“Interesting? What doesthatmean?” I asked.
He glanced at me, uncommitted to giving his full attention as he went back to watch the mare a moment longer. “Just… Mind the reins.” Cyrus climbed onto Edith, never taking his eyes off my horse. Beside me, he nodded too quickly. “Alright then.” Then he looked at Willoughby. “Should we see the Willow trees, Ser Willoughby?”
Josie shot me a glance; I shook my head.
My cousin caught something of the exchange, but when he looked from me to her, they both relaxed. He scanned the shape of her face, like a moth circling a torch, and I was impressed by how successful my con had become. For the entire first half of our group’s excursion, he was sufficiently distracted and never too far away from his maid. When we arrived at Willow’s Grove, the long patch of closely planted trees, their branches swung softly in the wind, undisturbed by our trespass as we went through.
“Oh,” I breathed. “I’m not sure we have anywhere like this back home.”
Willoughby leaned one way, then the other, considering. “What about the harbor? Much livelier, really. But it has its trees in town proper.”
“I’ve never been,” I said.
Cyrus ducked to avoid a branch. “The last timeIwas in Harbourtown, it was overrun with criminals, not trees.”
“When were you there last?” he asked. “There are crabapples along the strip.”
“In Autumn,” Cyrus said. “I saw no crabapples, and some kid pick-pocketed me.”
“Part of the experience,” my cousin said, tickled.
“Aye,the experience,”the other parroted. “I lost a good knife, you know?”
“They might be orange in Autumn,” Willoughby explained. “Or leafless. I can’t recall.”
“Is that not your father’s territory?” he asked.
“Aye, but his seat is more north.”
“I have never been to Harbourtown either,” Josie chimed. “Never left Ísfjall, except for now.”
I turned. “Never? What about North Áire?”
“I wasn’t with you when you were there last,” she said.
“Really?” I asked.
“Aye. I was still at my mistress’s estate.”
“Oh. I suppose you’re right. Of course you are, anyway,” I said.
“Where was your mistress from?” Cyrus asked.
“What?” she asked.
“Your mistress?” he asked. “She was in Ísfjall? Who’s that make her? Are there many ladies in King’s Land these days?”
“Oh. No,” she hurried. “Sorry, I meant I’ve never left Ísfjall since I’ve arrived, is all,” she said.
“Huh.” I pondered it. “I thought?—”
Willoughby asked, “Your lady was in Lawrence, wasn’t she?”
She shifted. “I’m sorry?”
“No?” he asked. He canted his head.
“How did you come to that conclusion?” she asked.
