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He motions toward the stables where Glory is being led out, saddled and ready to go. My heart leaps. He’s granting my wish.
“This way, a’Deve,” Bron says, touching my elbow. I follow him to the mounting block. Gathering my skirt, I get my foot in the stirrup and ignore the ache in my thigh as I throw my leg over Glory’s back.
Glory shifts her footing and I find Luka has manoeuvred Nightshade over to us. “Are you well, princess?” he asks in a low voice.
“Yes, I am very well. Thank you.”
Pulling Nightshade around, he says, “Let us depart, then. We have business to attend to.”
Business?
There are more riders than I first realized, and as we file through the gate two abreast, Glory and I end up around the middle of the group. Once we’re on the road, the men give me a wide berth. “I hope you don’t mind solitude,” I murmur to Glory, patting her neck. Her ears swivel back as if she’s actually listening to me. “Even if you do mind, I imagine being out and about is still better than being cooped up in the stables.”
At the head of the pack, Luka and Noé urge their mounts into a canter and the rest of us follow suit. Thrilled to be out of my room, I soak up the new sights and sounds. The small houses with their steeply-sloped thatched roofs in the immediate village quickly thin out and soon we’re surrounded by rolling farmland interspersed with herds of sheep huddled together to fend off the chill. From what I can tell, most of the crops have been harvested and the only thing breaking up the colorless landscape is the occasional home with smoke curling from its chimney. It’s all mundane and uneventful, but I couldn’t be happier. Glory is also in high spirits, and as the ride continues, I have to restrain her from charging ahead numerous times.
I’m laughing at her latest attempt to take off when Eldon comes up beside me. “Noé told me that you ride well. He wasn’t wrong.”
I throw him a cautious glance. For lack of a better word, Eldon has been nice to me so far. In the Great Hall, while Luka beat Cayson to a pulp, Eldon sat with me, making pleasant commentary. Though I was in such a state that I don’t remember much of what he said, his presence was welcome. And last night again, he was kind.
“Yes,” I say. “Years ago, I spent a season herding cattle.”
His incredulity is almost comical.
“There was a lack of men where I lived when the garrison wasn’t replaced right away,” I explain, but he’s still clearly skeptical. Shrugging, I add, “It was better than kitchen duty.”
This time he laughs. “Now that, I believe.”
Luka slows our pace to take a much narrower path through a copse of trees and we come out at what can only be described as a large homestead. Half of the house is built to be two storeys and there are also quite a few outbuildings.
The noise of our arrival draws a man out from a barn, and an older woman from the house. My chest tightens. It’sher.The one who stabbed me. The one who was called to witness me stab her son in the Great Hall, Cayson’s mother, Zola.
She scans the half dozen warriors who are dismounting their horses. “Deve, what is the meaning of this?”
“Zola,” Luka says, matching her derisive tone. “You will stay out of their way.”
Zola’s confusion turns to fury as Noé leads the men past her and into the house without invitation. “How dare you?! Four of my sons are Range Warriors.”
Luka looks down his nose at her. “You will submit to the search.”
“Search?” she squawks. Turning on her heel, she stalks back inside.
“Come on,” Eldon says and I follow him across the clearing to a very grumpy deve.
Eldon dismounts with a sigh. “If you need me, I’ll be attempting to keep Noé in check.”
Luka only grunts, watching instead the man who’s now approaching from the barn.
“Deve.” There’s no scorn in the greeting, but neither is there any obvious respect.
“Gray.”
He’s a big man, and like Luka, he has a hardness to him that suggests if the idea struck him, he could crush a man. They both look to the house where a bit of a crash sounds. “You’ve not been making my life easy of late, Luka.”
“Pity. The ease of your life has been my only consideration.” The sarcasm hits its mark, but instead of anger, it gets a smirk from this man, Gray. “When will you be back?” Luka asks him.
“Not sure I’ll ever return.”
“You’re not meant to be out here, playing at making barrels. The Range needs you. I need you.”
