After stifling a yawn behind one hand, Mother gave me a look that meant I ought to make myself scarce for a while. I excused myself, though I was loath to leave the warmth of the sitting-room, and ducked outside for a stroll. It would not be safe for me to return until much later, so I might as well get comfortable under the wagon.
As I walked in the deepening evening light toward the northern end of town, where we had left the wagon parked beside a grassy knoll, a figure appeared from one of the houses and started in my direction. I smiled and nodded in greeting as he passed, but he stopped just before me.
“Are you one of those who came in the wagon?” he asked in a gravelly voice. He was balding, most of his hair confined to a ring perched just above his ears, and he stood shorter than me.
“Yes.” I put a hand on my hip, confused. “What do you want?”
“You came from the north—from Ambervale. Are you riding to Baylore?”
“Yes?” I began to fear he had guessed who we were, or that he meant us harm.
The man’s brows drew together. “A storm is on its way. It will be dangerous for anyone traveling the open plains. The storm is three, maybe four days away, but Baylore is fifteen leagues south—in that wagon, it will take you seven or eight days, even with a proper road to follow.”
“You’re a Cloudmage, aren’t you?” I asked in excitement. Though the magic races were common in Baylore and the surrounding villages, I was the only one with a gift in Ambervale. I had never met anyone with a different power before.
“Of course. Don’t you have Cloudmages in Ambervale?”
“No. Can you actually influence the weather, or just sense it?”
The man chuckled. “I wish I could influence it. I’ve heard of Cloudmages with the slightest power over the weather—for instance, they could maintain a patch of blue sky over their own garden while the rest of the village was covered in cloud, or shift the course of a small raincloud—but it’s nowhere near as dramatic as you might imagine. My only talent is in sensing the weather as it approaches.”
“That’s amazing,” I said. “How does it work? I’ve never met another—”
I stopped short, realizing my mistake.
“Are you talented as well?” the Cloudmage asked gently.
I swallowed.
“Am I right in guessing your gift is one of the less accepted varieties? Not to worry—they may be outlawed in Baylore, but we see plenty of the forbidden races traveling around these parts. Most of them are welcome in the outlying towns, as long as they don’t cause trouble.”
“I can’t talk about it,” I said with a grim smile. “You might realize why in a few quarters. Anyway, what do you suggest we do about this storm?”
“I would wait it out here, if I were you. Otherwise, if you are anxious to reach Baylore, I would trade your oxen for horses and ride for the city. You could make it in two days if you know how to ride well enough.”
I did, but that wouldn’t do me much good if I had to dismount and give my horse distance after just thirty minutes of riding. “Are there no settlements between here and Baylore?”
“There are a few lone farmhouses, but no true settlements. I wouldn’t count on the hospitality of the farmers either. They don’t enjoy their homes being used as waystations.”
“Thank you for telling me all of this,” I said. “Why have you gone out of your way to help us?”
The man shrugged. “I’m the only Cloudmage in Lameer, and we are very isolated up here. I try to speak with every traveler who comes through, because I would hate for someone’s ill fate to discourage others from trading with us.”
“You’re very kind. I need to talk to my traveling companions and see what they want to do.”
“I’ll be at home if you need to find me.” The Cloudmage pointed to one of the cottages near the northern end of the village. It was distinctive even in the dim evening light because it was the only house around with a roof of clay shingles rather than thatch. “Safe travels, milady. And if you decide to stay until the storm passes, I would be delighted to have you over for tea tomorrow.”
We clasped hands before parting ways. The Cloudmage headed back toward his house, head bowed, while I returned to the inn.
Mother frowned when I let myself into the sitting-room. “What—”
“I need to speak with you, Mother. In private.”
She stood at once and followed me outside, crossing her arms for warmth once we left the guesthouse. Though it was summer, the nights were cool here—the air was dry, so the sun’s warmth drained away as soon as darkness fell.
“Is something wrong?” she asked in a low voice. She began walking toward the northern end of town, so anyone who glanced through their curtains would assume we had simply gone for an evening stroll.
“I just spoke to a Cloudmage who says a major storm is coming,” I said. “He thinks it’s three or four days away, and apparently we would be in danger if we weathered it out in the open.”
Mother shook her head. “If we stayed here, we wouldn’t be able to keep your power secret. People would talk.”
“He suggested trading our oxen for horses. He said it shouldn’t take more than two days to reach Baylore if we were competent riders.”
“You know that would never work,” Mother said sharply.
I kicked at a pebble on the road. “I could switch off running and riding. It would be hard, but I’m sure we would make it.”
“And what would people say if they saw a girl running along in skirts with her horse galloping ahead? How would you explain that?”
“I’ll ride whenever we come across another traveler. Besides, I wasn’t planning to wear skirts in any case. I can trade my dress for something more suitable.”
“What about Lyla? She cannot ride.” Mother seemed to be warming to my plan.
“She can follow in the wagon. She and the driver can stay here until the storm passes—there’s no reason for them to arrive when we do.”
Mother sighed. “It likely is the only way, short of revealing who you are. Though I dislike the idea of traveling without a guard.”
