The Beauty of Darkness (The Remnant Chronicles 3)

Sven returned his hands to his pockets. The others eyed me cautiously.

“Not a soldier like us, maybe,” Jeb said, “but a soldier just the same.”

I shot him an icy stare. I didn’t want to hear about her being a soldier. I was tired of her being in danger and didn’t want to invite more. “I’m going to go check on the horses,” I said and left.

“Good idea,” Sven called after me.

They knew the horses didn’t need checking. We’d found a stand of bitter pea for them to graze on and they were securely tethered.

A soldier just the same.

There was far more that I looked back on during my twelve-mile walk than just my failure to answer her note. I also saw Griz, over and over again, lifting her hand and declaring her queen and Komizar. I saw the alarm in her face and remembered my own rage surging. The barbarians of Venda were trying to sink their claws in deeper, and they’d already done enough damage.

She was not their queen or Komizar, and she was not a soldier.

The sooner I could get her safely to Dalbreck, the better.

CHAPTER FOUR

One by one, they dropped to a knee, offering formal introductions. Though they had all already seen me half naked and held me down in the most familiar ways while I was stitched, perhaps this was the first time they thought I might actually live long enough to remember any of it.

Colonel Sven Haverstrom of the Dalbreck Royal Guard, Assigned Steward of Crown Prince Jaxon. The others laughed at that title. They were free with their jest and jabs, even with an officer who outranked them, but Sven gave it back as good as he got it.

Officer Jeb McCance, Falworth Special Forces.

Officer Tavish Baird, Tactician, Fourth Battalion.

Officer Orrin del Aransas, Falworth First Archer Assault Unit.

I bit the corner of my lip hesitantly and raised my brows. “And I can trust those are your real names and occupations this time?”

They eyed me uncertainly for a moment, then laughed, realizing I was jesting along with them.

“Yes,” Sven said, “but I wouldn’t trust that fellow you’re leaning on. Claims he’s a prince, even though he’s nothing but a—”

“That’s enough,” Rafe said. “Let’s not wear the princess out with your mindless yammering.”

I smiled, appreciating their levity, but I sensed a certain unease behind it, an effort to mask the grimness of our situation.

“Food’s ready,” Orrin announced. Rafe helped me sit down against a makeshift backrest made of saddles and blankets. In the process of sitting, I bent my leg and a fiery jolt shot through it as if I was being pierced with an arrow all over again. I bit back a groan.

“How are the back and the leg?” Tavish asked.

“Better,” I answered once I caught my breath. “I guess you need to add skilled Field Surgeon to your list of titles.”

Orrin watched me eat as if every bite I took measured his cooking skills. Besides the roasted meat, he had also made a soup from the carcass and some turnips. Apparently Jeb wasn’t the only one who had stowed some luxuries in his saddlebag. The conversation centered around the food and other game that they had spotted for future meals—deer, possum, and beaver. Gentle topics. Not at all like their plotting this morning that they had tried to keep from my ears.

I finished my meal and turned the conversation to a more pressing topic. “So, it sounds like we have a week’s lead,” I said.

They paused from their eating and glanced at one another, quickly assessing how much had been said this morning and what I might have overheard.

Rafe wiped the corner of his mouth with the side of his hand. “Two weeks’ lead with the heavy snowfall.”

Sven cleared his throat. “That’s right. Two weeks, Your—”

“Lia,” I said. “No more formalities. We’re well beyond that by now, aren’t we?”

They all looked at Rafe, deferring to him, and he nodded. I had almost forgotten he was their sovereign. Their prince. He outranked them all, including Sven.