They speak together, and the younger man looks over, right at me, looking amused. He catches my eye and then gives me a good-natured grin that I don’t know what to make of.
Before I can think of an answer for Gage, the man walks over, much to Rhys’s apparent chagrin.
When he is close, he leans forward and lowers his voice. “I would introduce myself, but rumor has it you’re about to become my dear sister, and I’m afraid the formality might give away the ruse.”
Rhys reluctantly joins us. He flashes Gage an uncertain look. He likely assumes, like I did, that my cousin remembers him from before.
I’ll have to deal with that later. I have a more pressing matter to attend to.
“You’re Rhys’s brother?” I look between the two men, not sure I can quite believe it despite the similarities. Rhys is so solemn, and this man is…not.
“He hasn’t mentioned me?” Rhys’s brother presses a hand to his chest, mock offended.
“No…” I look at Rhys for guidance, but it’s obvious he’s going to be no help. Still, I wait for him to acknowledge me before I add, “But our meeting yesterday was brief.”
Rhys gives me a subtle nod, hopefully understanding what I’m trying to tell him.
“I’m Tryndon,” the man says, oblivious to my exchange with Rhys.
“I’m Amalia, and this is my cou—” I cut off sharply. “My brother, Gage.”
Tryndon gives Gage a friendly nod.
Gage turns to Rhys. “Amalia has informed me of the situation. I appreciate your graciousness in the matter.”
Rhys gives him a tight smile, which looks downright jovial for him, and then we fall into an awkward silence.
How are we supposed to spend the day?
“It looks like we’re on our way,” Tryndon says when the ferry lurches forward. From the other side of the barge, several cows protest, and a horse lets out a nervous whinny—possibly my horse.
Remembering that Gage still has Ember, I take the lead back. The dog leaps to her feet, thinking we’re going for a stroll.
“I should probably walk her a bit,” I say to no one in particular.
Tryndon happily shoves his brother forward. “Rhys can go with you.”
With a deep frown, Rhys offers me his arm, standing as stiff as a soldier. I loop my arm through his, feeling strangely nervous. It’s not like I didn’t just drag him across the ferry twenty minutes ago. What’s the difference this time?
As we excuse ourselves, I glance at Gage. He’s watching us too closely, looking for…something. I flash him a hesitant smile and don’t breathe until we’re well out of earshot.
“I’m sorry about Tryndon,” Rhys says after we’re quiet for so long it becomes uncomfortable.
“It’s all right,” I say. Then I add, “I didn’t know you had a brother.”
“I have three brothers—two younger, one older.”
Startled, I look at him. “Three?”
“And a sister.”
“How old is your sister?”
Rhys doesn’t answer right away, which seems odd.
“She’s my age,” he finally says, staring straight ahead.
I think about that for longer than I should, but once the words fully sink in, I pull him to a stop. “Your age? She’s your…twin?”
His answer feels important. Like perhaps, just maybe, he’s going to be the one person in my life who could possibly understand my loss.
And what a great…coincidence…that would be.
It’s a word that floats between us often, bringing me back to my previous theory—magic has brought him to me. It’s taken pity on me, felt my grief, and sent me Rhys. Why though? Why him?
It seems as if it takes considerable effort for Rhys to pull his eyes from the deck to face me. When he does, he gives me a bare nod. My arm tightens around his, and I must bite my tongue to keep the questions from flowing.
I want to tell him about Braeton. He might be the only one who could know how badly I hurt.
As I stare at him, a pained expression crosses his face, but he schools it quickly. Suddenly, I realize that I might have touched a sensitive subject.
“Is she all right?” I ask softly.
“Yes.” He looks away and starts walking again, tugging me with him. “She’s fine, or she was the last time I saw her.”
“How long has it been?”
“Four months.”
“Where is your family from? You never said.”
“Far north,” he answers gruffly, obviously not liking the conversation.
