Or maybe that’s just me. Even in the dark, we’re too exposed. A coil of tension wrapped around my spine hours ago, and it refuses to let go. I’ve been searching the swirling snow for any sign of movement, just waiting for an arrow to snap out of the shadows and piercesomething.
I’m exhausted. And freezing, which is a good bit of irony.
Sevin Zale, the captain of my First Regiment, sits astride his own horse beside me. He’s been quiet for at least an hour, and that’s unlikehim. I wonder if the weather and worry are getting to him, too. When the horses can’t clear whatever stopped the carriage, Sev heaves a sigh and dismounts. He looks at the four soldiers behind us, then jerks his head toward the carriage. “Callum. Garrett. Let’s push it free.”
My men obey, but they’re as silent as he was. No one is having fun on this journey.
Callum and Garrett throw their strength into the task, their boots slipping in the snow as they attempt to shove the carriage free. Wood cracks again, and one of them swears.
“It must be stuck in a rut,” Roman calls from behind me. “You’ll have to lift it a little.”
Garrett snaps his head up to glare at him a little breathlessly. “Why don’tyouget down here and lift it a little?”
If they start bickering, we won’t move at all—and we’re an easy target out here in the snow. I swing down from my own horse. “We need to keep moving. If you two lift, I’ll help push.”
But just as my feet hit the snow, shadows shift, and a figure takes shape in the darkness.
Without a thought, I have a weapon drawn. Every muscle goes tense, ready for battle. Garrett and Callum have shifted to block me, and moonlight glints on their own blades. Nikko and Roman are still on horseback, but their bows are raised, arrows nocked.
A male voice cries out in alarm. “Stop!” he shouts, and his voice sounds old, thin and cracking. His Astranzan accent turns every consonant flat. “Please! I came to see if you needed help!”
Moonlight beams down as clouds shift overhead, and I can see him more clearly. The manisold, with thick gray hair in a swirl around his head—and he’s alone. He also appears to be unarmed, with nothing more than heavy boots and a thick cloak. His gnarled hands are empty.
My heart settles—but only a little. It could still be a trap. I don’t put away my weapons. Neither does anyone else.
“Where did you come from?” I say.
The man points behind him, and I realize there’s a small house a short ways off, almost invisible among the shadows and snowdrifts. “Just there.”
While I’m staring, the man draws closer, his hands raised. He’s short and stocky, with a heavy gut and a lumbering gait. He peers at Garrett. “Your armor—Is that—” He breaks off, his eyes going wide when they fix on the circular crest stamped into the leather. Even in the moonlight, the silver markings clearly reveal a sword and a hammer crossed over the outline of a mountain.
“Incendar,” he whispers. His eyes skip over us all, then flick to the gilded carriage that’s sitting a little crookedly, trapped in the snow. “You’re escorting your king to the palace in Perriden.”
Sev cuts me a glance, but all he says is, “Yes. We are.”
The man wrings his hands. “He’ll stay inside there, won’t he?”
My jaw goes tight. “Who?” I say flatly—because Iknowwho.
The man draws back another step. “Your mage king,” he says quickly. “I don’t want any trouble. We’ve followed the orders.”
I sheathe my sword and sigh. This man is too anxious to be setting a trap for a wild hare, much less a contingent of armed soldiers. I move forward to brace my shoulder against the carriage beside Sev. “Have no fear,” I say, resigned. “Our ‘king’ will stay in the carriage.”
“Good, good,” says the man. But he wrings his hands again.
At my side, Sev murmurs, “You reallyshouldbe in one of the carriages, Ky.”
He’s right. I probably should. Negotiations for this alliance took months. I’d get reports from couriers and advisers about the demands from Astranza, and I often thought we might never come to terms. It’s clear these people don’t want me here. Not really. But appearances matter, and a king shouldn’t show up to make a wedding proposal in battle-worn armor. I should be in full court finery, reclining on a velvet bench, watching the snowflakes drift down through a tiny window.
But I’m not stupid.
“If anyone attacks, they’ll go for the carriages first,” I mutter under my breath.
Sev flicks his eyes skyward. “On my count,” he calls to the others.
Garrett and Callum take hold of the rear wheels, and Sev counts to three. We push, they lift, and a moment later, we’re all breathless—but the carriage is free.
Still on horseback, Nikko and Roman have lowered their bows—but arrows are still nocked. Their attention is split between the man and the horizon.
