“I suppose that’s it, then,” she said at last. “We’re ready.”
Valenden helped her mount her horse, then mounted his own.
Duke Dryden rested a hand on Bryn’s horse’s neck, stroking it gently. “My bandits will make it to Ardmoor before you and take their places in the town square, disguised of course. But when you’re ready, so will they be. They’ll give you a signal.”
“I can’t thank you enough for your help,” Bryn said. “And for all you’ve done for Elysander.”
“Believe me, my lady,I’mthe fortunate one.”
Bidding farewell to the bandits, Bryn and Valenden made their way on the forest trail back to the main road. Her nerves began to creep back. She was going to walk straight into the den of her enemy, pretending to be on his side. Acting as though she was still that naive girl from months ago instead of a hardened heir dedicated to taking him down.
Captain Carr had wanted to rape her, to kill her . . . She would find it very hard to spare him the gallows once they’d wrestled the castle from him. And why should she? Maybe a public execution would be her first order of business as queen.
Eventually, the smooth beats of her horse’s steps eased her anger, and her thoughts turned to Rangar. Her heart kicked up at the idea of being under the same roof as him again. She had located him once before with the finding spell, and she would again. Somehow, she’d bribe the castle guards and visit him inthe dungeon. He would be free to touch her without leaving black marks . . .
Valenden looked up at the midday sky. “We’ll be there by sunset. It won’t be easy to hide your identity once we’re there. In a trading town like Ardmoor, there are too many people from all over the Eyrie who will know of the Mir princess who was taken to the Baersladen. We’ll have to stage our little play soon.”
“All right, but Val, there’s one more thing I want to ask of you.”
He gave her a curious look. “Yes?”
“Teach me to ride? I know we only have a few hours, but I want to learn all I can.”
He tossed a grin over his shoulder. “Well, for one, you don’t need to cling to that poor horse’s mane like she’s going to buck you off. That mare is ancient. She couldn’t buck off a turtle.”
Guilty, Bryn eased her grip on the horse’s mane.
Valenden halted his horse until hers caught up, and then he gave a quick appraisal of her form. “There are different riding styles. We don’t use saddles or stirrups in the Baersladen. I find them cumbersome, making it harder to communicate with the horse. But saddles like these . . . ” he patted his leather saddle. “Make riding easy. Now, sit up straighter. Hold the reins in one hand, so your other is free if you need it.”
She did as he suggested, and he gave a satisfied nod.
“Now,” he said. “All there is to do is not fall off.”
And he leaned over to smack his hand on her horse’s hindquarters. Bryn shrieked as the mare took off at a gallop, immediately regretting asking for lessons.
“Val!” she yelled back.
Valenden laughed darkly as he rode after her, easing her horse into a smooth canter, and after another few hours, she felt more at ease in the saddle.
Almost ready to face what was soon to come.
Chapter
Twenty-Three
THE ARDMOOR CHARADE . . . crossroads . . . dice and drink . . . rumors of a runaway princess . . . the escape
Ardmoor was like nothing Bryn had ever seen.
The town was located in a valley at the borderlands of the Baersladen to the north, the Wollin to the west, the forest kingdoms to the east, and the Mirien to the south. Equidistant from the ocean, forests, and farmlands, it was the perfect meeting ground for trade. Fish and salt blocks came from the ocean, timber and pelts from the forests, and crops from the farmlands. The town had a festive air with open-air booths hawking all manners of goods along the road leading to the grand market in the town’s center. Since Ardmoor drew people from all over the Eyrie kingdoms, it was a mishmash of languages, clothing styles, and shades of hair and complexions.
“Take care here,” Valenden cautioned, riding up beside Bryn and taking her horse’s reins. “Ardmoor is a dangerous place. Many transient people, thieves, and addicts. Stay close to me.”
Bryn had feared she’d be instantly identified because of her hair, but she spotted a few other blondes in the crowd, probably come up from the Mirien or descendants of Mir people. Still, she got intensely curious looks from nearly everyone they passed.
As much as Valenden and Bryn had disguised themselves as common folk, the people in Ardmoor had a keen eye for regal bearing. They seemed to pick out Bryn’s posture as not one of a washerwoman bent over a tub all day. And Valenden’s sword at his side couldn’t be mistaken for anything other than belonging to someone of importance.
As fascinating as it was to take in all the sights and smells and sounds of Ardmoor, Bryn soon noticed that beneath the flashy exterior, there were beggar children in the streets and stray, mangy dogs everywhere. There were ample buildings whose painted advertisements seemed to suggest a traveler would find loose women, dice, and ale inside.
