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“That would explain it.” She lowered her basket and let it sway. It was lighter now, holding just the extra fabric and her supplies, as well as the skirt and bodice of the dress she'd sacrificed earlier in their travels. She'd find a way to mend that once they settled. A change of clothes sounded heavenly after the journey they'd been on. A blessing that it wasn't summer. With the autumn bite in the air, she did not sweat.
Now and then, they passed people who nodded their way. The friendliness was a curiosity. Danesse was a large city; not as large as Samara, but worthy of its title as capital. Yet the people they encountered greeted them as if they were familiar faces, neighbors in a cozy village like the one they'd left behind.
Gil caught her turning her head as another handful of travelers departing the city greeted them along their way. “Ranor's hospitality is my favorite thing about the country. Why I've always enjoyed my visits, despite their troubled history with Kentoria. I believe you'll like living here.”
“Maybe.” A region known for being warm and welcoming was one where her business would likely thrive, once she established roots in the community. But it was strange to think of living somewhere she knew so little of the culture. She didn't even know what legend the name Rilion was from. “I just can't help but worry. I shouldn't be afraid of being somewhere alone, but everything here is unfamiliar, and once you go, I'll... have no one.” She winced as the words left her mouth. She sounded pathetic.
He pondered that for a time, opening his mouth to speak and then closing it again. A moment passed before he tried again. “Under normal circumstances, contact would not be wise, but if I am able to return to Kentoria after my task is complete, if there are any messages you would have me deliver... A friend, maybe, or family—”
“I have no family,” she said, sparing his breath. “Or, none immediate, anyway. My parents are gone, as is my brother. There is my cousin, Elia, but after the mess I've left behind for her, I would be surprised if she wished to speak to me ever again.” She'd thought of poor Elia and the work she'd left behind several times, but she could do nothing but hope all had turned out well.
Gil nodded in both acknowledgment and understanding. “I am sorry.” For which part, he didn't specify. He didn't have to. Her life had grown so pitiable that he could have chosen any part of it and offered an apology and it would have fit.
“You don't have to be.” She forced a smile. “But you saidifyou return to Kentoria. Do you not mean to return with the king?”
“Intentions are nice to have, but rarely practical. There are risks to everything. I'm sure you understand.” The clipped way he related his answer told her the subject was unwelcome. She let it rest, and they passed into Danesse just after sunset.
At the edge of the city, they visited a tiny office where their passports and marriage license were examined and stamped for a dozenth time.
“It won't be the last,” Gil murmured wryly as they returned to the streets.
The wide avenues here were lined with colorful glass lamps, and although these were more permanent than those in the small outpost village, yet they remained largely unlit. Thea could not imagine it was practical to fill and light lanterns every night, but she had expected a celebration of the pear harvest would be underway here, too. There were no striped awnings to be seen, no stalls offering preserves or pear butter. She scanned storefronts and shops with tall glass windows, but they boasted ordinary wares. She'd have to dig deeper into the city's offerings if she wished to try the perry as Gil suggested.
“Now to find Rilion,” he muttered beside her.
Thea doubted she could assist. “Do you know where he lives?”
“If he is home, there is no way we can reach him without notice. But I may know a way to request a meeting.” He must have decided that was the best course of action, for he veered down a side road without warning.
“I thought you said we were going to stay with him,” she said. “Does that not involve going to his home?”
“Well, yes, but you'll have to trust me when I say it's best to wait for him to lead the way. It's better for everyone if we are not seen entering or leaving.”
Thea frowned. “Do the disguises not help?”
“In this particular situation, the disguises may make things worse. But we will see what he says when we meet.” His smile was tense and wholly unreassuring.
She followed close at his back. Now and then, she considered reaching for his hand, but rationality chased the notion out of her head. How long did they have? A few more days, maybe. No more than that. She couldn't deny that something had changed between them, but his intentions were clear. He would continue his journey, and she would be left behind.
The knowledge stung, and she scolded herself for letting it hurt. This had been the plan and the intention from the beginning. This was what she'd agreed to, what they'd both worked toward. It shouldn't have rankled now.
Eventually, they came to a shop that appeared no different than any other. A cobbler, from the sign. Thea craned her neck to look at it before they went inside. The shop was well-lit but quiet, the day's work already over. A man tidied tools at the counter, while a boy swept.
“Not taking any more orders today,” the man said.
Gil motioned for her to stop. “Wait here.”
She remained by the door, but watched as he crossed the room. He spoke to the cobbler in a voice so low, she made out nothing, but the man's face revealed much. His eyebrows shot up his forehead, then drew down and scrunched together. His frown deepened, then he nodded and turned to the counter. From somewhere beneath it, he produced a scrap of paper and a grease pencil. Gil took both and borrowed the countertop to write.
“Come here, lad,” the cobbler called to his son. “Need you to run an errand for me. I'll finish sweeping up.”
The boy abandoned the broom and joined them at the counter as Gil finished his note and folded it shut. He provided a few murmured instructions, again too soft for Thea to hear, then passed the note to the boy and stood straight. The child trotted off through the door and disappeared into the streets.
Gil turned to face the cobbler. “Thank you. If it's no trouble, we shall wait here.”
“No trouble at all, milord,” the cobbler replied. He resumed cleanup, but cast Thea several curious glances.
Gil put away the pencil, back where the cobbler had gotten it from. He lingered at the counter as if he didn't know what to do with himself. That stance was familiar. She saw the urge to pace and the way he fought it down. So often, he'd come across as confident. Sure of himself and everything he did. Now, with the way he ran his fingers through his hair and concentrated on his steady breath, she noticed the cracks in his facade.
