“It could be worse,”she’d offered. I wasn’t sure how that could possibly be true.
I pressed a lavender sachet to my nose and stepped down, my travelling boots sinking into mud with a loud squelch.
A small party picked their way along the walkways toward us. I straightened my clothes, already clinging to me in the humidity. My attention drifted to the peculiar foliage growing in the marsh pools. Mosquitos danced in my ears, and I had to fight to hear another word from our greeters without swatting erratically.
We followed them to the nicest building in the marsh, a crumbling fort of red brick. The baron greeted us, standing tall beside a frail and aging baroness. Little by little, the townspeople trickled out from their hovels to see the fuss. Either they hadn’t been informed of our impending arrival, or they simply didn’t have the energy to wait about for us.
They should have been eating already. I couldn’t smell anything cooking.
“Baron Ashworth,” Nicolas said with performative kingliness. “Your people look hungry. Our letters expressed that you wouldn’t need to wait for our arrival to feed them.”
“Feed themwhat?” the baron asked. “I got your letter, but no food ever came. Now I suppose you’ll want us to feed your people, too.”
My brow pinched as Nicolas went on. “I received confirmation from your steward that a shipment arrived. He sent a falcon.”
“We ate the last of our falcons while you were getting married.” His voice held the required respect, but there was no concealing the snarl of his upper lip. “My steward vanished long before that.”
“It sounds like highwaymen might be the culprit,” Quinn chipped in. “In any case, there will be no food for us here, Your Majesty, and we’ll need to put out a bounty on his steward. If he signed the letter, he was likely involved in some sabotage.”
“We’ll arrange a hunt.” Nicolas squared off with the baron. “Your people will eat.”
“And what do you suppose we’ll hunt?” asked Baron Ashworth.
“Whatever it is you’ve been fattening yourself up with.”
I looked between the men with uncertainty. The faint clinking of plate mail alerted me to Marcy’s approach. She took my side, and the baron sized her up for all of a second before his posture deflated. His fingers drummed against his thighs.
“A hunt it is,” the baron said. “It’ll be on foot. Horses struggle in this terrain. Perhaps we’ll happen upon a duck. More likely, some crawfish or frogs.”
“I can help,”I signed to Nicolas.“I’ll forage while I’m out with Marcy.”
He smiled. “My wife would like to explore. Keep her safe, Siere.”
The baron took one step forward. “You cannot mean to send the queen out beyond the marsh? The swamp is no place for a woman.”
Oh, please.
“There arethingsout there,” he continued.
“Bog spirits?” Nicolas’ lips curled upward. “My wife is free to go where she pleases. I would not cage her here.”
“Witches,Your Highness,” the baron corrected. “And their blasphemous creations.”
That made my husband hesitate. I smiled back at him. No way in hell was I staying alone in this creepy place with the miserable-looking baroness.
“I’ll not risk starving the baby,”I signed.“Let me help.”
He growled under his breath, and relented. “Go on, Alana.”
Andthatwas how I became unfathomably lost in the middle of a swamp at sundown.
My wicker basket was filled with wild leeks, cattail shoots, and violets, but the assortment grew burdensome on my arm as Marcy continued to try and navigate our way out.
“Perhaps orienteering should have been measured during the tourney,” I joked dryly. The fog had come from nowhere, and though we’d followed a relatively straightforward path in our exploration, the way back only drove us deeper into the wetland.
“It’s getting dark,” Marcy replied, that last bit of sun dipping into the horizon. “You should let me carry you. I’ve seen you lose your footing a few times today.”
“I caught myself,” I protested, and Marcy scooped me up anyway. “You may not be showing yet, but there’s still a child in you. No need for unnecessary falls.”
