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Chapter 11
It was dark and pouring. The rays of the warm sun had been eaten by thick gray clouds a few hours ago, and the soft drizzle that followed had turned into a heavy downpour. The night was settling in, and we were drenched by the time we finally stopped. We sheltered under a barn roof that belonged to a shabby inn at the edge of a tiny town. I was freezing, my soaked dress clinging to my skin.
“We will stay here tonight,” Sarolf said as he ran out into the rain to get the horses. I looked at the small, mossy stone cottage attached to the barn.
“In that thing?” I inspected my silver shoes, which were covered in a brown substance that smelled like animal feces.
Henrike took off her drenched woolen coat and wrung the water from it.
“Would Her Highness rather continue in the rain or sleep here with the pigs?”
She nodded toward a stall in the dark corner of the barn, from where an occasional snort sounded.
“No, but maybe there is something finer in town?” I took Fiona’s reins from Sarolf and tied her to a wooden post. The mud had washed off her back, but her belly and legs were covered in new mud from the messy road.
“Don’t you know where we are?” Sarolf asked. He was grabbing hay from the floor and rubbing the horses dry with it. Shaking my head, I took the handful he handed me and started to dry Fiona. She let out a satisfied neigh.
“You don’t know your own father’s kingdom?Yourkingdom?” Henrike said.
I puffed my cheeks. “My kingdom is very large, its lands endless, unimaginable for a peasant woman like you, so, no, I don’t know every rock and river or small town. I have never traveled up this way before. The important kingdoms are in the west and east, not north.”
As always, Sarolf remained completely calm and brushed my insult off like it was nothing. Henrike, on the other hand, scowled.
“Well, let me teach you something about your own lands, then,” Henrike said. “The farther north we travel, the poorer the towns get. So, no, there is no better guesthouse in town, and from here on, I would keep your hopes down, not up.” She gave me a fake bow. “Your Most Royal Highness.”
I dropped the hay. “How dare you speak to me this way!”
Henrike took a step toward me. “What do you intend to do about it? Your papa isn’t here to save you.”
“Stop it.” Sarolf sounded weary.
“Let me tell you what I intend to do about it,” I said, ignoring Sarolf. “I will take my horse and my things and leave you here, stranded, poor. Then you can keep on moving from town to town, begging as you did at my own door.”
“Will you two never stop?” Sarolf stepped between us.
Henrike glared at me.
“You!” We all turned to see a middle-aged, overweight man in dirty clothes standing in the doorway of the cottage. “If you don’t have coin, keep moving.”
Sarolf sighed. “Thank God,” he mumbled to himself, then faced the man. “We have coin in exchange for a dry place to sleep and food.”
The man threw him a curt nod, then turned and left, leaving the door open for us. I ran my options through my head. If Henrike was right, there was no better inn close by. It would also be much safer to stick with my companions for tonight. But tomorrow, I would explore my options again, maybe find the strength to head out by myself. How hard could it be to steer a wine cart north on a road with signs?
“The lodging itself might not be to your satisfaction,” Sarolf said, “but the meals won’t disappoint you. The inns on this road are famous for their food.” He threw Henrike a scolding look. Whatever she wanted to say, she decided to swallow it instead.
My stomach growled as if in response. Sarolf had offered me bread and cheese earlier, but it was dripping wet, so I had declined. As I pressed a hand to my belly, I caught Sarolf watching me. Rain was dripping off his black hair and down his straight nose. If it wasn’t for that scar, some women might think him handsome, in a rugged, sword-wielding kind of way. I wondered if he was the sort of man who enjoyed women’s attention, jumping from one to the next like the handsome Southern knights I’d overheard servants gossiping about.
I shook that idea off, along with a few raindrops.
“I wouldn’t mind some turkey smoked in maple mustard sauce and a slice of chocolate crème cake as dessert,” I said.
Sarolf grinned. “I’m afraid that might not be on the menu today.”
“Honey-mustard ham?”
“Nope.”
“Sesame artichokes?”
