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I took comfort in the fact that none of them were standing under direct sunlight.
“Bit full of himself, isn’t he, this Almanera?” Cryssa muttered under her breath as the Boroville council milled around us, seeking bread and pastries.
Her pen continued to move, noting down information in her logbook with long, swirling scrapes before she, too, snapped it shut with impressive force. We’d been seated much too close together, and her forearm brushed mine as she moved.
“I believe he’s angry on behalf of his people,” I returned, tracing the words on the binder with my fingernail. “I didn’t understandwhyhe was angry before—I could simply senseit. But it’s clear from his speech that he believes the Summerstream clan has abandoned Boroville, even though he hasn’t said those word exactly.”
“But that’s not the case,” Cryssa insisted, her voice a low hiss. “And I don’t see it as an excuse to talk about self-governance with such force.”
It was true that Almanera had mentioned self-governance as a fundamental right several times, prompting worried glances from Haladay and Coman.
“Or,” Cryssa continued, taking a sip from the water her assistant provided. “To insinuate that Agnivale is doing a better job at governing the borderlands than we are. They are our rivals, for Goddess’ sake. Does he mean to sour Vetri-Agnivale’s relationship further?”
“The Highblades are not our rivals,” I insisted with a frown. “It is notusorthem, Cryssa. We need to put our differences aside to think of those who matter: the people of Boroville and other border dwellers. The outcome of our meeting today should be favorable tothem.”
Cryssa’s gaze turned assessing as she weighed my words. “But it should also be favorable to us, Olympia. What benefits them should benefit us in the long run.”
“Not necessarily,” I insisted. “Not all the time.”
I felt an argument brewing. The tips of my fingers began an anxiety-induced tingle, and the hairs on the back of my arm stood at attention.
Before Cryssa could protest my sentiments, I stood, excusing myself.
I wasn’t an empath by any means, but being surrounded by angry, negative Borovillians was beginning to take a toll on me. If Cryssa added to that spiral of tension, the townhall would be uninhabitable.
Two guards left their post by the front of the townhall, trailing at a protective distance as I sought some fresh air before being entombed in the cottage again.
I resisted the urge to waylay them. It was their primary role to shadow me wherever I went, and I would cause a kerfuffle by insisting on some privacy. I had tried to do so once many years ago, and abhorred the panic and confusion that had ensued when I’d resisted the royal guard.
Instead, I did my very best to ignore their presence, tuning out their scents and the clink of their armor.
The borders were beautiful, overflowing with abundance of the Earth Goddess herself. I made sure to stay in the breezy shade, strolling along the cover of large trees. From the vantage point of the highest apex of Boroville, I could see the villages down below, sprawled from end-to-end in the valley. The houses were a bright orange-red, made from fired clay that was readily available around these parts. The clay kept the houses cool when the weather was warm—which was most of the year. This close to Agnivale, Boroville straddled the equator of the Seventh Star, and was perpetually too warm for comfort.
Chimneys puffed with smoke, reminding me that it was almost time for lunch. I assumed it would be a catered local affair, but I was content to refuel with the thrumming energy of foliage around me, nourished by the embrace of century-old trees.
A bird with puffed white feathers flew past, its aura a bright pink. I watched its flight until it was a mere speck in the horizon.
“Do you ever wish to be a bird?” I asked aloud, startling the guards.
“I beg your pardon, Your Highness?”
I shook my head, dismissing my own question.
Wouldn’t it be wonderful, I pondered, to fly with no aim? To eat only when hungry, to see the star with no agenda? I couldn’t imagine such a life, thoroughly free of obligations.
Without a care in the world.
Unimaginable as it was, the thought put a brief smile on my face.
Up and up we went, following a long line of fruit bushes that smelled remarkably tart. The winds brought the smells of cooking meat, savory and almost spicy, perhaps with chilies grown locally. I let my fingers trail along the bushes and filled my lungs with the smell of local cooking, until I found myself at the very peak of the path.
The end,I thought morosely, peering over the edge. It was a steep fall, several hundred feet into the valley below. I stepped away before the guards could call out a warning, anchoring my feet to the soil.
Gazing out into the horizon brought some relief from the tension that seemed mired at the base of my neck. I closed my eyes, willing myself to forget the maelstrom of questions that needed to be answered back at the cottage. Instead, I let myself drift in the breeze, welcoming the wind under the long sleeves of my tunic.
A faint rustling tugged me back to reality. An itch at the base of my spine forewarned that the inconspicuous movement had nothing to do with the wind.
Red-rimmed eyes speared into my own, impossibly close. Little specks of fire danced around dark brown irises, and the scent of burnt embers singed my nose.
