Page 11 of Queen of War and Ruin

“What?” Lilias says.

“They’re traders,” I reply. “If we travel with them, we could pass right through the Vsenrog toll station.”

“What?” Lilias snaps again. Her cheeks darken, and she looks like she’s considering punching me.

It’s adorable. My cock pulses with interest, and I turn back to the group of traders picking their slow way down the road before it gets any stupid ideas. Three carts, pulled by three sad-looking oxen, plus two horses and a dozen lightly armed men and women in need of a bath.

We could blend in with that group. With a little luck, they’ll take us at our word that we’re just hapless travelers. And with less luck, they’ll take some of the coins the prince of Dungal gave me before we left.

“Have you lost your mind?” Lilias whispers. “Walk through the Vsenrog toll station? I thought the whole plan was to go around the toll station?”

“It was,” I reply, with a grin. “And bypassing the station would add days to our trip, possibly a full week.”

Lilias still looks like she’s considering punching me. I sigh. I didn’t want to bring this up, because the gods know she’s dealing with enough right now, but we do need to move, and move fast.

Because her brother is still alive. And if Malrik finds out the heir of Marion is hiding in an abandoned hunting camp on the Ethirian border, he’ll destroy everyone there.

We need to reach Prince Elrick first. And we need to convince him to marry someone in Lisal as quickly as possible, to put the might of Lisal’s armies behind what’s left of Marion.

“Princess,” I say, as gently as possible. “What are the odds that someone in the Vsenrog toll station is going to look twice at the two of us if we’re traveling with a group of traders?” I pause, then meet her gaze. “And we need to reach your brother. As soon as possible.”

She frowns at the road, and then looks down at her hands as they twist in the gray folds of her robe.

“Yes,” she finally whispers. “Yes, we do.”

Our horses don’t seem particularly happy with the situation. We lead them out of the ruins, walking slowly in full daylight, making sure the ragged group of traders can see us as we approach the road. The horse the prince of Dungal gave me to ride snorts and scrapes the dirt with his hoof as the group approaches. Lilias’s mare flares her nostrils in a way that makes me think she’d like to kick someone.

I don’t blame her. The closer the group gets, the rougher they look. Their clothes are patched and frayed, the horses look scruffy, and two of the three carts look like they’re being held together with twine and prayers.

They don’t look like traders.

They look like smugglers.

Which means we aren’t exactly going to blend in with this group. At least, not unless we run our cloaks through the mud and swap horses. But it’s too late to back out now. The man standing at the head of the procession is watching me with a look that says it wouldn’t be wise to run.

“Fuck,” I mutter, under my breath.

Lilias snorts, and the ragged caravan comes to a slow, weary stop. My horse nickers suspiciously. The man at the head of the caravan pulls back his cloak enough to reveal a sword at his side, then raises his hand. He walks toward us alone, eyeing our horses like he’s in a marketplace. I grit my teeth.

He stops in front of us, just over a sword’s length away, and rests his hands on his hips. He’s got long, greasy, pale hair, and a look in his eyes that I’ve seen a hundred times before, over back-alley gambling tables and in dark corners of disreputable taverns.

He thinks he’s got us pinned, this asshole. And he’s going to try to take us for everything we have.

“Well met,” the man finally says, nodding at me and then staring at Lilias for longer than I’d like.

“Same to you,” I reply.

One of the horses in the man’s caravan whinnies, then steps forward. The man turns to snap at his group, telling them to stay back, and a woman tugs on the horse’s lead. The horse arches his neck and does a strange little dance that probably means something to Lilias.

The man turns back to us with the same smile, but harder eyes.

“The name’s Toth,” he begins. “Is there a reason fine folks like you are standing here on the side of the road all alone?”

Fine folks? Damn it. We’re wearing the simplest clothes Agnes could find.

It’s the horses. They gave us horses that could travel fast and far, not horses that would blend in with a crowd.

“Well,” I begin, after introducing Lilias and myself as politely as possible, “we were hoping we could travel with you.”