“Mother, you’ve told me countless times how safe the roads are,” I said in exasperation. “Aside from the forest road, of course. You just don’t like the idea of riding because it’s undignified.”
“It is undignified, but that’s beside the point,” Mother snapped. “I am merely being cautious. We have been away from Baylore for eighteen years. Much could have changed in that time.” She shook her head. “Still, it is the best option we have. We will ride for Baylore in the morning.”
I ducked my head to hide my grin.
4
A Stormy Arrival
B y the time Mother joined me at the wagon the next morning, I had dressed in a plain shirt and leggings, with my thick black hair braided down to my waist. We had no mirrors at our cottage in Ambervale, so I had never seen my reflection except in the distorted surface of ponds and puddles, but I was proud of my hair. I imagined it made me beautiful regardless of my other features, the way a flowing mane could make even the smallest pony majestic.
I was surprised to find that even Mother had consented to change into leggings; I had never seen her in anything but a dress until now. She was accompanied by a teenage boy leading two beautiful horses, and when he passed the reins to us, his expression warred between pride in the animals and sadness at giving them up.
“We can have these horses sent back to you once we reach Baylore,” I said, stroking the neck of the beautiful black mare who had bent her head to nibble the grass at my feet.
Mother shot me a warning look.
“They really are beautiful. You must be very proud to have reared such strong horses.”
The boy flushed purple. “They’re me da’s, but I looked after them.”
Mother waved the boy away, and we began packing the few supplies we would need from the wagon into the panniers strapped behind both saddles. We tied our sleeping-rolls on t
op, wedged in with our heavy oilskin coats in case the storm hit before we reached Baylore. I thought I saw a pair of daggers glinting at the top of Mother’s saddlebag, though she quickly folded another shirt over them.
By the time the sun climbed above the village rooftops and my eyes began watering in the glaring light, we were ready to head out. We mounted and rode down the main street of town, past the Cloudmage, who waved from the doorway of his cottage, and past the inn, where Lyla and the ox-driver were waiting.
“Safe travels, Lyla,” Mother said. She reached down and clasped her lady-in-waiting’s hand.
“And you, Milady.” Lyla curtseyed and stepped back.
I could see others watching us through their windows as we continued down the street, but I kept my eyes trained on the horizon ahead. Soon that horizon would reveal the towers and spires of Baylore.
When I allowed myself one last look over my shoulder at the edge of town, I thought I saw Lyla holding hands with the ox-driver. They were too far away to be sure, though.
Once we passed the last walled garden at the outskirts of Lameer, we kicked our horses into a gallop. It had been years since I last rode, but it came back to me easily. We had kept a horse for most of my childhood, but when it collapsed after a careless day when I rode it for too long, Mother sold it as soon as it recovered. I doubt she’d had any particular affection for the horse; it was merely a lesson on the consequences of my thoughtlessness. I had been thirteen at the time, and it had seemed the cruelest sentence I could imagine.
Now, with our horses’ hooves thundering along the packed dirt road, the rippling grasses flying past on either side, I was transported back to my childhood days riding through meadows and forests.
It was not long before my knees began to ache, so I was only too willing when Mother suggested I give the horse a rest and walk for a while. My horse had fallen behind hers, and I was breathing mouthfuls of dust kicked up by her roan’s hooves. Even after just thirty minutes in the saddle, my nerves were humming with energy.
After a few paces of walking, stretching out the kinks in my joints, I broke into a jog. Mother took my horse’s reins and allowed me to pull ahead, while she followed at a comfortable trot.
We continued this way all day. The unrelenting pace left no time for talk and more than enough space for thoughts to intrude. What if my father hated me? What if I made a terrible queen? What if my people never learned to accept me? Until now, taking the throne had been an abstract idea; now, with the reality looming, my confidence was slipping away.
Even these worries were soon overtaken by an all-consuming weariness. As the afternoon dragged on, I wondered what would happen if I collapsed in the middle of the road. Every muscle in my legs felt battered, and my buttocks were tender and aching where they had collided with the saddle. The unrelenting sun grew hotter with every passing hour, and there was hardly a breath of wind to signal the approaching storm. I wondered if the Cloudmage had lied to us, though I could think of no reason for him to do so.
* * *
“What are you thinking of?” Mother asked that evening as we sat by the campfire.
“Nothing,” I said honestly. My mind was blank with exhaustion. It took every bit of my remaining strength to raise the spoon from my bowl to my mouth.
“Are you afraid?” she asked gently. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of if you are.”
“Yes,” I said bluntly. “But it doesn’t matter, does it?”
“I’m afraid too,” Mother said. “I’m glad to have you by my side.”
I didn’t know what to say to that.
My legs ached so much I could hardly sleep that night. The ache felt almost feverish; even stretching and massaging my tender muscles did little to relieve it.
* * *
In the morning, I crawled over to my saddlebags to avoid standing. Mother noticed and frowned at me, and I knew she was worried I would slow our pace. I was worried as well.
