“I hope you never need that,” her father murmured. “And I know it is not enough. But please, take it. Keep it hidden, but keep it with you.” His eyes dropped. “For your mother’s sake.”
She couldn’t speak. There was nothing left in her, even as shock thumped with the beat of her heart. She slid the knife into the folds of her robes, between her underclothes and her skin. It was light and discreet, so small she could hardly feel it.
Weariness suddenly weighed down on her bones, abrupt and oppressive. She met her father’s gaze one last time, giving him a simple nod, dull hair falling around her face.
Lord Hareth smiled sadly, the lines in his face deep and weary. He walked her back to the circle of priestesses, murmuring a farewell to them all.
Anniliese sat back amongst the grasses, huddling with her fellow sheep. She steeped in her thoughts, trying to forget the press of cool metal on her spine.
Chapter 44
Sacale was humid and hot, but at least it was familiar.
Their wagon rumbled down the cobbled street, Quentin gripping the reins tight. It wasn’t too crowded. Vendors lined the streets, propping up their wares.
Most were selling whiskey. It was what the mountain port city was best known for, after all.
Delaynie fell against him when they hit a pothole in the worn road. She was so warm, and her coconut and vanilla scent slammed into him. She quickly righted herself, spine rod straight on the bench. She pulled her cloak tighter around her despite the muggy warmth, tugging the hood lower.
A muscle feathered in Quentin’s jaw.
There had been no more incidents as they’d traveled through the rest of the Vathan jungles and across the Onitan border. The map the guard had given him was accurate and true, helping them hold course to the overgrown road winding its way through the jungle. It ended at a rocky ravine, the Attlehon Mountains rising above them.
Home. Or some semblance of it. Even if just for a little while.
Quentin had breathed a sigh of relief as they’d left the jungle behind them, giant wolves and monsters of the night forgotten.
But even as they’d followed the road through the mountains and to the merchant city of Sacale, Delaynie had refused to talk.
Quentin tried. Every night he tried to pull that spark from her, the one he’d seen on that first night. She refused to answer, instead curling into a corner of their wagon and lying there, quiet and unblinking.
Even now, seated beside him on the bench, she was so muted. As if the little wolf she was had been chased away by the true beast of the dark.
She was in there somewhere. That wild spark hadn’t gone out; she was just hiding it away, and he would find out why.
Quentin glanced around the street, trying to make sense of where they were. He’d never been to Sacale, though Sebastian and Matheo had invited him dozens of times. They’d spoken endlessly about the winding, mountainous beauty of their home, and while Quentin had been interested in the whiskey, he’d never wanted to leave the vibrant comfort of Verith.
He’d never regretted that until this exact moment, when he realized they were as good as lost.
Quentin pulled the reins with a soft huff of frustration, guiding the mule to the side of the street. He hopped down from the wagon, running his hands over the beast’s flank and down his legs. There was nothing wrong with their trusty companion. But if he did this long enough…
“Everything all right there, son?”
Perfect.
Quentin straightened, an easy smile already on his lips. The speaker—a middle-aged man pushing a cart laden with meats, vegetables, and, of course, whiskey—watched him with uncertain curiosity.
Another thing Sebastian and Matheo had shared with him: though Sacale was a port city and its people were friendly, it wasalso isolated by the mountains. They would help a stranger in need but would be wary about it.
“Oh yes, thank you. Just making sure the old boy is doing all right.” Quentin patted the mule’s flank. “We’ve traveled a long way.”
“I can see that,” the man said gruffly, scanning Quentin. He hid his grimace at what he knew the man saw: grime-covered clothes and dirt-stained faces. “What brings you to Sacale?”
“We’re here to see some old friends. Speaking of—could you help us with directions? It’s been a few years since I’ve been here, and I’m afraid I’m a little turned around.”
The man nodded, still wary. “Where to?”
Quentin swallowed, smile still plastered on his face. “The Riqueti Estate?”
