Page 123 of Bride of Ash & Dust

“Bring her to me,” my father calls.

The hand around my arm drags me forward. I stagger alongside as the landscape slowly comes into focus.

Snowfields wink from the distant mountains. To the east, there’s a row of trees that must flank a river. My father’s royal carriage is still on the road, but the field ahead of him has been transformed into something that almost looks like a carnival.

Dozens of tents spread across the grass, flanking either side of the road. The banner of Vsenrog flies atop all of them, crisp blue and scarlet flapping against the bright sky. I frown as my mind struggles to make sense of what’s in front of me.

We can’t possibly be inside the borders of Vsenrog. It took days for me to reach their palace, and from the position of the sun, it’s only early afternoon. We’re still in Marion.

But you’d never know it from the flags flying on either side of the road. This doesn’t even look like a military camp. No, this looks like a royal delegation.

I swallow hard as the man with the iron grip on my arm forces me to stand beside my father. Sunlight winks off the silver crown in my father’s gray hair, catching on the scarlet jewels and making them shine like drops of blood. Mel stands at his side, his arms crossed over his massive chest.

The king of Marion doesn’t even look at me. Instead, he stares at the largest tent in the field with a strange expression on his face, something I don’t think I’ve ever seen before. If I didn’t know better, I’d almost say my father looks afraid.

We stand in silence as the wind ruffles pennants and shakes the walls of the tents. Horses nicker and stomp, and occasionally the wind brings scraps of conversation from the men around us, although I can’t tell if I’m hearing from the guards of Marion or the armies of Vsenrog.

Finally, the flaps of the largest tent swing open. My breath catches in the back of my throat. I don’t know what I’m expecting: the king of Vsenrog, or a group of heavily armed soldiers, or even the reanimated corpse of Prince Syvan come to exact his revenge.

But the man who walks out of the royal tent is none of those things. He looks vaguely familiar, this older man with white hair and an expression of distaste, although I’m not sure of his name or position.

My father clears his throat. “I’ve brought her,” he says, without looking at me.

The man standing next to me shoves me forward. I stumble, catching myself before I can fall.

“She’s the one who started this mess,” my father continues. “We’ve found her, and we’re giving her back to Vsenrog.”

He falls silent. The man from Vsenrog does not reply. Wind tugs the pennants, making them dance above us. I glance back at my father. Should I say something?

No. Of course not. My heart sinks, and I let my gaze fall to the trampled grass at my feet. What could I possibly say? Everyone here has already decided what they believe.

“Wonderful,” the man from Vsenrog finally replies, in a tone that suggests he feels the opposite. “His Highness King Malrik will see you now.”

My father steps forward. Mel follows him. The man from Vsenrog raises his hand.

“Alone,” he adds.

My father nods, then continues forward without looking back. He vanishes into the massive tent. The flap swings shut behind him, and Mel exhales loudly behind me. Somewhere in the distance, a hawk screams into the empty sky.

“This could take a while,” Mel mutters under his breath. “Come on,” he says to the man who pulled me out of the carriage. “Get her in the shade.”

I half expect them to put chains on my wrists as they lead me into the shade of a small stand of birch trees. For a long time, no one speaks. And then one of the guards begins to pass around a flask of something that’s probably not water, and a dozen whispered conversations begin at once.

I glance at the road behind me and estimate how far I could run in this dress before someone tackled me. Not far, I think. Maybe not even to the edge of the trees.

With a sigh, I lean back against one of the trees and cross my arms over my chest. The wind makes the walls of the massive tent dance and whispers through the grass.

And I wait for my fate to be decided.

Chapter 68

Zarek

A TERRIBLE IDEA

Ifeel like a wild animal in a trap.

I stare at the Vsenrog army encampment with a rising sense of panic. It’s only dumb luck that I’ve made it this far. I showed up in the wrinkled Marion uniform I stole from a storage shed and said I was filling in for the day. The ugly brute who’d asked who I was when I wandered over to the horses following Marion’s royal carriage laughed and said Felis must be slacking off again, and of course, I agreed. That Felis will take any excuse to miss out on a hard day’s work, won’t he?