Unfortunately, he could offer only limited help with my questions about Darreth. Rhotri knew it as a name on a travel route, describing its barracks as tolerable and its food more than decent. But his gentle voice and humor shortened the distance with pleasant conversation.
“Our journey’s end,” Rhotri said, his voice hushed with the same wonder I felt as he nodded toward the distant bright building. “The castle and its city below. Tir Darreth.”
I offered no reply because I could only stare.
My heart pounded with awe. I’d grown up in the shadow of the Avanfell empire’s ruins, but the seat of Darreth looked like something from the old myths. Unlike the gray slate of Caervorn, the walls were a smooth, pale stone the likes of which I’d never seen before.
Crowning a steep hill, the castle seemed to glow with its own magic in the weak light of the cloudy spring day. Before it stretched the city of Tir Darreth itself. Broad avenues, lined with buildings of the same bright stone, covered with slate-tiled roofs, and orderly squares were bustling with activity. The imposing outer fortification encircled everything within, a bulwark that seemed to hum with a fiery magic capable of repelling entire armies all on its own.
Beyond that was the striking expanse of ocean beyond steep cliffs. Deep blue and moody, its salty tang drifted toward me, carried on the breeze. It was stunning.
When we crested the last hill, a lone rider galloped out from the taller outer gates. His horse was a gleaming white stallion, its saddle too fine for a soldier’s, and the rider’s tunic shimmered with golden embroidery that marked him as someone of rank. The way he rode, shoulders squared andhead held high, displayed a confidence that suggested no one would dare to impede him.
I felt the rider’s magic before he even slowed his mount.
Like a fingerprint, his was unique. It crackled out from him like charged air before a lightning strike, though it wasn’t a wild force. This was restrained and mastered, but still powerful enough to turn the stomach of a lesser mage. Stronger even than the chancellor’s.
This man was definitely not merely a soldier. He had to be one of the princes.
I wasn’t above beseeching the gods.Please help me get through this.
The rider came to a halt a few lengths from the caravan. He lifted a hand in greeting and smiled. And what a smile it was.
This man’s emotions shimmered with curiosity, with pleasure, and—gods help me—with the unmistakable undercurrent of delight. Genuine delight. Not the forced politeness I’d learned to recognize from years of selling merchandise. This man was actually glad to see us, to seeme.
The caravan master dismounted to greet him. “Lord Prince.”
I tried hard to keep the smugness of being right off my face.
The prince’s gaze swept the group then found me again. His smile deepened, like warm sunshine breaking through the clouds on a cold day. He nudged his horse closer, reining in beside me with the ease of a man born to do what pleased him.
His hair was a few shades darker than my blonde. His eyes a sparkling blue that felt strangely familiar. His smooth shave, defying current trends, highlighted a strong jawline. Only a slightly crooked nose, a common occurrence among men trained to fight from an early age, marred his otherwise perfect face. He seemed only a few years older than me, much younger than the forty-odd years I’d anticipated.
“Lady Mage,” he said, his tone bright and soothing. “Welcome. I am Crowned Prince Nisien of Darreth. May I know your name?”
“Isca,” I replied, lifting my chin to this handsome ruler. “Lady Isca.”
“Isca,” he repeated, tasting it like the first berries of summer. “A beautiful name.”
Heat rose to my cheeks, entirely unwelcome. I wasn’t here to be flattered or for courtship. My mission was to save a kingdom or have a child, or both, neither of which required such girlish displays of emotion.
Still, I couldn’t look away.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lady Isca. Would you ride with me? I’d very much like to get to know you,” he said.
I answered, “Of course, Lord Prince.”
He smiled again, clearly pleased then turned back to the caravan master. “Please, follow me. We’ve prepared rooms for your company.”
We rode slowly side by side on the winding path through pastureland that led toward the Tir. The hills were a lush, verdant green, far more vivid than the ones near Caervorn. Fluffy white sheep, ready to be sheared any day, grazed between fields of barley that swayed in the breeze.
As we ambled through the city, the people stared as he asked me about my journey, about Caervorn, about my family. Here, the buildings were kept cleaner than in Caervorn, though I was too caught up in our conversation to notice more than flashes. Although I shared minimal information, he listened attentively as if my words were precious.
“Your family sounds quite warm,” he said at one point. “You must miss them greatly.”
“I do, Lord Prince, I do.”
“Then we shall make certain that you have a full stock of parchment and ink to write them as often as you wish. We send postage to Caervorn once per week. But of course, you can send letters back with your guards when they leave as well.”
