She looked down at the roasted vegetables and hunk of chicken, then up at Niel, whose eyes were fixed on the plate.
“I’m not too hungry,” Ayla said, and set it down on the room’s tiny table, which was barely wider than a stool.
“Are you sure?” Niel asked.
Shecouldeat, but she’d stolen a dish from the castle kitchens that morning. Mercy knew when Niel’s last good meal had been. Probably back in Blackfell.
“Really,” she insisted, wishing she could ask for a second helping without it seeming odd. “I only want a bite. The rest is yours, if you're hungry.”
After a moment’s hesitation, he tore ravenously into the food.
Realizing they were in for the same situation on the boat, she hurried to the town’s market and traded two gilain coins for bread, cheese, cured sausage, and winter apples. She looked for clean clothes for Niel, but the only piece that looked the right size was a worn tunic. It was better than nothing, so she counted out the coins to buy it and fresh socks. The town bell rang for noon as she returned to the room; they had another two hours. Niel, lying on the bed and looking much cleaner, drew out the letters Corin had given them.
“Hark,” he said quietly to himself. “He’s at Dencai?”
“What?” Ayla asked, perching on the edge of the bed to look.
“Cousin,” Niel said, his voice still soft. “My mother’s side. Won’t want to help me. I’ll need to keep hidden there, too.”
“Mightn’t he?” she asked carefully. “If your brother thinks he will, perhaps he…”
“He’s heir to Ironcliff,” Niel said, folding the letter back up. “The same city I warred on all summer before coming to Blackfell. And unlike me, he actuallylikeshis home.”
Ayla opened up the other letter. It was written in a different hand, softer and more feminine than the letter Niel held, and addressed to Lady Hana of Dencai. It begged Hana to give safe passage without question to whoever bore the letter, promising that the writer—an ‘Eliana’—would explain later. She showed the letter to Niel.
“From my brother’s woman,” he explained, folding it and handing it back to her. “The healer. Not sure who Hana is.”
“She’s the woman he left the family for?” Ayla asked, thinking back to the softspoken, plump lady who’d cleaned Niel’s wounds in the dungeon. Niel only grunted, then cleared his throat, and asked if she’d bought enough food he could have some then, or if he needed to wait.
They boarded the boat with some difficulty, because the line of those getting on all seemed eager to be first aboard. Ayla hung at the back of the crowd, and then tried coughing loudly anytime people got close, until she got a few concerned looks and gained enough room for Niel to stand unseen beside her. The cabin, when they reached it, was snug. There was barely room for the two of them to be in there without being right on top of each other. But Niel pulled her tight against him and bore them both down to the narrow bed, and held her there, her body fitting snugly against his.
They were on their way. And she was in his arms, and he was going to be alright. She shuddered in relief, fought the urge to cry, and lost.
For the first time since the dungeon, there was a thin, trembling hope for the life they might have, instead of fear over whether they could escape the country without being caught.
And they managed, for the day and a half trip, even though they could barely move without elbowing each other. The cabin had a window, which helped it feel less small. Ayla had never been so far south. They passed through hill country and through a long stretch of Enar’s farmland, the fields dusted with snow instead of buried by it. She saw dormant grain fields and herds of sheep and cattle, orderly rows of orchards, clusters of small houses with plumes of smoke coming from their chimneys. The Konver joined with another river and seemed to grow impossibly wide.
And then: Port Dencai. The barge docked and a man with a bell walked up and down the walkway outside the cabins, calling the passengers to disembark.
Back on land, they climbed a long, steep road up to the spindly castle that watched over the city below. From the top Ayla paused to look out over the beach below. The Merosite sea stretched blue and sparkling as far as her eye could fathom, and for a moment, her heart stilled. She’d been to the cliffs as a child, but never a place like this, where you could walk down to where the sea met the land. It was cold, and the snapping wind smelled like brine, but this was a different cold from the Kettalist mountains, though they were not so far apart as the crow flew.
Niel’s invisible hand on her back reminded her they still weren’t safe, no matter how beautiful this place was. She approached the pair of guards standing beside the castle gate. It was open rather than barred shut, but she didn’t dare walk through without asking. She took a deep breath and tried to remember how things had been at Blackfell. What would a messenger need to say, to get through the gates and see her?
No good. Any message for Ayla would have passed through Ditmar first.
“I’ve a message for Lady Hana? From Liron? Please, might I see her?” Ayla withdrew the letter from the bag and showed the guard the name on it, gripping it tight in her fingers. She was far too conscious of how she must look. She’d braided her hair to make it look as tidy as possible, but she yearned for a fresh change and a good washing. She didn’t look like a noblewoman, or even a well-kept servant.
“We can have it run up,” the guard offered. He had a pleasant expression, but a face too broad for his small features, and his uniform looked like it had been made for a man with a little less substance to him.
“Please, I’m to deliver it to her myself,” Ayla said. “It’s from a Lady Eliana?”
“And your name?”
Ayla hesitated, unsure if someone hunting Niel would know her name too. She ought to give a fake name, but the moment she realized it her mind blanked, refusing to remember any. If she waited too long to give her name, it would be odd.
“Kaufaer,” she said, giving her old family name.
“Hm. Alright. This way, Goodwoman Kaufaer,” the guard said.
