Jax was right. I hate soldiering.
I string the bow over my shoulder and sigh, heading back up the hill.
“Why do you think it attacked him?” says Malin.
“I don’t know,” I say, because I don’t. That man wasn’t a magesmith—which means the scravers might be attacking indiscriminately.
And this attack happened in the middle of the day. Rhen’s order to stay off the road at night might not even matter. It barely kept us safenow.
“A lot of the soldiers wondered if those scravers followed Jax from Briarlock,” Malin says, and there’s no malice in his voice, but I bristle anyway.
“The scravers have nothing to do with Jax,” I say. “They helped the king.”
But they’re attacking now.
I look up at the sky, wishing I had a way to summon Nakiis so I could ask him why this is happening. Then again, maybe he’s behind it. Maybe summoning him would be the wrong choice altogether.
The rain continues to pour down. I need to make a decision here. I don’t want to disobey direct orders, especially not from Rhen. I already have enough discord with Grey, and I’d rather not find it onbothsides of the border. Whatever is happening, I might have caused it by letting Nakiis out of a cage months ago—but this is the second attack in as many days. The king needs to know. Soon.
“We’ll make sure the woman has someone to look after her,” I say. “Then we’ll ride for the safe house on the north side of the valley. We’ll head out at dawn and try to make Willminton by nightfall tomorrow.”
The north side of the valley is a four-or five-hour ride in good weather, so that will put us inwellafter dark—and Willminton will mean a hard ride through twilight tomorrow, too. Malin said Rhen gave him written directives to follow my command, but I’m sure the prince also gave him the same orders he gave me: Daylight travel only. No unnecessary risks.
This will require a lot of risk.
But like before, Malin gives me a nod. “Yes, sir. I’ll saddle the horses.”
CHAPTER 16
CALLYN
I’m alone in a carriage, belted into the finest clothes I could find in my wardrobe, and I’m rattling over the cobblestone streets of the Crystal City on the way to visit Alek.
I wish I had weapons and armor. I feel like I need them.
Really, I wish I had my patched skirts and a cast-iron skillet from my bakery. Sometimes I can close my eyes and imagine myself back there. Usually it’s when Verin is finding a new spot to leave a bruise, but just now I wish I could reverse time to that moment when Jax first dropped coins onto my table so I could tell him to give them back.
But my chest clenches. Nothing was easier then.
No one knows the real reason I’m going to see Alek. I didn’t even tell Nora, and guilt is pricking at my chest. Officially, I’m only visiting his Royal House, where I’ve been tasked with selecting fabrics for a winter wardrobe for Princess Sinna. When I asked the queen if anyone would find it suspicious that Lord Alek wasn’t bringing fabric samples to the palace, she said that obviously I would want to see the latest weaves and dyes on the loom, not something available now.
The funniest thing is that the queen said this so offhandedly, as if anything else would even be in question. As if I’veeverhad the luxury of selecting new fabric, much less choosing before it’s even come off a loom. I know she wants the best for all her people, but comments like this sometimes remind me just how different our lives are.
I peek through the carriage window. Dawn sunlight sparkles on the storefronts as we pass through the city, though there’s a haze in the air that warns of rain to come. The city seems vast compared to Briarlock, which was so tiny that I knew every dusty street by the time I was eight. Here, the city sprawls for miles and miles that I can see from the palace windows, shops and taverns and vendors and so many glistening paths and alleys that I could never learn them all.
I sit back against the cushion and let the scenery fly by. I wish I’d brought Nora. Her chattering is endless, but I could use a distraction.
The queen said she didn’t need me to be a spy, but I feel like one all the same.
The carriage eventually rattles to a stop. Gray marble steps are all I can see through the tiny window, but then a footman swings open the carriage door. I jerk back as if he’s going to physically haul me out.
But of course he doesn’t. He steps back to stand at attention. “Lady Callyn,” he announces.
I will never get used to that. I want to hide in the carriage for another five minutes. I smooth my damp hands on my robes. Maybe I really can just go look at fabrics and looms.
But that feels cowardly. I grit my teeth and shift forward—just as a pair of perfectly laced and polished black boots descend the staircase.
I know it’s Alek before I hear his voice. “Come now, Lady Callyn,” he says, the slightest emphasis on the wordlady, “there’s no need to hide in the carriage.”
