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Chapter Nine
Zaina
There is no air.
Logically, I know that isn’t true, know that this trunk has been specifically modified to provide more than enough air for the short bursts of time I stay in here.
My mind knows that, but my body remembers being trapped in a different trunk. It remembers being eclipsed by frigid water and ice until my lungs caught fire.
My body remembers death, or however close to it I came in those interminable moments in the cave.
By the time Einar lifts the wooden lid off the trunk, I have arranged my features into a semblance of calm. But he is not fooled.
“I hate this,” he mutters darkly, his pale blue eyes searing into mine.
“At least we know the extra guards on the border are doing their jobs.”Even if their thoroughness did have me in the trunk for twice as long as I expected to be.I try for a lighter tone than I feel, maneuvering myself onto the carriage bench next to him.
Which is easier said than done, since Khijhana lounges on the floor, taking up nearly all the room that my trunk doesn’t, and casts irritable glances at us every time we hit a bump.
Not that I blame her. The first carriage we rode in had slats instead of wheels, gliding smoothly along the snow, but we switched it out for a traditional style when the snow began to lessen toward the Corentine border.
I missed it as soon as it was gone.
The carriage. The snow. Jokith.
“True,” Einar responds to my statement about the guards. “I told you the resources of a king are good for something.”
A shaft of light creeps through the drawn velvet curtains, illuminating Einar’s uptilted lips, but there’s an undercurrent to his words, a wound that will take more than a handful of weeks to heal.
If I had trusted in his resources, we wouldn’t be in the position we are now. If I had trusted inhim.
He slides closer to me, slowly, giving me a chance to pull away. I wish I could say it wasn’t necessary, but my body needs time to remember that I am safe here after Dvain put his disgusting hands on me only four days ago.
I close the distance between us, and Einar stretches an arm around me, suffusing me with his endless well of warmth. It penetrates my fur-lined cloak, seeping against my skin, until I feel like I can breathe again.
Being pulled back to the day I was taken, the day Odger stuffed me in that trunk, has made me realize what’s been nagging at me about the alchemist. Besides the usual unending revulsion.
“How did Dvain know about the dragon?” I ask out loud.
Einar told me that his former ambassador brought up the dragon, that it was part of how he revealed himself to be a traitor and a liar.But how did he know?
Einar glances down at me, his brow furrowed.
“I assumed from whoever was watching you andDamian.” He spits the name out with nearly as much abhorrence as I feel.
I consider that. Madame always has one person to watch another. My entire plan that day when I went to the dragon hinged on that very idea, but…
“Why go north to report to the alchemist?”
Einar chews his lip, mulling that over. “Ulla instructed him to report to Dvain first?”
“Maybe.” My agreement is dubious.
There isn’t a better explanation, but I still can’t shake the feeling that I’m missing something.
Something important. Something that should be obvious, except that every time I try to think about the night in the cave or at the alchemist’s, my mind careens into a different direction.
I press my fingers against my temples in frustration. Einar’s hands gently cover mine, lowering them from my face. His right thumb traces the lines of my moonstone ring, and warmth spreads through me.
