Page 120 of Winter Gods & Serpents

“Change of plans, we are riding to Brogmere,” she said as we crossed the city walls.

My head spun in anger at the thought that Silas was allowing her to attend duties so far above the city borders with no thought or consideration of danger. Little did he know she was after his trail as well.

The moment we stepped out of the thick forest loud horse hooves sounded behind us, shaking the cold snow into the air, fogging the figure approaching.

The whole squadron turned, swords drawn out at the emerging sign of danger. We drew back after spotting the Isjordian uniform and then the features of one from the three generals. Samuel, her friend. I’d seen them together countless times.

Worry wore his shadows. “You have no order to question him Snow, and certainly any more than that. You have order for patrol in Modr, he will find out you switched rotations. Whatever it is that you doubt leave it behind, this time you will face your father's wrath like never before. I beg of you, return,” he pleaded panting and breathless.

The princess was my problem not Silas, this bloodthirsty lunatic was going to bring hers and my end both. Was it disregard of danger or care?

“I am patrolling there with permission Sam, and you know I never escape the delicious taste of my father’s wrath,” she said smiling ear to ear, turning to continue riding toward the empty white landscape.

A lunatic and a masochistic lunatic. How had she escaped it—how had she escaped Silas’s wrath so many times? Two lords, a bailiff, his recruits and many more, yet she stood alive and unpunished by the cruellest king of all, the one who knew no mercy.

In a few short hours we reached the grand gates of Brogmere, soldiers appeared confused at our arrival. Just as expected she had not notified anyone of the patrol, which we all now knew was not one.

“Point us to your Lord's whereabouts,” she ordered the gate soldier, her voice authoritative and demanding different from the teasing tone she normally used to tempt her way through things. It almost sounded angry, though I could not see any shadows around her.

Her empty canvas contrasted by the full, viscous, and trembling shadows of the Brogmere soldiers.

One of them moved forward, bravely batting a turndown. “It is Grehr who patrols our city, Captain. We are not allowed to permit anyone else in.”

She threw down a piece of paper. “This says otherwise and it’s not Captain, it’s Your Highness. Point me to your Lord, now.”

She’d used her title, there was something inside there she wanted, and from her darkened expression it appeared to be a life.

The soldiers shared glances between each other, hesitation and a fear of reprisal circled their heads. Strangely, different from most, they feared obeying than disobeyed her. Finally they gave in after some leg shaking glares from the vixen princess herself.

I exchanged knowing glances with my brother and readied a hand on our hilts, both of our senses stringing in tension at the air filled with malice, hunger, greed, pain, and filth. Something thick hovered in the air—something between listlessness and air of salty death. Brogmere did not resemble any other Isjordian city we’d visited. Streets lingered with limbless beggars, hungry wolves worn and half rabid, cheek sunken children with craned arms, torn make shift cloths and matted yellow hair. The shops, tents and houses torpid and lacking the richness of the Isjordian cornucopia.

“What is it? Did you feel something?” Nia asked worriedly, question directed towards us.

Had she seen our exchange? Had she felt what we had?

The princess turned at her words and looked between us and Nia in confusion, as if she knew something.

“Fovoch,” Mal muttered still examining the men.

“Fear,” I explained.

“They were frightened, just surprisingly not from you,” Mal added in a half smile towards the princess.

“Adriatians and their sensitive arses,” she said, turning towards the large tavern where the soldier had pointed to the location of their Lord.

Mal and the rest were laughing at her words, but Nia stared empty at the Brogmere soldiers still worn in distress. A knowing look on her face. She had gone stiller than a tree, her chest unmoving and concerning.

“Nia,” I called, placing my hand in her arm.

She gasped and charged towards the rest of the group as if nothing had happened. Something was strange, she often seemed detached from her environment.

Her soldiers positioned outside by the tavern doors, not a smart move considering the tavern stretched with massive armed sailors drunk to their heads, who stopped and threw looks of disgust and rage towards our group.

“Stay here, enjoy,” the princess said, walking towards the main table where a wild-eyed long-haired man sat toasting on ale, two women perched in his lap, both scared to their heads.

Nia slapped down on a seat flicking a book open followed by Caiden who crossed his arms keeping eyes on the princess.

Had we come on a field trip, what were they doing?