Rangar pulled up beside the large black carriage and helped Bryn climb down. “A public carriage,” he said, nodding toward the other one. “Transporting travelers to Ardmoor, most likely. Public carriages don’t go further into the mountains beyond that.”
He unharnessed the horses to let them rest and drink water from the trough at the hitching post while Valenden and Saraj climbed out and stretched. Bryn noted that Valenden’s sword was now strapped to his side for the first time since leaving Castle Mir.
“Where’s Zephyr?” Bryn asked Saraj, tipping her head upward.
“I crated him for now,” she said. “Falcons tend to draw attention.”
“So do famous princesses,” Valenden muttered, looking Bryn over. “It wouldn’t be the worst idea to cover your fair hair until we’re in the Baersladen.”
Bryn touched the tips of her hair with a frown.
Rangar dropped a heavy hand on his brother’s shoulder. “You aren’t on the run anymore, Val. There is no need for disguises.”
Valenden’s face remained grave. “Not everyone is thrilled to have the Lindane family back in power.”
“That’s their problem, not ours,” Rangar said. “Besides, I need to ask around for any clues that could lead us to Broderick, and Iwanthim to know it’s me pursuing him. I have no wish to hide my identity.”
Valenden didn’t seem quite so confident, but he strode toward the door regardless. “Well, in any case, I’m starving. And I wouldn’t say no to an ale.”
Saraj slid her arm between Bryn’s and muttered wryly, “Has Valeversaid no to an ale?”
Inside, there was a young couple with a baby, and two men wearing the green of Vil-Kevi’s army, and a few other men alone at tables with ale. All eyes turned to them when they entered. The old woman Bryn had seen at the well came over as she dried her hands on her apron.
“My Lord, what an honor,” she said in surprise and deference to Rangar, taking note of his fine clothes, then glanced at Valenden with a little more uncertainty. “My Lords, I mean.” When her eyes fell on Bryn, they widened considerably. “Goodness! Lady Bryn! Is it truly you?”
Bryn gave a kind nod. “We’re seeking a meal and some rest from our travels.”
“Certainly, princess.” The woman wiped off a table by the front windows. They took their places, and she brought them mugs of ale and warm sausage soup. Rangar disappeared to the backroom to speak with the innkeeper, doubtlessly asking if anyone with Broderick’s description had passed through.
Bryn had finished half her ale when the young mother at the next table cleared her throat. “If I may be so bold, Lady Bryn, is it true about your brother? Prince Mars lives?”
Bryn turned to face the woman with the baby at her breast. “Yes, it is. Hasn’t the official messenger already spread the word?”
The woman shook her head. “We’ve heard only rumors so far, my lady. We weren’t sure what to believe. There’s been so much, ah, uncertainty these last few months.”
Uncertainty. As in her parents swinging from the gallows.
“I assure you,” Bryn said gently. “My brother is alive and well and has been crowned king of the Mirien. There will be a formal celebration of his coronation soon at Castle Mir.”
One of the solo travelers made a gruff sound in his throat. He was a heavyset, bearded man with a dangerous air to him, and it wasn’t lost on Bryn that Rangar chose this moment to return to the table.
“Begging your pardon, my lady,” the man said gruffly, “But isn’t Prince Mars without sight?”
Bryn straightened her spine. “It’sKingMars, and yes, my brother’s eyes were damaged, though he does not need sight to rule.”
“Not with a witch at his side,” one of the other men muttered snidely.
Valenden whirled around in his seat, one hand on his sword as he asked sharply, “What was that, good sir?”
The second man, with gray hair threading at his temples and heavy wrinkles on his brow, didn’t look cowed by Valenden in the slightest. “They say the new king intends to bring magic to the Mirien. That’s why he married a witch.”
Bryn felt the energy shift around her. At her side, Rangar’s muscles went rigid. Saraj’s eyes scanned the room as though expecting danger at any moment.
Rangar started to speak, but Bryn rested a hand on his arm. She said to the man, “And what of it? Magic would put great power into the hands of the Mir people. We’ve always prided ourselves on placing logic above superstition. So, is it not logical to use what tools we can to better the kingdom?”
The young mother looked alarmed by the mention of magic, but the older men didn’t balk.
The heavyset one said, “Perhaps, my lady, but I’ve come from Zaradona, and there is much discontent at the idea of permitting the free use of magic. Here in the Mirien, we may be ruled by logic, but the southern kingdoms are ruled by religious tradition. Magic is a sin in Zaradona. In Ruma and Dresel, too.”
