Romeria
Igrin at the rush of ducks flapping out of the reeds, their quacks stirring the early-morning quiet. I hadn’t expected the wave to reach that far, but it did, and it happened without the ring on my finger. I’ll bet kids feel this rush the first time they pedal their bikes down the sidewalk without the training wheels.
“Your Highness.” Jarek’s voice from behind pulls me from my focus, his tone raspy and mocking as usual. “Your guard might wait on you, but the Legion isn’t going to give you special treatment. Come and collect your shit. We’re leaving soon.”
I rise and slip my ring back on with a heavy sigh of annoyance before turning to face the arrogant warrior. Even within the dim shadows of the predawn light, I can make out the sharp angles of his jaw, the long, ropelike braids of hair, the hard gleam in his eye. “And which shit would that be? I don’t own anything.”
He smirks. “Your skins, for one. Unless you feel like sleeping in wet grass tonight. And this.” He holds up my sheathed dagger, the one Zander gave me. It was digging into my hip while I slept, so I unfastened it and set it next to my makeshift pillow.
I yank it from his grasp. “Is there someone else I can ride with today?”
“The king. Otherwise, I’ll bear that burden so the others do not have to.”
“How gallant of you.” I fumble with the dagger, trying to affix it to my belt. Something so simple, and yet I’ll need more practice to master it.
“Abarrane told me a fascinating tale last night, about how you do not remember your life before the night you killed King Eachann and Queen Esma. How did you convince anyone of that?”
“Because it’s the truth? I don’t remember the princess who came from Ybaris, or anything about that life. She’s a completely different person.”
“And the king fell for that? You must have a compelling method of persuasion.” His gaze flitters over the length of my body.
It’s too early to deal with him. “What were you doing in my tent, anyway?”
“Not looking for you.” His chuckle is dark as he walks away.
If that’s the case, then there is only one person he would be looking for in there. My anger flares. I charge after him, grabbing hold of the first thing I can reach—the gauntlet covering his wrist. “Eden is not here for you, do you understand? None of you are feeding off her or using her in any way. She’s been through enough.”
The muscles in Jarek’s arm flex, his glare settling on where I grip him.
“Brynn took an arrow in her shoulder yesterday while dealing with the guards in Freywich, and it’s not healing as fast as I would like,” he says with icy calm. “I was looking for the caster.”
“Oh.” I release him and take a step back. It’s likely unwise to grab a lethal warrior like that, especially one who’s made it clear he hates me. I have no idea who Brynn is, but I assume she’s one of the few female warriors I haven’t met. Is she someone special to Jarek? Is anyone special to Jarek?
His attention veers to somewhere across the lake. I follow it and spot the two forms on the far shore. My heart stirs. How long has Zander been standing there, watching me?
When Jarek meets my eyes again, I struggle to not shrink. “Do not grab me again, unless you’d like that favor returned.” With that, he stalks off.
I release a shaky sigh and aim for my tent.
It’s midday when we crest the tallest hill. In the distance sits the vast stone wall of a city. Between is forest and low-lying farmland dotted with villages.
“Is that Bellcross?” After two long and tedious days of nothing but rolling landscape and dismal company riding at the back of the line with Jarek, today we’re in a three-deep row next to Elisaf and Horik a few horses behind Zander. I can’t tell if this is by Jarek’s own choice or if he’s been ordered. Regardless, I’m happy for the chance to ask questions of someone who will answer.
“It is,” Elisaf confirms. “It is the third-largest city in all of Islor, next to Cirilea and Kettling, and well fortified. There is a deep gully with a river surrounding two sides, impossible to attack from.”
“It’s beautiful.” In the sunlight, the stone is a pale gray. Several towers loom in the center. The lord’s castle, I assume, and likely a sanctum.
“Second only to Cirilea, most would say as Kettling’s aesthetic is more that of a port city, adopting its flavor from Kier. When the Great Rift struck and Islor became its own realm, there was talk of making Bellcross the capitol. But then the Nulling spilled into our world, and its beasts made homes in the mountains, and the king and queen had no interest in living closer to them.”
“And now we’re heading there willingly why?” Jarek grumbles behind me.
I ignore him, though I said something similar the other day.
“Your Highness.” Eden clears her throat, her nervous eyes flipping around as if checking to see if anyone else pays attention to her. “Is it true that your castle in Argon is made completely of rubies and emeralds?”
The hell if I know. “That may be a slight exaggeration?” Zander said Princess Romeria lived in a jeweled castle, but I don’t know what that means. I steal a covert glance at Gesine.
She smiles, catching my call for help. “The spires on the king and queen’s towers each hold enough precious stones to wink ten thousand times with each ray of sun that hits them. And at noon on a clear day, the gleam is a beacon seen clear across the land. Some believe, all the way to Shadowhelm in Skatrana.”