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Nicolette toggled her hand. “Meh. He’s having a hard time accepting the truth.”
Mydera chuckled and returned her focus to me. “That’s a stubborn Far Shore man for you, my dear. It’s too bad none of my people were proven pure and worthy enough to apply a genuine mark of L’Amante, or we’d offer to tattoo him right here and now; help you show him once and for all that he’s yours.”
“That would be most helpful,” Nicolette acknowledged on a grin before her brows fell. “But what is it you keep calling them? The mark of—what now?”
“The mark of L’Amante,” Mydera enunciated slowly for Nicolette’s benefit. “Or sometimes Elaina L’Amante.”
Nicolette shook her head. “I’ve never heard them referred to as such. Is Elaina L’Amante—”
“The first queen to get one,” Mydera explained. “Yes.” She cocked her head curiously to the side. “You’ve not heard the tale either, then, hmm?”
Eyes brightening at the prospect of a tale, Nicolette shook her head. “No, I haven’t.”
I snorted under my breath, bitterly muttering, “What? Didn’t your High Cliff bodyguard ever tell you that one?”
She scowled at me primly. “No, he did not.” She turned back to Mydera. “Can you share it with me?”
“Of course, I can, child.” Mydera flashed a smile full of teeth. “I’d be happy to. It’ll only cost you the price of one little flagon.”
“Oh.” Nicolette’s hopeful smile dimmed. She cast me a shamed look before mumbling to Mydera, “Never mind.”
But the woman merely laughed. “I kid,” she announced, opening her arms wide. “I kid. I’ll gladly share the story, free of change, since it’s one from my own lineage. Creating the mark of L’Amante is a source of pride in my family. So come. Be our guest. Stay the night with the mages of Dimway Forest. We’ll pay you back for this little meal of squirrel I have taken from you, and in return, give you fresh cheese from Bewler’s goat, venison stew simmering in the pot, and bread still soft from the iron. You’ll dine like a king and queen around a true campfire, not this little pile of twigs and embers you’ve made a mess of here.” She nudged the toe of her boot at my campfire before turning back to the princess. “And I’ll tell you all the stories of my ancestors you wish to hear.”
I could practically see Nicolette salivate over the mention of stories and a true meal that didn’t consist of the dry, tasteless rations we’d been eating for days. She cast a single pleading wince my way.
Even though I wanted to press on with our journey, we needed a break.
Except I couldn’t trust these mages as far as I could throw them.
“I’m not giving you my flagon in payment,” I said in no uncertain terms.
Mydera shot me a sly grin. “Nor did I think you would. I’d merely appreciate a bit more time in your company so that I might try to persuade it from you in other ways.”
I narrowed my eyes. Aside from the fact that they couldn’t be trusted, they could provide more of a safe cover for Nicolette than I could by myself. Maybe I could use them in more ways than o
ne.
“We need to get to a ferry on the Cull.”
“The Cull River, you say?” Mydera nodded slowly. “Yes, I’m sure we could veer in that direction for a while. Not a problem.”
My gaze sought Nicolette. She needed rest. And food.
When she glanced longingly my way, seeking permission to stay with the mages, my resistance melted. I couldn’t deny her anything.
“But we’ll need to leave at first light,” I told her, not Mydera.
“Of course.” A smile burst across her face. “Thank you.” She turned back to Mydera. “Farrow’s on a quest to save his mother.”
Mydera arched one eyebrow. “Is that so?”
“Yes. He needed, uh—” Her eyes went wide when she suddenly realized she probably shouldn’t share the fact that she was the princess of Donnelly, who could provide me with a fresh teardrop. When her eyes cut apologetically my way, I gave her a solemn incline of my head as if granting her permission to tell them the truth, when honestly, I was telling her good job for keeping the facts of her birth under wraps for the time being.
She smiled back, letting me know she understood.
“He needed what, now?” Mydera prompted curiously.
“Oh.” Nicolette pressed a hand to her head as if she’d forgotten she’d been talking to the mage. “He, uh, he needed sand. From the Vast Desert. He came across a potion brewer who could make a tonic to help her, but it called for a bottle of unadulterated Donnelly sand, so we made the trip to the edge of Far Shore, and now we’re on our way back.”
