“Easy, girl,” Ciana murmured, placing a palm on the mare’s dappled neck, but it did little to calm the beast.
The silence hammered against her.
Something was wrong.
Slowly, quietly, she slid from her mare’s back, giving the animal one last reassuring pat. She took small, careful steps around the cart.
“Del?” Ciana called softly, turning the corner and glancing up at her friend.
Delaynie was there, but she didn’t answer. She was instead frozen in her seat, face paler than usual, eyes wide and filled with terror.
Stomach-turning fear dropped into Ciana’s veins as she followed Delaynie’s gaze.
A group of five masked strangers stood, clothed in the muted yellows and greens of the marshlands around them. Four of them held great longbows, arrows nocked and drawn, pointed at where Quentin and Sebastian knelt seething beside discarded axes.
The fifth man took a step forward, as sure and silent as the fall of leaves into the grass.
“Welcome to Idrix, travelers. Surrender your weapons, and we won’t have any trouble.”
Chapter 30
Quentin hatedeverythingabout Idrix.
He hated the odorous marshes to the scraggly trees dripping with clinging moss. He even hated the heavy humidity that made his red hair stick uncomfortably to his forehead and the back of his neck.
“For being on a diplomatic mission, you all certainly do travel quite armed.”
Oh, that’s right. Most of all, Quentin hated the hooded bastards who’d managed to surprise them on the trail.
First the rebels in Kreah, and now these Idrixians. Quentin was off his game, and he hated that, too.
He bared his teeth at the Idrixian sitting before them in a simple chair. The canvas tent was worn but well-made, the remaining I similar. Not much was known of the Idrixians, but it had become quickly apparent that these marsh dwellers were nomadic.
“Maybe we travel armed in case foreign fucks try ambushing us on the road—” A hard kick to his shin caught the rest of Quentin’s words in his throat. He met Delaynie’s hard blue glare and could almost hear her words in his head.
Shut your mouth, before you make this worse.
Quentin didn’t really care about making it better. Or, at least, he wouldn’t, if it had just been him and Sebastian. But with Ciana and Delaynie there…
He ground his teeth, releasing his breath in a hiss as he glanced at the worn rugs covering the ground.
The Idrixian chuckled, a sound that scraped against Quentin’s skin.
“Perhaps if you knew the marshes better, Onitan, we wouldn’t have been able to disarm you so easily.” He leaned back, the chair creaking, a contemplative look crossing his bearded face. His moss-green eyes surveyed their group—at their weapons piled beside him.
“I am curious, though,” the Idrixian drawled. His accent was different from the one in Kreah; a little coarser, less melodic. “Why does the Queen of Onita now suddenly want a diplomatic relationship with her neighbors? Except for restricted trade, those borders have been closed for centuries.”
“What our queen does is no one’s business but her own.” Sebastian’s answer was clear as he lifted his chin. Ever the dutiful captain.
Delaynie rolled her eyes, and Quentin had to stifle his grin.
The Idrixian chuckled again. “That may be so,” he said. “But if you won’t share your intentions, then I’m not particularly inclined to help you.”
“What’s your name?” Ciana blurted. All eyes swung to her, and a bright red stain spread across her cheeks. She cleared her throat. “I-I only mean, perhaps we should all introduce ourselves. Maybe we got off on the wrong foot here.”
The Idrixian stared at Ciana before nodding slowly. “Perhaps you have a point.” He shifted again in his chair. “After all, we have no quarrels with Onita. Maybe weshouldstart over.”
Ciana nodded emphatically. “Yes. I agree.” She pressed a hand to her chest. “I’m Ciana Visseau, one of the Queen’s Ladies.This”—she rested her other hand on Sebastian’s forearm— “is Sebastian. Captain of the Queen’s Armature.”
