Creeping softly so that she didn’t wake Alanna and Val, she let herself out of the farmhouse, holding her small lantern up to light the way.
Two guards immediately spun to watch her, and she gave them a polite nod as they slowly relaxed.
Winter dawn would be late, and getting later as they traveled further north, but there was a lightness in the sky, a subtle glow along the far horizon, that suggested the sun would rise soon. A milky sweep of stars gleamed across the sky, and she tilted her head back, enjoying the fresh bite to the wind and the quiet of the early morning.
She picked her way past the glowing embers of the fire and waved at Rafe, who was sitting on a log, warming himself. He lifted the mug he’d been cradling in a salute, and she smiled back.
She should tell Rafe about the baby. He would be kind; she knew he would. He wouldn’t tell anyone. Although at this point, probably everyone knew. Val, Tristan, and Mathos, certainly… and Tor.
What had he thought when he read her letter? Was he relieved that she had gone? Had he read it with that stern look she knew so well and then carefully folded it and packed it away to return to the responsibilities he already had? The other commitments he’d made, and the life he was trying to rebuild.
Or had he growled and marched away, angry that she’d left? Those big arms flexing under all that red-and-black ink as he gripped the back of his neck like he always did when he was overwhelmed by too much emotion? Had he been disappointed in her cowardly way of telling him that he was going to be a father? Did he wish, now, that he had joined her on the road?
Who knew?
Either way, she should tell Rafe. He would know if there was anything she needed to do. Anything she should prepare. Babies were not her specialty, but she could learn. Shewouldlearn.
A quad of their guards walked down the road, just returning from a sweep of the perimeter, and nodded politely as she lifted her lantern higher and made her way down the rutted track to the dilapidated barn. The chickens had woken her, and now she was going to face them.
Keely walked into the barn, wrinkling her nose against the smell. Possibly it had been a cow byre at some point, but now it consisted mostly of rotten old boards, stinking of chicken shit, with just enough remaining beams that the flock could roost safely away from foxes.
The birds fluttered along the beams, eyeing her warily from their perches, lifting their wings and clucking nervously. They weren’t at all sure about her, and, Bard knew, chickens were insane at the best of times. A couple of roosters, excited about the lantern light, crowed loudly.
Keely leaned against the door, letting them get used to her as she watched them. It had been her job as a child to collect the eggs. The kind of early morning—get out of bed right now, Keely!—job that a teenage girl could really resent on a winters’ day.
There had been servants that could have done it. Her mother was a cousin to the queen, however distant, while her father was a very wealthy landowner in his own right, but her father had the idea that everyone should have a job to do, and the chickens were hers. Even when she was old enough to have real responsibilities, the chickens had stayed under her care.
Niall had helped. He would stride over the grassy fields between their farms and vault over the low fence to help her with the chickens. Well, mostly he made her significantly slower, but she wouldn’t have traded that time for anything.
He was nothing like Tor. Long, lean muscles, golden blond hair, and a sharp wit. Everything was amusing to him. And Bard, he’d made her laugh. She’d laughed until her sides ached and her face grew stiff from smiling. And then he would kiss her. There in that warm, quiet barn, all surrounded by chickens.
When he died, that joy had died with him. All that warmth had gone, and she had been sure she would never get it back. Never wanted to get it back, if losing it hurt so much.
Bard. How was it possible to love someone and hate them so much, all at the same time?
Ten years had passed since she had begged him to stay. She had wept and argued and pleaded. Begged him, as his betrothed, as the woman who would always love him. Asked him to change his mind and choose her.
But he had left anyway, and six months later they had brought his signet ring back to give to her, his body buried somewhere on the other side of the mountains.
She had been so angry with him. And so guilty that she was angry, when he was dead. She had walked around, numb and broken for months. And then her papa had died—another blow to her already damaged heart—and her mama had decided to go back to Duneidyn and asked her to follow.
She had packed up and left the farm, hoping to never see another chicken in her entire life. Or another beautiful, life-changing, heart-stealing boy. Especially not a soldier.
She had stayed away from men and the hurt that came from caring for them. Right up until Tor. Dark to Niall’s golden light. Serious and stoic to Niall’s easy good humor. But just as devastating.
Keely sighed. And now she was thinking about farming chickens. Why? Because it was the only thing she could think of. Because she wanted to go back to that time when she had felt warm and safe and invincible. Like she could do anything and be anything. Before life had taught her that it didn’t work out that way—that every day was going to be a fight—and the only thing she could count on was her own damn self.
Bard. She stalked out of the shed and slammed the rickety door. This little trip into her memories was supposed to be cathartic. Not make her feel worse. She looked around, wanting space and air, and distance from her thoughts.
The sun had climbed over the top of the horizon, and she could make out a narrow path winding up behind the outbuildings. It led up a low hill, the first of many, rising ever more steeply away, up to the huge, towering mountains of the north.
Her feet found the path, and Keely followed it almost without thinking. She liked to be high above the world. She had spent hours on the tallest battlements, first in Duneidyn and later in Kaerlud, leaning into the wind, surrounded by open space, as she let the cold air blow away her worries.
She followed the path up, her eyes on the blue-purple mountains in the distance. The steep mountainous ridges that had protected Verturia from invaders—including neighboring Brythoria—for so many years.
And now they would be the border between her and Tor. Tomorrow, they would cross into her homeland, and she would have truly left him.
She turned and gave Rafe and the soldiers milling around the fire a quick wave, pointing toward the hill, miming that she was going for a walk. They waved back in acknowledgment, and she turned to pick her way up the rocky path as the roosters complained behind her.
