Her heart pounded, bracing for the let-down.
Then, Yrenna reached over and touched her hand. The contact was simple, but it felt like a mooring line.
“You don’t need to prove yourself,” she said. “But if you wish to help the villagers, I’ll stand behind you. I know a few who could use your skills. Annett—Ulrik Hearthstone’s daughter, the one I mentioned yesterday, is eight months pregnant. She’s been complaining of lower belly pain.”
The tension in JingYi’s body crystallized into a single, clear purpose. “Has she seen anyone yet?”
“No healer in the village, remember? We have a travelling midwife, but she hasn’t come around since last year.”
“I’d be glad to visit her.” Caring for expectant consorts and noble ladies was a familiar duty—one she’d performed often at the Peony Court.
“I’ll have Conrad accompany you,” Yrenna said. “He wanted to go with the wedding party to hunt, but Alexander told him to stay put and rest. I imagine he’d be glad for a chance to stretch his legs.”
Not long after, JingYi emerged into the courtyard, her medicine chest in hand. Conrad was already waiting beside anopen wagonette hitched to a placid-looking, shaggy pony. When he spotted her, his whole face split into a grin that made him look even younger.
“Good morning, Princess,” he said, nodding at the horse. “I thought we’d travel in comfort today. This is Bellhop and his chariot.” He patted the pony’s flank. “Ready to scandalize the entire keep by rolling into the village without an escort of trumpets and banners?”
JingYi felt a genuine smile blooming. Conrad hadn’t mentioned her limp, hadn’t offered a horse she didn’t know how to ride, or asked any questions. He’d simply provided a comfortable solution.
She took the hand he offered, using it to steady herself as she stepped up into the wagon, settling onto the wooden bench.
“How is your injury?” she asked as he climbed up beside her.
He pressed a hand to the bandaged spot just below his collarbone and made a show of wincing. “Only aches when I breathe, laugh, or move. But aside from that, perfectly fine.”
“You shouldn’t be up and about yet. The wound’s deep. If it tears open again?—”
“Then I’ll have to crawl back into your care, won’t I?” he said brightly and winked. “It wouldn’t be the worst fate.”
She couldn’t help but smile back.
The wagonette rolled down the lonely country road, its wheels crunching a steady rhythm on the dirt. JingYi watched the open landscape roll by—a freedom that felt both beautiful and daunting when measured by the sluggish pace of a cart.
“It’s a land meant for riding, isn’t it?” she mused aloud, her eyes on the rolling hills that seemed to stretch forever. “To cover this distance properly.”
In Xuên-Sarai, her world had been courtyards and covered walkways, distances measured in steps, not horizons. Here, space was a vast, breathing entity. Her halting, careful walk, thewagon’s gentle pace, felt like a confession of weakness against such expanse.
“It is,” Conrad agreed. “Riding is faster, though speed isn’t always the point of a journey.” He smiled. “The first time I rode a horse, it sent me straight into a barrel of pickles. Tried to show off to my brothers, but ended up smelling like brine for a week.”
A sound escaped JingYi—a brief, startled puff of air that startled her. It took a moment to recognize her own laugh. The unfamiliarity of it lingered, a curious, warm echo. She hadn’t made such noise in months; there’d been no cause for it. But Conrad’s easy confession had disarmed her completely.
“If you ever wanted to learn,” he said, “I know a mare so steady she’d stand through a thunderclap. We could start in the closed yard, just getting the feel of it. No audience but the barn cats.”
The offer was a gentle thing, woven into the quiet of the road. It wasn’t about the riding, she realized. It was about the chance to move through this new world on its own terms, to possess a piece of its freedom. Her hand tightened on the cart’s edge. She imagined it—wind in her face, the road under her own power, not watching from the sidelines.
The wanting flashed hot. Then the old fear wrapped around it, cold and practiced, and squeezed.
“I would be afraid,” she admitted. “My leg . . . isn’t reliable. What if it buckles? I’d look a fool, and you’d have to scrape me off the dirt.”
Conrad didn’t look at her with pity, but with a scrunched-up, thoughtful expression. “Then we’d both be scraped-up fools,” he said, shrugging. “I’ve been scraped off the dirt more times than I can count. So has everyone who’s ever learned. That’s what the closed yard is for. And the mare, Brisa—she’s more a chaise than a mount. She won’t let you fall, neither will I.”
His grin returned, reassuring. “The offer’s just there. No rush.”
No rush.Not a test or a demand. Just a door held open. The fear didn’t vanish, but it now stood beside a fragile, burgeoning hope.
“Then . . . I would like to try,” JingYi said, the decision forming.
“Really?” His face lit up, as if she’d just given him a precious, unexpected gift. “That’s—well. Good. Brisa will be chuffed.”