We had bought two fresh loaves off the innkeeper, so we ate chunks of bread with sharp cheese for breakfast. After quarters of buckwheat and millet porridge, it seemed a feast.
“How close do you think we are to Baylore?” I asked as we packed away our sleeping rolls. The sky was still cloudless, but the wind had picked up since yesterday.
“I have no idea,” Mother said. “Even if I remembered traveling this particular section—which I don’t—there are no landmarks that I can think of. We just need to go as far as we can each day and hope it will be enough. Do you think you will manage?”
“I have to.” I grimaced at my horse, who nudged my shoulder with her muzzle.
Even my horse was weary today. When I kicked her into a gallop, she walked several more paces before reluctantly picking up speed. She began to lag behind almost at once; eventually Mother let me take the lead so she did not have to keep stopping for me.
I dismounted after a very short while, afraid I would ride my horse to death, and waved Mother on ahead while I stretched out my aching joints. At first I tried running, but the jarring impact was too much for my tender muscles, and my legs felt as though they would give way beneath me. I settled instead for a brisk walk.
Clouds began to gather on the western horizon as the day dragged on, whipped into towering shapes by the strengthening wind.
We passed a farmhouse around noon, and Mother sat staring at the door for a long time before she spurred her horse on.
The sun dropped behind the clouds soon after, and the wind picked up the warm, dusty scent of rain-dampened earth. The horizon to our right was dark as evening with the sun hidden behind the clouds, while overhead the sky remained blue.
“When will we see the city?” I asked, jogging briefly to catch up with Mother.
“The walls and towers are visible from a long way off. If I remember right, the road slopes down toward Baylore. Once we see the first tower, we might walk for another half-day before we reach the gates.”
I groaned. We were running out of time.
With the wind whipping at my back and tossing my heavy braid from side to side, I broke into a run once more. After walking for most of the day, the stiffness in my legs had loosened; running hurt far less than it had that morning. I ran as though I could outrun the storm, glorying in the power of the wind and the cool air it whisked around me. Mother fell behind, and I imagined I was alone in the plains, free as the storm.
Spurred on by the power of the wind, I ran faster and faster, until the road crested a small rise and dropped away before us to a wide, shallow valley.
There it was. My breath caught in my throat at the first sight of Baylore. Even from a distance, it stood like a mighty crown perched atop the plains, the towers rising high over the walls. I steadied myself with both hands on my knees, gasping for breath, unwilling to blink for fear the city would evaporate like a mirage.
Around Baylore, the golden plains gave way to greener fields, some with tiny dots—sheep and cows—ambling about, others planted with tidy orchards. This had to be the source of the cider we had drunk in Lameer.
Mother rode up beside me, and I thought there were tears in her eyes as she beheld her home once again. It could have just been the wind, though. Mother rarely cried. She evidently loved Baylore deeply; I could not understand why she had given it all up to raise a cursed daughter. If I had been in her situation, I would likely have passed my daughter off to the first person willing to take her. I was sure I would not make a very good mother.
“We won’t make it,” Mother said. “Not before dark, in any case.”
“We can keep walking after sunset,” I said. “We’re so close. I can run the rest of the way.”
Mother shook her head at me. Even after draining strength from a whole roomful of people, I could not keep running after my muscles gave way. Nevertheless, the downhill slope would give me an advantage. I started off once again.
Just minutes later, the first raindrops fell. Though they were small, they stung when they hit my cheeks, whip
ped about by the wind. The sun must have set, because the sky was growing darker than ever. The clouds had crept further east, until only a narrow band of deepening sky remained over the horizon. Thankfully I could see the silver glow of the moon rising, though it would do little good if the clouds continued their march across the sky.
Before the gibbous moon had risen completely, it was swallowed by clouds. The sky grew darker than ever, and I had to slow to a walk, afraid I would trip over rocks and divots in the road. Mother dismounted and led both horses behind her, likely afraid they would do the same. The road was still visible as a pale grey against the darker grey of the fields, but the line between the two was growing fainter by the moment.
“What happens when we can’t see?” I asked nervously. “Do we stop here and try to make a shelter with our coats, or do we keep going and hope we don’t get lost?”
“We can always walk barefoot,” Mother said. In the dark, I couldn’t tell whether she spoke in jest. “It is easy enough to tell whether you are walking on dirt or grass when you are without shoes.”
We stopped briefly to don our oilskin coats, and I draped the deep hood over my head, obscuring most of my vision. The rain was drumming down harder than ever, dripping off the front of my hood to run down my chin, turning the road to mud.
Soon the last hint of light vanished. Mother shouted over the storm that I should grab my horse’s reins so I would not lose her. At least I could feel the resistance from the waist-high grasses whenever I veered off course, so we did not stumble off the road.
The storm continued to build. Hail pounded us several times—thankfully not large enough to do any real damage, though it stung—and lightning fizzled across the sky. The latter was helpful in illuminating the way forward, though it also set my nerves on edge. I had to give Mother and the horses distance after a short while, and it was only due to the lightning that I did not lose them entirely.
Forbidden Queen: A Court Intrigue Fantasy (The Forbidden Queen Series Book 1) Page 3
