“What were you writing about earlier? You seemed very invested in it.” There is no judgment in my tone, only curiosity.
“Oh, I was recalling our experience in the Rite—from my limited perspective, of course. Also, the journey so far. I like to keep a record of events, the important ones.” I nod my understanding. He’s a scholar, it’s what the Isle of Men is known for, of course, but Wren is serious about his work, proud.
“I enjoy my time in our Sanctuary, on the Isle. My studies have been geared toward the history of Naedra and the Isle. Recently, a lot about Elemyr, of course. But also, the sight—precognition.”
Wren looks at me now, seriously but not sternly. Like a fellow student of history, with respect.
“I don’t just want to be someone who learns about the happenings of the Kingdom. As I experience them, I want to chronicle them myself and share them.”
I smile because I appreciate that as well. Wren isn’t only a scholar, he’s a teacher. He genuinely enjoys taking everything in.
I yawn, knowing I should go back to sleep. When I shift to stand, Wren offers me his hand for balance. I accept it, thanking him.
“Goodnight, Wren, thank you again. For staying up and for telling me more about your work.”
“Same to you, Vonetta. Goodnight.”
When I lie back down on the quilt, I do so on my right side, facing away from Chiron. My small conversation with Wren was good. I’m glad we got to do that, I think, as I move into a comfortable position.
Chiron shifts behind me, and his heavy arm falls across my waist again. When I first woke this morning, this felt awkward. But I am weary and sore from this day. Now it feels…safe? I don’t have much space to consider it because I fall asleep with ease.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Vonetta
We make our start early, rising before the sun. The tension between the three of us is calm today, less awkward, I think. I do feel more at ease and in command of myself than I have these last weeks. The expectations of trials are there, but peripheral right now. I’m more focused on our current destination, Lora.
Lora is a small village just outside of Nanburrow Forest, and when we break from the trees, the scent of farmland and smoke-filled chimneys is comforting. My aching limbs remain, but the trek through the rugged forest occupied me from my occasional worries about the trial. I was also busy watching my companions, my husbands move through the obstacles of fallen trees and rocky terrain.
Wren is lean and lithe for a man who spends most of his time in a library, and would be more so if he weren’t so focused on his map. Not that his focus was misplaced, he guides us well, and we make good time.
Chiron’s strength and understanding of the land were well used and complementary to Wren’s planning, knowing where to avoid certain paths and always ready to steady us over tricky elements. I do my best to keep pace with them and mostly succeed. If I held them back at all, they didn’t show it.
When we reach Lora, we stop at the first home we meet and are directed to a barn just east of there by a well-wishing farmer. It is small, more cabin than a barn, really. There is a large straw bed in the center and a small washroom off the back.
A worn but inviting armchair sits next to the modest fireplace. A tall stack of wood sits beside it, and a pantry stocked with a few goods next to that. We can easily make a stew for our meal this afternoon. Overall, this place is a welcome respite from the cave from our first night and camping on the forest floor this past night. We eat our lunch in quiet companionship, and Wren helps me clean up afterwards.
Chiron suggests we take to the tavern in the evening, and he receives no disagreement from Wren or me. I’ve never been to a tavern, but I have read about them.
We arrive at our destination quickly, and one thing is clear to us all—this may be a small village, but they know who we are exactly. Chiron takes on his charming demeanor again, as if his circlet rests on his head, the moment someone else addresses him. He is stately but jovial, the ideal image of a prince. We are seated at the back of the pub, at a thick wooden table with a bench across the back and a small stool at the front. I move to sit at the bench, and Chiron takes my cloak, draping it over the bench next to me.
“Oh, thank you. I can manage, though,” I say, uneasy from all of the attention on us. He directs that pleasing smile at me now, and my cheeks heat under its glow.
“It is no trouble, Vonetta. Wren, sit, please. I will get us all an ale and order supper.”
He walks back to the long bar and speaks to the proprietor.
Wren is quiet; this is his natural state, I think. But his unease here doesn’t seem much different than my own. I’ve never been in a building bursting with this many people. I’ve only had this many eyes on me once, and I wasn’t really in a position to feel them then.
The room is large but still very packed in. The tables are close together, and the room is warm from all of the bodies. People are crammed into every corner, conversing and eating together.
When Chiron returns with mugs of amber liquid, we both thank him and take a small drink. I am used to the rich taste of wine, but this is tangy and dark and sends heat down my throat and into my belly. It’s not unpleasant, but it is unfamiliar. They both look at me with amusement now.
“What?” I ask them, wiping at my face and inspecting my tunic for spills. Chiron laughs a little, breathy and rich. Wren uses his hand to hide his smile, but he fails, and it’s a lovely thing.
“You clearly didn’t agree with that. Have you never had ale before?” Chiron asks me, taking a long drink of his own mug. I am amused too, so I respond in kind.
“I haven’t, we don’t exactly have a wealth of distilleries around the Isle, do we?” He nods back at me, and I know he understood that. I turn to Wren and his soft smiles.
