Page 71 of Bride of Ash & Dust

Lilias

NO BETTER PLACE FOR A HONEYMOON

The first few days of the Unity Tour aren’t so bad, especially once Zarek manages to convince Prince Syvan that it was the prince’s own brilliant idea to let us ride alongside his soldiers instead of inside the tiny, horribly uncomfortable bridal carriage.

Not that we spend much time riding. The tour began by roughly retracing the path I took to get to Vsenrog, but without any of the urgency, and then our route veered to the west. Some of the towns we stop in are so small I’m surprised they’re even marked on any maps. Half of the time, Prince Syvan doesn’t bother to join us.

It makes me wonder who organized this trip, and why. Because it’s clearly been carefully orchestrated. The little towns are all ready to welcome us, with flowers strung over a dais in the marketplace or arranged over the bed in the inn’s finest room. The royal criers are ready as well; there seem to be three of them, trading places in the different towns, trying to outdo each other with ridiculous hyperbole.

We visit two to three towns a day, smiling and waving. Zarek occasionally gives a short speech, making people laugh as he picks some tiny detail in the muddy town square to compliment, just like the charming prince he is.

And then we kiss. Gods, we kiss. Again and again and again. When we first arrive in the town, as we’re sitting together on the dais, before the wine, after the wine. Zarek kisses me, and my mind shuts down. My entire body aches with a sort of nameless hunger, like what I used to feel for Blayne but a thousand times worse, because there’s no release, no escape.

We kiss each other all day, and at night, someone vaguely official leads us to the finest room in the finest local inn, and they close the door.

And then Zarek ignores me.

He removes his jacket and boots, washes his face, and sits on the edge of the bed with his back to me. The first night, he took a blanket and pillow and slept on the floor. The second night, he told me to invite Anura into the room because he was worried about her with the soldiers. Since then, Anura and I have shared the bed while he sleeps on the floor, blocking the door, and I try to ignore the slow-burning coals of arousal that are threatening to devour me alive.

Gods, if this is all for show, then why is it so damned painful?

I swallow hard and try to ignore that thought. It’s the fifth morning of our tour. Zarek left the room just as dawn broke through the massive east-facing window of the bedroom, and Anura is lacing up the back of the sleekest and most practical of the dresses Acelina’s tailor made for me.

“We’re crossing the border today,” she says, over my shoulder.

Our eyes meet in the mirror, and I can’t help but think that neither one of us looks very celebratory. Shouldn’t we be happy? We’re on a damned Unity Tour, aren’t we? And today, we’ll cross back into Marion.

I wonder if my brother will meet us, but I swallow that thought before it can slip out of my lips. Anura is in contact with him, somehow. She warned him not to travel to Vsenrog. For all I know, she’s warned him to stay away from Prince Syvan too. And he should stay away from Prince Syvan; something about Syvan seems as safe as a rusty blade on a pillow.

I just can’t help the ache in my chest when I think about Elrick.

I turn away from Anura’s reflection, but the look in her eyes makes me think she feels the same way.

We cross the border at the Tanic Pass just before noon. There’s nothing remarkable separating Marion from Vsenrog, just an outpost at the bottom of the pass with two bored-looking Vsenrog soldiers to monitor traffic and a cairn of stone on the top of the pass to mark the official border. Snow lies heavy on the northern slopes that flank the pass, a reminder that this crossing is inoperable for most of the winter.

We descend toward Tanic, a little farming village nestled in a lovely, remote valley, in silence. We’re a rather small group at this point. Prince Syvan and half of his soldiers have gone ahead to “scout the route,” whatever that means, and the stupid carriage finally broke a wheel just before we reached the guardhouse. I’m sure one of Vsenrog’s royal criers is waiting for us in Tanic, probably the one with the ridiculous mustache, along with the dresses that were repacked and sent ahead.

Our route was carefully planned, but it still doesn’t make sense to me. This is no longer the path I took to Vsenrog. If we were going to the palace, we’d have crossed the mountains to the south, along the river. Tanic is a lovely little town, but it’s not close to anything other than Ethiria, the kingdom whose prince I was supposed to marry.

I freeze, and my horse stomps the ground, responding to my sudden shift in movement. We’re close to Ethiria, yes.

We’re also close to the new mine.

I pull my cloak tighter around my shoulders, then bend down to pat my horse’s neck, telling her everything is fine. One of Syvan’s soldiers pulls up short, raising an eyebrow at me. I smile at him.

“Such a lovely view, isn’t it?” I ask, batting my eyes.

And it is a lovely view. The mountains that divide Marion from Vsenrog stretch toward the western horizon, still locked tight with snow. Below them, the foothills show the first blush of green, and flocks of sheep move across the fresh grass like fluffy clouds drifting through the summer sky. From here, the high point of the pass, I can see three rivers crashing down the mountains to converge in the valley beside Tanic.

The soldier frowns at me. I keep smiling. Some of Syvan’s soldiers treat me like an enemy combatant; it makes me thankful for Zarek’s knife, which I’ve dutifully re-strapped to my thigh every morning before Anura helps me lace up my dress for the day.

“Do you need to pause to stretch your legs?” Anura asks as she rides up beside me.

The soldier shakes his head with a look of disgust, then turns his horse away from us. Thank the gods for Anura. I turn to her and notice Zarek, behind me, watching the interaction with one hand tucked inside his jacket. I can almost see the dagger he must be holding under there.

Shit. My horse snorts again, and I force my muscles to relax. Anura’s smile looks like it’s been pulled too tight, and her eyes are hard. I shake my head. Slowly, we follow the soldiers of Vsenrog into my country.

Tanic looks like any of the other little villages on our tour. If it weren’t for the cairn of stone marking the border, I wouldn’t know this is Marion and not Vsenrog. The main square is filled with flowers and wreaths. King Malrik’s crier stands in the middle of the town, wearing his full royal regalia. He plays the trumpet as we ride into the square; I try to ignore the mud splattering my horse’s legs and the hem of my scarlet dress.