its smooth, sand-colored turrets and swaying palm trees. She’d come to love the stormy cliffs of the Baersladen, but the beaches there were rocky, inhospitable places. It was rumored that the Wollin beaches were full of soft sand as far as they could see, with crabs and shellfish practically crawling out of the sea straight into nets.Her stomach rumbled to think of food more like what she’d grown up with instead of raw venison and strong mead. Not that she wasn’t grateful for Barendur Hold’s kitchens, but there was only so much venison a person could eat . . .
