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Understanding dawned on the man’s face. “Well done. Have you eaten?”
Not enough. He followed Dara’s direction and the wafting scent of roasted meats to a tent under which stood three tables laden with platters. Over thirty knights and attendants shared the benches—a number which didn’t include those who were on duty. Ignoring the plate offered, Warrick chose a whole leg of lamb, and carried it to the pool. He ate the meat off the bone while standing naked in the water, letting his mind toss through everything he’d heard and seen since Elina appeared at the prison. Envisioning the path forward.
Everyone thought him a barbarian with strange ways. And so he was, in truth. Yet few outside of the Dead Lands knew anything of the clans aside from rumor and legends.
Warrick would put that ignorance to use.
He was briefly surprised that Elina did not again wear an ornate costume. But he’d believed her an arrogant monstrosity then, coming to a prison garbed in gold. Now he saw the ceremonial aspect for what it was—and realized that even the words of her haughty proposal had likely been traditional.
He also now understood how tightly Elina had clung to the little strength she had just to rise from her chair and stand before him in that heavy crown and robe. How she’d fought to simply speak the words without retching from the stench of his cell.
The day before, he’d despised her. Now Warrick could do nothing but admire her. His strength had always come easily. He’d never had to fight his own body’s weakness. Yet Elina did each day.
At least her clothing on this day would not weigh her down. In a wisp of a gown that skimmed her slender curves from shoulders to mid-thigh, she stood with Iarthil—both of them looking at a large parchment overspread on a table.
A map. Serjeant Iarthil glanced up as Warrick joined them. “We travel north to Darcoth. In that city is a temple of Khides—you will be married by the priestess there.”
“Vows can be spoken anywhere.”
“Not if you are the Radiant Queen,” said Iarthil. “We should arrive in Darcoth by Midsummer Eve. Your ceremony will take place on Midsummer Day, so that every citizen of Aleron—whether in the kingdom or abroad—will be taking part in festivities on the day of our queen’s wedding. Then we will return to Aleron.”
Warrick found that kingdom on the map. His heart leapt against his ribs. The shortest route would take them west through Galoth—and the Stars of Anhera would come with them.
The jewels were keeping Elina alive now. But he would discover the root of her cursed illness so that she would no longer need them.
And if he did not…
Warrick’s throat tightened. He would not think of that. Such a choice could not be made. And so by the time they reached Galoth, Elina would be well enough that she no longer needed the jewels.
“Through Galoth and the Glass Mountains?” Warrick confirmed, tracing the route with his finger.
“Not west. We’ll return on the roads by which we came.” Iarthil indicated a route that trailed north and east.
Warrick frowned. “That is far longer.”
“We’ve made allies and friends along the way. It will be safer for the queen than traveling west through unknown kingdoms.”
A fair reason but an unnecessary one. “I have friends in Galoth who will see to our safety.”
And after Elina returned the Stars of Anhera to them, every warrior in Galoth would likely march north by her side to help her take back her kingdom.
“Serjeant Iarthil.” Elina was eyeing the man impatiently. “What does Warrick say?”
“He says that the route west is too dangerous to travel.”
The words rolled smoothly from Iarthil’s tongue. Not by a twitch did Warrick reveal that he understood them, though dread and fury abruptly roiled like molten lead within his chest.
Elina’s face fell. “Is he certain?”
“He has been to Galoth. He says that in the wake of the stone sickness, bandits and warlords rule the roads. You would not be safe, even were there double the knights in your retinue.”
With her finger, she longingly traced the western route. A resigned sigh escaped her. “And it is said the Glass Mountains are haunted.”
“Quite full of ghosts,” said Iarthil, smiling faintly. “Perhaps we might cut the distance through one of these routes.” He tapped a northern road.
“It is still a long distance.”
“Not as long.”
She forced a smile. “Onward, then.”
“Onward.” Iarthil gave her hand a light squeeze, then rolled up the map. “We are ready to depart when you are, my queen.”
Silently she nodded, her disappointment still clear upon her face. Warrick could say nothing. Fury burned in his chest.
Before this, he’d begun to think the serjeant was truly honorable. That Iarthil protected Elina was certain. Yet why take the longer road home if he believed she had not long to live? Would he not wish to return her to Aleron as quickly as possible?
