Page 122 of Bride of Ash & Dust

My knife bites into the moldy potato. My hand is shaking again. I tighten my grip on the handle and exhale in a hiss.

Still. Why would King Malrik’s spy be visiting the dungeons at night?

Something horrible rises in my mind; I feel like I’m about to be sick. I don’t want it to be true, but my gods, it makes sense. The king of Marion has an army at his doorstep, claiming his daughter offended Vsenrog by running out on her marriage.

And if his daughter somehow showed up? If she came in through the front door, wearing a stained servant’s dress, claiming that the armies of Vsenrog were massing on the western borders?

Would the asshole sitting on the throne of Marion welcome her with open arms?

Or would he lock her away until he could give her back to King Malrik like some sort of bargaining chip?

I gag, then spit on the cobblestones. The stables still hum with activity, the lights and voices of the servants readying carriages. They’ll probably leave at first light. And now, I think I know why. I come to my feet and slip the rusty knife into my belt.

Wherever that caravan is going, I need to make sure I’m with them.

Chapter 67

Lilias

THE HEART IS A WILD THING

It must be morning.

The jailer lights a torch in the hallway, and three women slowly come into view, looking terrified and uncomfortable. I come to my feet, bow slightly, and greet them by name as Bertyl unlocks the door. The servants enter, carrying a washbasin, towels, powders, and one of my mother’s old dresses, a yellow silk gown with dark blue ribbons.

So they did send someone to clean me up. I wonder if Blayne requested this specifically. For a moment, I consider sending them away and letting my father see exactly what I look like after riding hard all day to warn him, and then spending a night in the dungeons.

But in the end, I doubt he’d care. It would just be one more item on his long list of reasons why I’m a disappointment.

So I sink onto the stool Bertyl brings into the cell and let the women who have watched over me for my entire life wash my face and hair, peel off the filthy servant’s dress Anura found in the old hunting lodge, and then lace up the yellow silk and lace gown I wore last year to the midwinter celebration. I loved this dress as a child, even though my father’s clothier said it was hopelessly out of fashion. I wonder if Darlana remembers that, if she chose this dress because she thought it might make me smile.

“You look beautiful, my dear,” Darlana whispers to me.

She’s crying, just like the other two. They’ve been crying silently this whole time, and I wonder numbly if they would have cried if they’d had the chance to prepare me for my wedding.

Bertyl stands outside the cell door, shifting nervously in the lamplight as the three women work their magic on my face and hair. When Darlana finally announces they’re done, he looks relieved. He unlocks the door, then gestures for me to follow him. As if I had any choice.

Darlana takes me by the hand. As Bertyl vanishes up the narrow stairwell to the courtyard, she leans over to whisper in my ear.

“We don’t blame you,” she says. “The heart is a wild thing.”

I frown, but she just pats my hand as silent tears roll down her wrinkled cheeks.

It’s only once I start to climb the stairs that I realize what she’s talking about. She might be sad to see me in the dungeon, but she also believes Blayne’s story. She thinks I ran from my marriage in Vsenrog and gave their king a reason to invade Marion.

I open my mouth, ready to tell her that it wouldn’t make any sense for me to flee to Ethiria, that I don’t even know Prince Laurance, but the words don’t come. Something deep inside of me whispers that it wouldn’t be worth the breath, that she’s already made up her mind, and nothing I say will change it.

The doorway at the top of the stairs is filled with the soft golden light of the morning. I step through the door and blink in the sun. The royal carriage stands just before me, gleaming in the light, the banners of Marion fluttering slightly in the weak breeze. Darlana takes my arm, but she leads me past the royal carriage and toward a much smaller coach surrounded by guards.

Right. My father must be in the royal coach. And he must not want to travel with me.

I climb into the smaller carriage, then flinch as the door slams shut behind me. This carriage smells like mildew and old sweat. I try to open the windows and discover they’re nailed shut.

Great. I cross my arms over my elegant bodice and sink back in the seat with a scowl. Somehow, despite the jolting and bucking of the carriage and the clatter of hooves and men’s voices, I manage to fall asleep.

I wake with a jolt, blinking in the stuffy, shadowed gloom of the carriage interior. It’s warm in here, almost uncomfortably warm, and I can’t help but think that my sweat is going to ruin the elegant makeup the women applied this morning. But at least I’m not bouncing around anymore.

My father’s voice booms from somewhere outside. I flinch, banging my elbow on the carriage frame. A moment later, the carriage door opens, flooding the cramped interior with blinding light. I blink, my eyes stinging. A tall figure appears in the doorway, grabs my arm, and pulls me forward. I stumble out, still half blind in the flood of sunlight.