Orval nodded. “We act as if they are allies until we know different.”
They tossed more ideas at one another until Yfin’s face cracked open with a huge yawn.
“Boy’s got a point,” Roth said, moving the cape so he could look out the small window. “Nothing but fields ahead. Might be able to catch a bit of rest before we arrive.”
Yfin was already curling up, head down, his hair spilling over his eyes. Amari settled into her corner after checking the babes.
“Here, let me,” Roth eased Xydell on to his shoulder. “Take a rest.” he said, digging into a pocket and pulling out a loop of string. Orval raised his eyebrows.
Roth huffed. “Old habit. Cat’s cradle. Keeps my fingers warm.”
Orval nodded, settled back, watching the man’s fingers flick through string patterns, trying to think, to plan, to…sleep claimed him quickly.
Sleep? Rosalind almostshook her head in disbelief; years of training kept her still. How could she sleep? Her heart was racing hard and fast, threatening to leap out of her chest. She’d been torn away from everything she’d known, everything she had worked for. Her keys, the badge of her office, ripped from her belt. She closed her eyes as shame washed over her.
All of her years of royal service, all her work, all her pride of place, gone.
The only thing keeping her from weeping was the quiet strength of the others. They were thinking, planning, not trembling inside.
She flushed, hot and embarrassed. She’d thrown herself at the guards, begged to be reinstated, forgiven. The Bondmaiden had smirked at her tears as she’d taken the keys.
Rosalind felt useless. Nothing in her life had prepared her for this. She’d been raised to serve the royal family; what did she know of war camps? She’d never heard of anything good coming from the Black Hills.
She knew the running of a large household, the standards that things were to be kept to. The history of the palace and its contents. Her passion for the ancient tapestries, their care and preservation: what good was that now?
Orval’s leg shifted slightly, and Amari shifted to make room for him, neither opening their eyes. Whatever the circumstances of their marriage—and there had been quite a bit of speculation about that at Court, hadn’t there—it was clear they had a bond.
Roth was concentrating on his string patterns, occasionally glancing out the carriage window. Rosalind knew that the patterns had names and stories, but she’d never seen someone so proficient. She’d have to ask him about that later.
Lara fussed in her sleep, yawning and blowing bubbles.
Rosalind gently reached in and stroked the babe’s cheek. Such a precious thing, with that shock of black hair that looked like it would be curly.
Lara yawned again and opened her eyes. Fey blue eyes.
Xywellan’s eyes.
Rosalind sucked in a breath, frozen in discovery as the pieces of a puzzle clicked together in her mind.
Lara was Xywellan and Kara’s daughter.
No, it couldn’t be. But her brain was ticking through the gossip, the rumors, as everything fell into place. Amari’s shame, Orval’s loyalty…
“I didn’t pay too much attention, since I was tending to Dalan.”
Dalan, fast asleep in his basket, was so much bigger than…
They weren’t twins.
Shocked, Rosalind opened her mouth, the words on the tip of her tongue, then froze. The more people that know a secret means it’s no longer a secret.
Lara had fallen back to sleep, her sweet cheek pressed to Rosalind’s fingers. Questions raged through her as she watched the precious babe sleep. How had this royal child, heir to the throne, been trusted to a cripple?
Desperation. Queen Kara could only have done this out of desperation and terror.
Which meant it fell to her, Rosalind, to see to the child’s welfare.
Awe washed over her. It must be so. She was meant to behere, to serve, to protect, to preserve. A new purpose filled her.
