Page 72 of Bride of Ash & Dust

People line the street as we enter, and they clap and cheer just like they did in Vsenrog. But like Anura, there’s something tight about their smiles. I dismount as the crier introduces me, calling me the wife of Zarek, Prince of Vsenrog.

Everyone claps. I smile. I don’t even have a name anymore.

Zarek dismounts beside me, wraps his arm around my waist, and pulls me into a kiss just as the crier announces our honeymoon. His lips press against mine, as soft and welcome as a bed after a hard day of travel, and for a heartbeat, nothing else matters.

Then he pulls away, and the crowd is applauding again, and someone leads me toward the ornate wooden chairs set in the middle of the square. They look almost deliberately uncomfortable.

I smile. An older gentleman with a black fur stole around his shoulders limps toward me. He’s Ulrich, one of the members of the Council of Mayors. He holds his hands out, and I take them in mine. Of all the smiles I’ve seen today, his is the first one that looks genuine.

“My dear Princess Lilias,” he says. “What a pleasure to see you today.”

I lean in, kissing his cheeks. “The pleasure is all mine,” I reply.

His hand moves in mine. Something rough presses against my palm, and his eyes narrow.

“Such a shame you can’t stay,” he says. “There’s no better place for a honeymoon than Tanic, you know.”

I manage to laugh, high and light. “I don’t doubt it, Ulrich,” I reply.

He pulls away. I tuck my hands into my pockets before anyone can see what he just pressed into my palm. Then I accept a glass of red wine, sit in the chair that is every bit as uncomfortable as it looked, and smile, and smile, and smile.

It’s only after the second musical performance, and my second glass of wine, that I leave the horrible chair. Zarek is holding my hand in his, crossing the distance between the chairs, and some part of me is reluctant to break that tenuous bond.

Still, I’m not sure I’ll get another chance to be alone. So, I pull my hand away from his, smile, and search the crowd. Anura comes to my side instantly. Syvan’s soldiers are standing by the stables, looking bored, as the musicians who just performed pack up their instruments. The royal crier from Vsenrog watches as Anura leads me into the inn.

The nicer latrines are in the back, the young woman who greets us at the door explains. Anura thanks her profusely, then nods at me in a way that lets me know she’ll stand guard. As usual. I open the door to the latrine, which must be considered nicer because the walls are whitewashed and not because it doesn’t stink like all the rest of them, and then bolt it shut behind me.

My hands tremble as I pull the tightly folded piece of parchment from my pocket. Light streams in through a series of high, narrow windows. I unfold the parchment, remembering the way Ulrich’s hands shook as he took mine.

The message is printed in clear, bold ink, a few tight slashes on creamy white. My breath catches in the back of my throat. Outside, the royal crier’s voice cuts through the air, saying something about the enduring unity of the bond between Marion and Vsenrog.

Four troops of Vsenrog soldiers. Hiding. South of Tanic Pass, the note reads. Warn the mayors. Warn the prince.

I collapse on the latrine’s seat. The air suddenly feels much colder.

Syvan’s army. Princess Acelina said Syvan commanded a huge force on the eastern border. It seemed strange that he’d surrender something like that to escort Zarek and me on a bizarre propaganda tour.

Gods. Ulrich took one hell of a risk passing this message to me. What if I was loyal to Vsenrog?

I have a brief, horrifying vision of Syvan’s soldiers, the ones standing outside the stables looking like they’d rather be anywhere but there, pulling their swords from their sheaths. Of women screaming. Of Ulrich’s black stole soaked with blood.

I swallow hard as panic claws at the inside of my chest.

Vsenrog soldiers are massing on the border. I need to warn the Council of Mayors, of course. I need to warn Elrick.

But how? I open my eyes and stare at the polished wooden door in front of me. Someone has hung a sprig of fresh bluebells from the door, and their sweet perfume mixes with the odors coming up from the latrine in a way that makes me wish I hadn’t had any wine.

My cloak feels tight around my neck. I yank at the laces, loosening them, then come to my feet and pull it off my shoulders.

It’s a lovely cloak, just like everything else Princess Acelina’s tailor made for me. It’s soft on the inside, and it’s a beautiful, rich shade of scarlet that just screams bride. I hang the cloak on the door, covering the sprig of bluebells, and then leave the latrine.

Anura opens her mouth, but I put my finger to my lips, and she says nothing. I reach for her hand, press the folded scrap of parchment into her palm, and hold her gaze. She nods, tucks the parchment into her dress, and leads me back to the main square, where Syvan’s soldiers are already leading our horses out of the stables.

I scan the crowd for Mayor Ulrich as we leave, but I don’t see him.

Chapter 40

Zarek