She sighs. “I could not—”
“You chose not to!” His condemnation is clear. If he were sitting on his throne, an execution in the square would likely follow.
Her throat bobs with a hard swallow. We knew Gesine had been writing letters, marked with Mordain’s official scribe seal. At least she didn’t lie about it.
The Princess of Ybaris must survive at all costs, by Malachi’s will. That was the message Gesine sent to Margrethe. A proverbial nail in my coffin from this world, while Sofie was busy driving one into my chest from the other.
Tense silence stretches on, the rift of distrust between Zander and Gesine widening.
Finally, she clears her throat. “This inlet was not an ideal option, given its proximity to Cirilea, but I planned for it, anyway. It will take longer, but it will lead us to Bellcross just as well.”
“We’re going to Bellcross?” That name has been on many tongues lately, after Princess Romeria’s brother Tyree and his soldiers murdered a tributary.
“Yes. That is where Ianca waits, and we must—”
“No, we are meeting the Legion in Eldred Wood,” Zander counters evenly, cutting her off. The frazzled version from the open sea is gone, his calm, ice-cold demeanor having returned.
Gesine dips her head. “But after that, we will all head for—”
“I will decide where we go once I speak with my Legion commander.” He looms over the sagging caster. “And before I do that, you will answer every question I ask of you about what you have been up to, about what Neilina knows, about the end to this curse, and you will do it truthfully.”
Back in Cirilea, Zander was reeling from the treachery and seemed intent on two distinct paths, with his and Elisaf’s having nothing to do with mine. Now, he is back to playing the domineering king, demanding people obey his will.
But he promised they would get us to the mountains where Gesine could train me. Will he renege now that he’s had time to think? Now that he’s seen how powerful she is? What does he want, besides reclaiming his kingdom? He ridiculed Gesine and these seers for speaking in riddles, but is Zander holding out hope that there is truth to this prophecy? That he could rid Islor of this blood curse that has plagued the lands for two thousand years?
Gesine sighs. “As you command.” I can’t tell if it’s respect for a king or if she’s simply too tired to argue.
Either way, my pity for the woman swells. Quickly behind it is my anger. “Hey, Your Highness”—I haven’t used that patronizing tone in weeks, and it feels oddly satisfying—“in case you haven’t noticed, we’d probably all be dead or in a tower by now if it weren’t for Gesine’s help tonight, so maybe dial it down a notch or twelve.”
“I’ve noticed. I’ve noticed everything,” he answers me, but his glare remains on her.
Gesine dismisses my defense with a raised hand. “It is all right. His anger is just.”
Zander studies her another long moment, dragging his gaze over her pale face, her slouched body. When he speaks again, his tone is less hostile. “How many horses?”
“Two.”
I stifle my groan. That means doubling up, and something tells me the two Islorian males won’t agree to ride together.
“And you trust the human?”
“Saul’s keeper is an unsavory fellow who provides little for his family, despite his thriving mill. He requires Saul’s sons to work grueling hours and threatens to loan his young daughters to acquaintances for feedings any time Saul complains.” She shakes her head. “The mortal holds no love for his keeper or his king.”
Zander’s teeth grit. This Islorian is the type of immortal he wants purged from his kingdom.
“Atticus will be dispatching riders in every direction by now,” Elisaf says. “The road is not safe to travel.”
“And yet to get to Gully’s Pass, we need those horses and the road. Find them and bring them to us. We’ll meet you as quickly as we can. Be careful.”
“Wait.” Gesine reaches within her cloak to fish out a small velvet coin purse. She tosses it to Elisaf, who deftly catches it. “Tell him Cordelia sent you. That is the only name he knows.”
Planned escape routes and fake names. I’m feeling closer to Gesine already.
“Cordelia,” Elisaf repeats and then takes off, disappearing into the tree line at a clipped pace.
She hobbles over to slump against a boulder, her complexion green.
“Do not get comfortable,” Zander warns, removing an assortment of daggers from the sack.