* * *
“By the gods,I left you alone with her forone night, Val.”
Bryn’s eyes shot open at the familiar voice. Early morning sunlight streamed through the carriage windows. Rangar stood beside the open door, scowling down at Bryn and Valenden entwined together under the blankets.
“Rangar!” She shoved to her knees and crawled over to throw her arms around him. “Are you well? What happened?”
He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “No more wolf sightings, though I did hear them howling to the east. I was able to buy two new horses in Bergil Town. We can continue the journey.” He touched Valenden’s boot beneath the blanket. “How is he?”
Still snoring, Valenden didn’t stir.
“He’s well, considering,” Bryn said.
Rangar grunted. “If he’s so well, explain to me why you felt the need to sleep at his side all night?”
She leveled an impatient look at him. “Tame your jealousy, Rangar. We have greater concerns.” She climbed out of the carriage, away from Valenden’s hearing if he should wake. Saraj was heating water over the fire for tea. She whispered to Rangar, “We think the wolves might be sick. Valenden could be infected.”
Rangar’s face turned serious. Bryn pointed out the wolf carcass, and Rangar knelt to inspect it. In a grave voice, he said, “We’ll wrap the bodies in blankets and stow them in the luggage rack. Mage Marna can examine them.”
Bryn, Saraj, and Rangar wrestled the giant wolf bodies into blankets, then stacked them on top of their wooden trunk. The two horses Rangar had brought back from Bergil Town hung back skittishly on their lead ropes, as though they smelled the lingering scent of wolves.
“We should go,” Rangar said, looking up at the sun. “It’s still several days’ voyage to Barendur Hold, and the sooner we get Val to my aunt, the better.”
He hitched the horses to the carriage and put out their campfire. Bryn climbed in the driver’s seat with Rangar, while Saraj took a turn in the back.
The horses took them deeper into Disworth Forest.
Chapter 7
ACROSS THE BORDER . . . Lady Enis returns . . . growing discontent . . . wolf carcasses . . . happy to be home
Rangar drove the horses as swiftly as possible over the uneven forest road. They entered the kingdom of Vil-Kevi around midday. The trees were larger here and seemed to make clicking sounds, almost like they were communicating with each other. Bryn had briefly visited Vil-Kevi once before when the Barendur family had brought her on an ill-fated attempt to rendezvous with Mars, and she’d been both disturbed and enchanted by the strange forest kingdom.
That night, they slept in a small inn that was barely more than the back room of a farmhouse, and the following day continued deeper into the forest, where the mountains began to make the road more difficult to traverse. Valenden stirred in and out of consciousness, demanding they stop for more ale from the few inns they passed. There was no obvious sign of infection in his wound, but Bryn didn’t like how pale he was growing day after day.
When they stopped at an inn that night, she asked Rangar, “How much further until we reach the Baersladen border?”
“Tomorrow if the weather holds, then another day and a half to Barendur Hold.”
Bryn looked apprehensively at the twilight sky. It had been snowing light flurries on and off all day. The higher mountain elevations visible from the road were blanketed with thicker snow.
The inn was larger and livelier than any they’d come across thus far in Vil-Kevi. With stone walls and a tiled roof, it was the grandest building in the small hamlet of farmhouses that surrounded it. Several horses were tied to the hitching post out front.
“Gods, I’m starving,” Saraj said as she climbed out of the carriage. She sniffed the air. “Beef stew?”
Valenden, moving gingerly, painstakingly climbed out. “You’restarving? I’m practically dying here, Saraj. I need sustenance.”
Rangar helped Valenden hobble to the inn. Bryn walked ahead and held the door open for them. Warm firelight and the rich smell of savory dishes floated out, bolstering her spirits. A fiddler played a rousing tune by the inn’s fireplace. There were a few women and even children dining around the wooden tables, and more people than the few tethered horses outside suggested, which meant the inn must also serve as a public house for the small village.
Rangar spotted a pair of men in traditional Baer logging garb. “I’m going to ask about Broderick, and then I’ll see about us getting rooms for the night.”
While he went to speak to the Baer men, the rest of their traveling party took their seats. A sweet girl who couldn’t have been older than twelve served them stew, which was even more delicious than it had smelled.
“I see you’ve returned to Vil-Kevi, princess,” a female voice said from behind Bryn. “It must have charmed you on your first visit.”
On alert, Bryn turned to find a middle-aged woman with long blond hair and angular features dressed in a forest-green gown, with slits on the side to allow her to move freely in the breeches beneath.
“Lady Enis!” Bryn said, pleasantly surprised. “How fortunate to see you again. Saraj, Lady Enis is a countess in Vil-Kevi. She helped us the previous time we were in this forest.”
