Alys shrugs. “Then let her be suspicious.” She makes her way toward the desk where a kettle and a tankard has already been set—likely by Ellynne—a small clay cup beside it. Steam wafts from the cup as Alys pours hot water into it. She pulls a small vial from her pocket as I approach and empties tea leaves into the cup.
“Where’s the honey?” I ask.
“We’re awaiting a delivery from Wynn Odhran.”
Eagerness floods my belly and I clear my throat. “So, what’s the status of things?” I ask, lowering my voice though there’s no one else around.
She lowers hers as well. “The final Quarterly Raid has been completed. There are more captives than there has been in a while, including an entire caravan of young ones.”
A chill cuts through me, all anticipation of Wynn’s arrival forgotten. This should not be happening. The fear of Otherworldly activity has gotten out of hand—suspicions are higher than ever. But how do I override beliefs that are so deeply rooted in Erleyan ancient history? How do I get the Council to see the error of our ways?
“We’ve gotten word there’s going to be an unscheduled raid on the Big Three villages in a few weeks. An alert has already been sent through rebel networks—they’re planning to intercept and rescue as many innocents as possible.”
“Lierwen be with them.”
Alys nods though I know she doesn’t believe in the Protector, the Father of the gods, or any old gods of Erleya for that matter. Just as I don’t believe that she’s telling me everything. I’m not even certain how she knows all that she does.
“Anything else?” I ask.
“No.” Her tone is definitive, though she avoids my gaze. There’s no point in pushing her though; she tells me what I need to know. It would likely be dangerous for me to know more than what she’s already told me.
“There’s a council meeting soon,” I say. “I’m not going to be taken by surprise, am I?”
“I’ve told you all I can, Carys. Now…” She lifts the small cup, holding it out to me.
My face crumples—I have to drink this disgusting tea without honey. I peer into the cup at the amber liquid inside, the tealeaves sunken to the bottom.
“It won’t be that bad,” Alys assures me. “One gulp. You’ll hardly taste it.”
Setting my resolve, I swallow it down with one gulp just before the tealeaves could escape into my mouth. The liquid hits the back of my tongue, the bitterness making me gag slightly. I set the empty cup down so hard it’s a wonder it doesn’t crack.
Alys chuckles. “It’s a fertility suppressant, dear one, not a casual afternoon tea. It’s not that bad.” She pours me a fresh cup of water. “You can’t always have heaps of honey at your disposal.”
I don’t see why not, but I guzzle down the water, desperate to get the bitterness out of my mouth.
Alys exhales loudly, a smile on her face as she shakes out her arms as though preparing for a fight. “Alright, grounding time. I’m afraid that temper of yours is showing itself very often lately.”
“Because I’m surrounded by arseheads.” I shrug and Alys laughs.
“Be that as it may, there will come a day when you’ll have to remain calm despite thearseheadsaround you. You’re to be queen one day. You can’t fight fire with fire. You need to learn to quell the flames.”
“Hopefully it’ll be a while still before I’m queen.” My mother is a fighter. She can defeat this mystery illness.
Alys’s lips curve upward, but it’s that poor-Carys smile that leaves her grey eyes dull. I know it too well. “In the meantime… You know the routine. Relax your mind, plant your awareness firmly on what your body is doing and not on the world around you. Ready?”
I roll my eyes. “Ready.”
CHAPTER 6
Durvla
The stenchof urine and feces forces me back into consciousness. My eyes fly open to darkness, and a band of panic wraps around my chest as the memories pour into my head. Gut roiling, I push myself upright and reach out, grasping for anything. Something dry and gritty grazes my fingertips. Where am I? I push myself backward on my bottom until my back meets something solid that feels like bars.
Slowly, I adjust to the dark, to the hay scattered beneath me along the wooden floor of the horse-drawn prison wagon. There seems to be others within the metal bars, but I can’t make out more than their silhouettes. Riders in black uniforms that blend into the night surround our wagon on horseback, their faces distorted from the undulating shadows cast by their torches.
My stomach churns, sending spasms up my throat. I swallow, and immediately, my stomach twists again.
I need to calm myself.
