I bristle, but there’s gentleness in his voice. He isn’t mocking me about purchases I could never make—he just doesn’t understand what true poverty looks like. My automatic defensiveness fades. I’ve lived a life surrounded by so much unkindness that the absence of it shocks me.
“You can’t buy treats or ribbons when you have no coin,” I say matter-of-factly. “But jesters and jugglers walk the streets entertaining everyone, no payment required. And there are plays on public stages, free for all. Not the best pantomimes, I’m sure. Those troupes play at the palace for the fancy folk. Still magical to watch, though. And the music! So many wonderful musicians strolling about, entertaining us all.”
“Karrina loves the music best. She’s a fair hand with a lute and sings like a nightingale.” I can hear the wistfulness in his voice and know he worries about his sister. “I love to see her joy during Harvest Fest. When we return …”
I wait, but he doesn’t finish the sentence. I’m not the only one wondering if we’ll ever return to Pallanhold. But one thing’s for certain: if we survive, I’ll never, ever step foot in the library again.
Except, perhaps, as a patron.
As we pass yet another field, two small boys rush toward the road and climb up on the fence to watch us go by. Their eyes fasten on Kaelen and me. The prince’s fancy embroidered coat and my scarlet cloak must look quite dramatic on our obsidian-black horse.
“Spare us a copper, won’t you?” the older one shouts, looking quite thrilled at his own daring.
Kaelen digs in a pocket and tosses them a few coins. I smile at their boisterous shouts of excitement. At least the Zhagarn didn’t come in force and overrun these farms.
Yet.
I fight to push away the thought of these boys, broken and bleeding, lying dead amid burned fields and destruction. The pressure of this quest is already crushing me. I don’t need to add visions of dead children to the weight of it.
Neville wheels his horse around and trots back to us. “I think our best course of action is to ride through the day and stop just before we reach the Brazen River, Your Highness.”
“Just Kaelen, please, Neville. I’m a merchant, remember?”
The sergeant’s mouth quirks up on one side. “Merchant or prince, you and I are the only two on this journey who’ve ever traveled much in Pyrrh, not to mention beyond the borders.”
“Andras and Chitai,” Kaelen reminds him.
“We’re the only two I trust not to have secret agendas,” Neville amends. “Camp just at the edge of the woods by the river?”
“Yes. I’d like us shielded from the road in case more of the Zhagarn are on our trail.”
“Bern and the thief have been watching our backs.”
“Trick,” I snap. “His name is Trick Jovann, not ‘the thief.’ If he’s part of this company—”
“He fought hard not to be,” Neville says, matching my ire.
“I wasn’t exactly a volunteer,” I remind him through clenched teeth. “If he’s part of this company,willing or not, he deserves to be called by name, Sergeant Neville.”
“Fine,” he mutters.
“Wait. How did they get into the city?” I turn to look at Kaelen. “The Fell. The guards at the gate didn’t know what happened, so it’s clear they didn’t come that way.”
Neville’s face turns grim. “That’s a very good question, and you can be sure they’re investigating back at the palace. For now, all we know is that the Zhagarn have wormed their way into Pyrrh, even if it’s only a small scouting party. Where one of those ravens-begotten Fell is, more are sure to follow.”
“They were even more terrifying than I imagined,” I admit. “And the Zhagarn—the hatred in their eyes …”
“They’re bottomless wells of rage and hate,” Kaelen says. “Our seers in Valourian told us the lack of balance in Altarra affected everyone, but most powerfully near Corvynne’s domain. Her people have become so twisted, they don’t remember a time when they were soldiers and not monsters.”
“Best not to mention such things out in the open,” Neville says, making a sign against evil with one hand before riding back to the front of our group.
Kaelen sets an easy pace, and I suspect it’s so he can check on our companions in the wagon without looking like a mother hen. Bern is driving, Trick beside him. Elianna must have returned to the back to rest.
“Soli. Are you okay?” Trick’s brown eyes are filled with concern.
“No,” I admit. “But I’ll get through this. You?”
His lips twist. “Sure. We’re on our way to confront the goddess of war and death in her own territory. Why wouldn’t I be fine?”
