Behind him, though, Lane’s voice still carried on with his ridiculous ballad.
She’s never been followed,she’s never been found,
The ferns swallow her steps so she don’t make a sound.
Chapter 53
“What is the backup plan?” Lane asked Ian as they remounted the horses the following morning.
They had spent the night in the forest behind the castle. Having arrived at the city after dark, they had made their way into the trees where Ian led them to the entrance of the secret tunnel, which led to the eastern hall inside the castle walls. But the tunnel had been deliberately caved in. Gareth had known about—or discovered—its existence and taken action to prevent anyone from using it.
By then, the main road had been filled with the soldiers returning from the shore, so Ian and Lane had found a secluded spot in the woods to sleep away the delirious activity they had sustained. Ian had woken up aching and sore but mildly refreshed.
“There is no backup plan,” Ian replied to Lane’s question. His voice sounded strangely cheerful to his own ears. He did have a backup plan, it just was not a very good one.
The forest trail ahead of them opened up to the farmlands that surrounded the capital city.
“I am merely a man, returning to my home,” Ian continued, sitting taller. He kept his gaze on the white walls of the castle,rising above the familiar buildings of the city. A vision sprang to Ian’s mind, unbidden, of those walls no longer white but red with blood. “What are they going to do? Stop me?”
“Merely a man,” Lane repeated, “who happens to be a prince.”
“Then it is time I start to act like one,” Ian replied.
He did not turn around to see Lane’s reaction, but he was sure he couldhearthe man smiling.
“I have seen how Gareth speaks to a crowd,” Ian said, his voice returning to its more serious tone. “The way he can sway their opinion with his own twisted truths.”
“And the people of Iseldis have even more reason to trust you,” Lane said.
Ian nodded. “Let us hope they still feel that way.”
As they neared the city, Ian kept Rowena on the main road. He threw back his hood, baring his face to the morning chill. This was his home. These were his people. He was hiding no longer.
At first, no one noticed the dusty traveler, but as he rode through the outer market, he began to catch a few stares. In such a crowded space, it was customary for a rider to dismount. So, towering above everyone, Ian felt eyes turn on him.
Because of this, the first stares were more like glares.
Then, the whispers started. “Is that Prince Ian?”
He kept his gaze ahead, gently guiding Rowena through the crowd.
“No, it could not be,” another voice said to his right.
“That is his horse.”
“It is him,” someone shouted. “I spoke with him once, last harvestreign festival.”
Ian was glad to be recognized. Glad that he had spent his life here among these people, close enough that they knew him by sight.
By the time he rode under the arch that separated the marketplace from the next neighborhood of shops, a small crowd had gathered behind him, following his journey, their interest piqued. Rowena moved slowly enough that they could keep up with him.
The whispers had turned into shouts. “Prince Ian is back!” Doors opened, and people stepped from shops and homes, joining in the crowd.
Ian’s heart raced, but he kept his eyes on the castle ahead and held Rowena back to a slow pace. Gareth could draw a crowd, but so could he.
By the time he had reached the far side of the city and moved out onto the green hill that rose up to the castle, it felt as if half the people in the city were walking behind him. That was good. He needed this to be a public stand.
Up ahead, the castle gates were closed. Ian had never seen the gates closed in full daylight before.
