“Bolvet didn’t comply and it burned. Covellton complied and it burned too. This war isn’t about governance or laws or order. And one day, even those who fight for Nevina in her silver coat army will realize they are only pawns in a game where the elves plan to wipe them from the board.”
“You need to win this, my king.”
“I plan to, Warbill. Or I swear I will die trying.”
“Better dead than an elf’s slave.”
“I agree, old friend. I agree.”
13
Wagon
Eloise
For the first time in months, I wake from a deep sleep, warm and cozy in a soft bed. Not too hot, not too cold. I spent the night dreaming about painting in my mother’s studio in Harcourt Manor. In the morning light, I miss my hobby. It’s been months since I held a paintbrush against a blank canvas. Will I ever have the sort of peace and space I need to create again the way I used to? So much has changed. My physical composition, my magic, my world. But inside, I’m the same.
No, that’s not true.
I am not the same. When I left Tony, I was a child, barely brave enough to drag myself to the safety of my grandmother’s home in order to escape an abusive marriage. I was a desperate woman willing to trade her own blood for someone to protect me. Today, I am powerful. I am brave. I am the protector. And, importantly, I am loved. Damien’s love is a constant, a foundationto the tower of my confidence and self-esteem. I am worthy because I am loved. I am able to love because I was already worthy.
And still, my inner child cries out for a paintbrush.
A knock on my door startles me, and I make sure my disguise is in place before opening it. A teenage boy hands me a copper vessel that feels hot to the touch and a lidded basket that I hook on my elbow. “Your morning provisions, ma’am. The caravan will set off in one hour. I’m supposed to ask you if you’re comfortable driving or if we need to supply someone.”
“You want me to drive the wagon in the caravan?”
“If you’re capable. We usually have to hook this one up to the next as it is normally unoccupied, but it would be easier on the rabble beasts if you were able to share the load.”
I nod. “I’ll drive.”
“Excellent. I will retrieve your rabble beast.”
I furrow my brow. “How will you know which one is mine?”
He laughs. “We know.” He waves a hand and disappears. I open the lid of the basket. Inside is a small basin with a sponge, soap that smells of rose petals, and a towel quilted from scraps of soft, plush material. A metal canister contains a meal of something like oatmeal but with nuts, fruit, and small pieces of sausage. On top of it all is a packet of tea that wafts a scent I can only compare to chai—cardamon and cinnamon and other spices completely foreign to me. The copper vessel contains hot water—much more than I need to bathe. Clever Rivertoads. I’m meant to eat and drink first and then use the remainder of the water to wash. A marvelously efficientsystem from a people I’m swiftly coming to respect for their pragmatic approach to things.
I’m finishing my morning routine when I feel the wagon rock as the boy who visited before attaches the yoke to Romulus. I have just enough time to use the latrines the caravan erects in the woods before everything is deconstructed, filled in, and packed away. The boy helps me into the driver’s seat of my wagon, a leather-upholstered bench built on springs, and shoves the reins into my hands. He’s much too busy to answer any of my questions, which is just as well because, truthfully, there’s nothing to know. When the caravan moves, Romulus seems to know what to do. Like a great, winding serpent, we set off to the east, before the moon has reached its apex.
We’ve been traveling about an hour when a column of shadow funnels into the seat next to me, and Damien’s smoke and spice scent perfumes the air. He forms, still in his disguise. “Good morning, Marquis. What brings my cousin to my wagon?” I ask through a smile. Maintaining our ruse, even now when the caravan is in motion, seems a wise idea in a group that remembered which rabble beast was mine among a herd of hundreds of animals.
“Are you well,cousin?” The corners of his eyes wrinkle in a way that is pure Damien and weird to see on a pale, blond-headed face. “Feeling fatigued? Any reason we should abandon this route?”
It doesn’t take our bond for me to understand what he’s actually asking. He’s checking to make sure I can hold the disguises we’re wearing.
“I’m fine,” I whisper. “All of this is hardly a burden. I could do it for days.”
“I doubt that will be necessary, but for now, Valerian and I agree we should continue our mission, earn their trust, and propose an alliance.”
I nod. “Have you noticed we’re heading toward Aendor? If nothing else, we’ve found a safer way to make the journey.”
“Safer?” His eyes shift right then left. “I don’t think so. I think these people would sell us to the highest bidder if they thought we were worth anything. Trust no one. The only thing keeping us safe right now is our coin purse, and you’d best believe I slept with it under my pillow last night.”
I frown. “Everyone here has been kind to me. They’ve given us no reason not to trust them.”
He scoffs. “Yet.”
“I think you should keep an open mind.”
