“I was also taught that magic was a sin,” Bryn said steadily. “And I believed it until I saw for myself what a blessing it could be.”
Saraj leaned close to Bryn and whispered, “Perhaps we’d best continue our journey now, Bryn.”
Bryn shook her head. “I want to know what the common folk think.” She faced the two men again and said loudly, “Speak plainly. You won’t be punished for any treasonous talk as long as your words are the truth.”
The gray-haired man pressed his lips together tightly, but the heavyset one continued, “Your brother has chosen a difficult path, princess. He may drag the Mirien kicking and screaming into accepting magic, but he has no say over the other kingdoms.”
“The Baersladen already permits magic,” Valenden argued. “As do Vil-Kevi and Vil-Rossengard.”
“Zaradona, Ruma, and Dresel will fight him over it,” the man countered. “Perhaps also the Wollin.”
“So?” Valenden said hotly. “Zaradona and Ruma and Dresel can do what they wish on their own lands.”
“Magic is like an infection,” the man said gruffly. “Just like all new ideas, it spreads. Borders do not stop it. You think the rulers of Zaradona and Ruma and Dresel will stand by quietly while the new Mir king brings magic right to their doorstep?”
A heaviness sank into the pit of Bryn’s stomach, but she refused to be intimidated. “Some new ideas are necessary. Theyshouldspread.”
“Even at the cost of war?” the man challenged, looking boldly into her eyes.
Rangar jumped up, drawing his sword. “You’re addressing a princess; may I remind you.”
Bryn shook her head quickly. “Rangar, it’s all right. I asked him to speak plainly. We cannot fault him for it now.”
Saraj stood and slipped the old innkeeper a few coins. She herded Bryn up and out of her seat. “We should get back on the road if we want to make Bergil Town by nightfall.”
Back in the carriage, Bryn still felt shaken. It didn’t help that the road grew bumpier and rockier as they entered the forested hills. She wanted to talk to Rangar about what the burly man at the inn had said, but he was up front driving the carriage.
“You look troubled,” Saraj noted. She had Zephyr out of his crate and perched on her gloved arm, and was feeding him strips of dried venison.
Meanwhile, Valenden had sprawled out on his bearskin cloak on the carriage floor and had managed to fall asleep despite the bumpy movements.
“I can’t stop thinking about the prospect of war,” Bryn admitted. “When Mars and I discussed bringing magic to the Mirien, we knew it would be met with resistance both within and outside of the Mirien, but that man’s warning about the southern kingdoms . . .” she shook her head, troubled. “I worry that our aims might bring more pain than power to the common folk.”
Feeding Zephyr another strip of dried meat, Saraj observed, “War has been at the Eyrie’s doorstep for a decade now, ever since the sighting of the black fawn. Tensions between the kingdoms were high long before Mars’s decision to allow magic. The monarchs of the southern kingdoms rule with absolute power; if that is ever to change, magic is the means.”
Bryn gave a nod. “You’re right. My greatest fear now is—”
The carriage jolted, immediately followed by the panicked whinny of one of the horses. Bryn grabbed the windowsill to steady herself. Saraj clamped Zephyr’s leather hood over his eyes to keep him calm.
On the floor, Valenden stirred groggily amid muttered curses. “What the devil . . .”
A horse whined sharply again. The carriage drew to such a rough halt that Bryn tumbled off her seat and crashed onto Valenden. For a brief moment, they were a tangle of limbs as the carriage rocked back and forth.
“If you want me that badly, princess,” Valenden muttered, “You needn’t throw yourself on me.”
Bryn ignored his comment as she twisted toward Saraj, who was already thrusting open the window to look outside.
“Stay in the carriage!” Rangar called urgently from the driver’s seat.
“What’s happening?” Saraj called.
Bryn’s skin turned clammy with a dark premonition. Her dress suddenly felt too tight, like she couldn’t breathe. She pressed a hand over her ribs, struggling for full breaths, feeling the scar lines hidden beneath the fabric.
“Wolves,” Rangar said darkly from outside.
Chapter 5
WOLVES ON THE ROAD . . . clash of swords . . . a lucky knife . . . animals or demons . . . into the night alone
