Georgaina bustles around the kitchen, feeding us roasted hen and potatoes. I don’t even taste the food. My focus is reserved for Mayah, who moans softly after every bite, finishing her first portion within minutes. I hide my smile behind my hand, wishing I could feed her better than unseasoned rabbit.
“We don’t have much,” Georgaina says in apology. “But you’re welcome to anything you like.”
“This is perfect.” Mayah gives our host a warm smile, taking another bite.
“Where is Georg’s father?” I ask casually, eyes flicking between Mayah and the door.
Georgaina shakes her head, fingers tugging at the checkered tablecloth. “He was summoned to the front lines a few years ago. His sword came home. He never did.”
Mayah’s face falls, and my heart lurches in protest.
Skies, this woman has the power to destroy me.
“Georg carries the sword everywhere,” Georgaina continues. “Says he wants to be a soldier like his Pa. I want something more for him, though. Something better. But … we’re commons.” She shrugs, eyes wet. “If the war doesn’t end, in a few years, he’ll leave me, too.”
Guilt churns in my gut, acidic and heavy. Georg’s father was under my command. Not directly, but I’m still responsible.
I clear my throat. “Is that a garden you have out back?”
She nods. “It’s doing all right. Could do with some more water, though. Well’s empty. Soldiers came through a few weeks ago. Siphoned it dry.”
I clench my teeth. My men are forbidden from stealing resources from villagers. What has Sulon been allowing in my absence?
“And the Rebellion?” I continue. “Any trouble with them?”
Georgaina eyes me closely. “They stop by from time to time. Not friendly, but not hostile either. Sometimes they bring food.”
No prickles, but my shoulders tense anyway.
Our host glances between us, adding, “Last I heard, Prince Zevayr was delivering the Tundrayni princess to Arbinj. But they were attacked. No one’s seen them since.”
My hands clench into tight fists.
Skies damn her—she shouldn’t have said that.
Now, I’m left with no choice. She knows who we are.
Slowly, deliberately, I move my hand to the pommel of my sword. My grip tightens around it when I catch Mayah’s gaze—she’s pleading with me with those bright, blue eyes.
Please,she seems to say.Please don’t.
It would be incredibly foolish to leave this woman alive—someone with ties to the Rebellion, someone who knows who we are.
But I’m a fool, it seems, for I can deny Mayah nothing.
“We heard something similar,” I finally say, eyes locked on Mayah’s. “Except he isn’tdeliveringher, like bartered goods to be traded. He’ssafeguardingher. Like a treasure.”
Mayah’s lips part in surprise. If I keep looking at her, I’m afraid I’ll confess my feelings right here.
“We’ll be on our way,” I say instead, rising from the table.
Mayah follows, giving Georgaina instructions about how to care for her son when he wakes.
“Thank you,” the woman murmurs, pulling Mayah into another embrace. Envy sparks in my veins at the ease with which this woman—this stranger—can justholdher. “I wish I had something to offer you in return.”
“You do.” My voice comes out rougher than I intend. “Forget you ever saw us.”
The woman nods solemnly, then tries to pack food for the journey, which Mayah gracefully declines.
