The general leads his horse to a small door at the rear of the palace. Before I can slide to the ground of my own accord, he dismounts, takes my waist between his hands, and helps me down. Just as I open my mouth to scold him, a young boy bursts out of the dark door and takes the horse by the reins.
The boy dips his head when the general thanks him before disappearing into the low light cast from within the palace walls. Curious, I follow the male into a warm kitchen made of thick grey stone. A long, heavy wooden table sits at its center, the room lit by nothing but the cozy glow of dying embers in a large hearth.
A chair rocks in front of it, creaking as it sways. In it sits an oldwoman, a thin blanket draped over her knees, pooling around her ankles. Dark eyes peer out from under a heavily wrinkled brow and a thick mane of white hair. She smiles.
“Xeyvian, my boy.” Her eyes narrow at him as she throws the blanket across the arm of the chair. “You’ve lost weight. Haven’t they been feeding you? Come, I’ll make you a bowl of stew.”
“Thank you, Media, but I need to get this young lady back to her room,” he says, halting her movement with the raise of his hand.
The old woman eyes me under a critical brow.
“And who might you be?” she asks.
I introduce myself, but it does little to warm her countenance toward me.
“You’ll come and see me again. Soon. I’d like to know what manner of woman it is that Xeyvian is sneaking into the palace in the dead of night.” She grunts and nods as if she’s just confirmed my own acceptance of herinvitation. “Now that’s settled, best get the young lady back to her room before the hour becomes more indecent than it already is.”
“Yes, Media.” The general gives her a nod and leads me out of the kitchen and through the long marble halls. I can feel the old woman’s eyes on me until I am completely out of sight.
The palace is asleep, not a soul awake aside from the guards. The only sound, the clap of the general’s boots as they echo in time with his stride. The silver scar at his temple flickering as he walks through long panels of moonlight let in through the windows in the hall.
“Why did we come this way? And who was that?” I wonder.
He gestures to a hall to the right and I turn, allowing him to guide me through the labyrinth that is my current home. It is far vaster than the La’tari keep I grew up in.
“Media looked after Awri and Riesh when they were children. Like you, she is from La’tari, but came to live in A’kori when she was younger. About twenty years before the war.”
“She’s human,” I say absentmindedly, more to myself than to the general.
“It surprises you that feyn children would have a human nanny?” heasks. He cocks a brow at me as if I should know better by now, a stray strand of ebony falling in front of his eye.
I shake my head. “It isn’t that. I just assumed Awri was older.”
“I won’t tell her you said that.”
I squint my eyes at him. All feyn stop aging in their thirties, he knows what I mean. I wrongly assumed that because Awri was in the war, she had been older when it began. If they were children when Media came, well, she can hardly be more than twice my age. To them, I assume she is still very much a child.
“I brought you through the kitchens to show you where to find our chambers, should the need arise,” he says.
His room and the rooms of his companions are only a short distance from my own. Awri’s and Riesh’s being the closest and the general’s rooms buffered from theirs by a handful of closed doors he doesn’t elaborate on. Likely rooms for others that remain at court in the king’s favor.
It’s a quick walk to my room, and I might prefer it to the grand entry of the palace if I wouldn’t have to go toe to toe with Media every time I enter the kitchen. Not that I am frightened of the woman, but she seemed rather protective of the general and perhaps a little suspicious of me. It won’t do me any good being questioned by the woman every time I make my way in or out. No doubt she will report each and every one of my steps to him.
He stops in front of my room and lingers, his eyes surveying the door.
“If I leave you here, are you going to go to bed?” he asks.
“To be honest, I’m a little afraid to answer that after what happened last time you asked,” I tease.
His mouth forms a thin line. “At least use the doors next time you leave.”
I smile at his demand. “I make no promises.”
Pushing open the door, I turn to meet his eyes before I step inside and say, “Thank you, for the pants.”
His eyes flick to my legs, and he nods. When his gaze continues to my feet his brow pinches as he notes the state of my filthy slippers. They aren’t ideal for trudging through the forest, but they were my only option. I’ll have to throw them out. There is no bringing them back from the mangledmess they have become.
His eyes glide back up to mine and his face softens.
