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Auri threaded her arm through Mr. Uraiahs’s with a bright smile on her face, her adoration shining in her expression.
Light flared in Tarley’s vision, weaving golden threads between Auri and her suitor.
Tarley blinked.
That certainly couldn’t be right. She shook her head, hoping she wasn’t coming down with one of her headaches. After she watched them return to their luncheon, she glanced back at Four-Tankards in the street, now shrugging off his friends’ assistance.
It was clear, she decided: not all men were created equal.
“Tarley!” Credence grabbed hold of her and drew her back into the emptied-out dining room to the kitchen.
“I’m sorry–” Tarley stumbled.
“Don’t apologize,” Credence said, stabilizing her.
Mrs. Barnwell turned from slicing the fresh bread loaves to watch them.
“You weren’t in the wrong, dear, but you need to get out of the village. That vile man will report you straight away.”
“What happened?” Mrs. Barnwell asked.
“Gretta, would you prepare Tarley with another few days of food?” Credence’s dark eyes returned to Tarley. “He’ll bring a priest, or worse, a collector.” She swallowed. “We won’t have time to find your father. Let Horance and I smooth this over, yes? You go on your trip early.”
“I’m so sorry, Credence. I didn’t mean to–”
“Stop. What’s a few hours difference? And I’m not worried about The Copper Pot, girl! I’m worried about you. Get to the woods.” She pushed Tarley toward the back door and out into the yard. “I’ll tell Auri, and don’t come back until Mattias comes to get you. Now go.”
Tarley didn’t need any additional encouragement. She hustled up to her attic room, donned her disguise, collected her packs, and disappeared into the woods, taking several deep, grateful breaths of unfettered freedom.
2
Lachlan Nikolas, first prince of Jast, heir to the throne, who at present carried a rather adept seat on his horse, Goldie, wasn’t pleased about having to pretend to be someone else. Yet, that was exactly what he was having to do, because his father required it. And one didn’t deny the king. Except Lachlan had, and now he was paying the price. Refusing to marry his father’s selection for wife came with a price, which for the moment, meant traipsing through the Whitling Woods on the Kaloma side of the Whitling Mountain Pass.
The parade of horses carrying not only a stand-in prince but also the disguised one, a bevy of royal guards, and a retinue of army soldiers and supplies moved along the narrow switchback path barely wide enough for two side-by-side, through the towering trees of the forest toward the tapered flats of the valley. To Lachlan’s left was a steep incline that continued toward the mountain peaks frozen with perpetual snow, and to his right, a wilderness that obscured a stretch of land toward a deep ravine cut by a raging river below. It was cold despite being early summer, so they were dressed in thick clothing and over clothes. Their horses puffed steam as they traversed, jerking the riders at times with the steep steps.
“You did humiliate her,” Ollie said from Lachlan’s right. His friend’s gray-speckled gelding plodded along next to Goldie. Ollie was dressed as the prince, his finery a spectacle in the woods, and wouldn’t have ever been something Lachlan would have worn. It was too showy for his taste, the purple and gold of Jast on full display. They were on their way to the village of Sevens where they were to meet the Queen of Kaloma. So Ollie had donned the ostentatious outfit Lachlan would never have worn, even to an event of state. But Kaloma didn’t know that.
Ollie looked like a preening bird. A handsome one, however, with his dark, auburn hair tied back and his light brown eyes twinkling with mirth. Dressed like that, Lachlan wasn’t so sure what Ollie had to be happy about. He was the bullseye of the target should anyone dare to attack the prince’s retinue. And yet, the prime adviser to the king was all smiles about their circumstances, even if it was Lachlan’s fault they’d been forced on this endeavor into the enemy territory of Kaloma wearing one another’s identity.
“Humiliating her hadn’t been my intention,” Lachlan explained, reaching out to pat Goldie’s neck. She nickered at his touch to tell him she was pleased.
“And yet it isn’t intentions that dictate another’s feelings,” Ollie said. “It’s the reality our intentions create.”
Lachlan groaned. “No wonder my father likes you. You sound just like him.” They rode in silence for a few more beats but for the sound of birds singing in the trees and the horses’ hooves plodding against the earth, until Lachlan added, “How was I supposed to know that the worst gossip at court would hear me?”
“I don’t know how you didn’t know, Lach. You’ve lived at court your whole life.” Ollie pulled the reins a touch so his dapple-gray bumped against Goldie, and they both veered a touch to the left. “Right, Captain?”
Johesha, the captain of Lachlan’s guard, riding several paces ahead, glanced over his shoulder and smirked. “I’ll keep my thoughts to myself.”
Ollie laughed. “Wise, Captain. We might have a politician in the making.”
Lachlan frowned, staring at the evergreen trees cutting the landscape with sharp points. “You’re referencing the bit about when I said the shape of her nose looked like a thrush’s beak?”
“You should have known—the court has giant ears and trumpets for mouths.”
He was right, as Ollie always was.
Ollie was five years older than Lachlan, which made them peers, but Ollie had been in service to the crown since he’d been twenty-two, when his own father had unexpectedly died. Ollie had been appointed a junior adviser in his father’s stead, rising quickly in Lachlan’s father’s estimation and gaining the appointment of Prime Adviser by the time he was twenty-six. Ollie was a fine adviser and had trained his whole life to be one just as Lachlan had trained to be king one day. Lachlan didn’t always like what Ollie had to say, but for the most part, Ollie hadn’t steered him wrong. He just knew that Ollie was for Jast, so his advice never veered from what was best for the kingdom. It was why the man could be a sitting peacock pretending to be a prince for any would-be assassins and still smile.
