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Solenne chuckled and bumped her shoulder against Charlotte. “Well, good for you. Now we needn’t have a mortifying conversation.”
Yes, good thing. Too bad Charlotte was already mortified.
“If you don’t mind, I’d like to reach our first stop before dark,” Luis announced loudly.
“I’m not afraid of riding in the dark,” Charlotte said, moving to her feet.
“You’ll appreciate sleeping in a bed. We won’t have that luxury too often,” Luis said. He and Miles loaded the last trunk into the cart. Despite his protests that she packed too much, they traveled with only three horses and a cart. Hardly anything at all.
Solenne wrapped her in a bone-crushing embrace.
The hug from her father was less enthusiastic but just as comforting. Nathan refrained from last-minute questions, which was as good as a blessing as anything.
“Well then, since you’re determined, here’s something you’ll need for your journey,” he said, producing a tarnished silver fob and chain from his waistcoat pocket. He placed it in her hands.
She ran her thumb over the pattern on the back, three stars worn away to nearly nothing, and opened it with her thumb. Engraved on the inside, Ad Astra Aspiramus.
To the stars, we aspire.
Her mother’s compass, an heirloom passed down in her family from the time of the original colonists. Nathan had carried the relic with him on the ill-fated expedition and touted that it had saved his life.
“Papa, I can’t.” Charlotte held it out for him to take back, the metal object waiting on her open palm.
“You can, and you will. She’d insist.” He gently moved her fingers inward until her hand had closed around the compass. “Bring it home to me.”
Charlotte nodded, accepting the priceless gift, and slipped the chain around her neck.
Before the sun reached its zenith, they were on their way into the West Lands. Charlotte wouldn’t look back. She wouldn’t doubt herself. Everyone had questioned her decision, but she refused to question herself. She couldn’t stay here one more day as the pitiable, naïve widow. A new future awaited her in the west.
Chapter Three
Charlotte
Sweetwater Point
A thick, wet fog rolled in that morning and, despite it being the middle of the day, lingered well into the afternoon. Even now, it choked the streets of Sweetwater Point in a cold blanket. It wasn’t a freezing mist and it wasn’t snow, but it was miserable all the same. Charlotte pulled her cloak tight around her, but the wool couldn’t keep out the frigid damp.
Sweetwater Point wasn’t much of a town, but it bustled with energy. It was larger than Boxon Village, certainly, but most places were. The roads were unpaved, muddy mires. The mean-looking buildings leaned and sagged together, keeping each other upright. Soldiers filled the streets, emerging and vanishing into the fog like ghosts. Charlotte had never seen so many uniformed soldiers in one place, not even in Founding. The crisp white uniforms and deep navy coats looked too clean to have seen much use in the field, unless the military knew a secret to keeping mud and dirt off white trousers.
The people of Sweetwater Point were downright rude, giving her scathing looks and muttering about how some people thought they had the right to park their carts anywhere. The cold soured her mood.
Charlotte drew her cloak tighter around her, her entire body folding in on itself to keep warm.
She hadn’t chosen to leave the cart on a busy road. That was Luis’s doing. He brought them to a halt, ordered her to stay with the cart, and leaped out. Did he explain himself? No. Did he offer to bring back something hot? Also no.
Charlotte rubbed her hands together, hoping to bring back some feeling in her fingers. For much of their journey, they enjoyed warm days and comfortable nights. Yesterday, the cold arrived with the mystery fog, slicing through unseasonably warm weather like a frozen blade. Snow fell steadily overnight, turning the road that was barely more than a dirt track into a muddy mess.
Fog hid the mountain—Draven’s mountain—in the distance. Occasionally the fog would part and the mountain appeared, only to vanish again. For two weeks, they’d traveled across the relatively flat plains of the West Lands, the mountains nothing more than a purple smudge in the distance. Luis said they were still a week away, but the mountains took up so much of the sky. Apparently, the journey would grow harder and the terrain rougher. Wonderful.
Sweetwater Point was the last outpost. Honestly, Charlotte had been surprised by how not empty the West Lands were. She’d been under the impression that there was nothing out there. Literally nothing but the native flora and fauna, all deadly to humans. Maps had vivid lines of demarcation between the terraformed “civilized” human settlements and a great blank space to the west. No rivers. No half-completed railroad tracks. No occasional homestead by someone foolish enough to try to tame the wilderness. Certainly no Sweetwater Point.
As unimpressive as Sweetwater Point was, she hoped they stayed the night. She wanted a bath. A proper bath, not a cursory wash in a bucket or—heavens forbid—a freezing cold river. She’d scrub away the grime of the road and soak in a hot tub until her fingers went pruney. Then she’d fall into a soft, warm bed. Ideally, the room would have a little stove or a fireplace, but she’d be happy with a bed warming pan, too. Then, in the morning, she’d have a breakfast that wasn’t oats soaked overnight. And toasted bread with so much butter it dripped down her fingers. Tea with real milk, not the reconstituted powder.
Heaven.
Soon enough they would be back on the road, following an abandoned railroad track into the heart of the West Land, and leaving the comforts of civilization behind.
She really enjoyed the comforts.