“Far north?” I ask, gripping him tighter from excitement. “Near the Chasm?”
“Near enough.”
Rhys obviously doesn’t like talking about his family for whatever reason, so I decide it’s best to leave that subject alone for now.
“I’ve always wanted to see it,” I say wistfully.
It’s his turn to jerk me to a stop. “The Chasm?”
I nod.
“No, you don’t.” His eyes flash with something dark, and I pull away from him, startled.
His face softens, and he looks frustrated with his reaction. “Nothing good comes from the rift.”
I reach down to stroke Ember’s back, needing something to do with my hands. “I don’t know. It separates us from Draegan. Before its creation, we were at war. Their people came across the border, killing our people, raiding our lands.”
“Is that what you’ve been told?” he demands.
I blink.
“I mean…” He clears his throat. “That’s what we’ve been told, but what if Renove started the war? What if we cursed Draegan, though it was no fault of their own?”
“Cursed?” I laugh. “That’s a little dramatic, don’t you think?”
Rhys narrows his eyes slightly, but he doesn’t respond.
Crossing my arms, I study him, confused. I would think the people of the north would have less love for the upper kingdom than we from the south. They were the ones who suffered the most at Draegan’s hands.
“Besides, that’s ridiculous,” I finally say. “Why would we beg the fae to create a physical barrier between the kingdoms if we were at fault?”
His jaw twitches, and I realize he’s angry.
There were families divided by the Chasm’s creation, loved ones that were never able to see each other again. Mothers, fathers, aunts, uncles, grandparents, children. Being from northern Renove, there is a chance this is a story he knows well. Perhaps that’s the source of this irritation.
Relenting, I touch his arm. “It was a very long time ago, and what’s done is done.”
Rhys looks away and rolls his shoulders. After several tense moments, he nods.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”
He looks back, studying my face, and then his expression eases. I slowly let out a held breath, relieved. If I’d had any idea it was such a sore subject, I wouldn’t have brought it up.
“Lover’s quarrel?” an unwanted voice says from behind us before Rhys can answer.
Rhys and I turn to face Rupert as one.
The pawnbroker comes strolling up, hands shoved in his jacket pockets, smiling in a smug way that makes me want to slap him.
I truly dislike this man.
Rhys apparently feels the same way. Despite the last bit of lingering tension, Rhys wraps his arm around me, this time resting his hand at my side instead of on my arm. He answers Rupert, but I have no idea what he says because I’m trying to focus on standing on my own two feet. Every inch of me feels warm and soft, and if I’m not careful, I’ll melt into Rhys’s side like a ragdoll.
Irritation forgotten, all I can think of is how warm he is, how tall. He feels strong, too. Safe.
And it hits me quite suddenly…I’m fond of him.
I know absolutely nothing about him, but I like him all the same. It’s a sobering thought, one that makes it a little easier to compose myself.
Rhys isn’t an option.
Yes, he’s handsome. Yes, touching him like this is just about the most exquisite thing I’ve ever experienced. And yes, I still wonder what it would have been like to kiss him outside the orchard, with his lips pressed to mine and his hands in my hair…
I bite my lip, my mind wandering.
“Amalia?” Rhys says, my name spoken close to my ear.
I look up, half-dazed. “Hmm?”
“Do you want to keep walking, or should we turn back?”
Rupert is gone. Rhys quickly and efficiently got rid of him, and I didn’t even realize it because I was daydreaming—
No, I think, reminding myself that he and I are destined to have nothing more than a friendly, non-romantic relationship.
The huntsman hasn’t released me yet. We’re in a secluded section of the ferry, near the cargo, and no one is around. Slowly, I turn to face Rhys.
I expect him to drop his arm, take a step back and put space between us, but he doesn’t. I stare up at him, held in his partial embrace. I clasp Ember’s lead with both hands, keeping myself from reaching for him.
Rhys wears his leather doublet again. My eyes drift down to the lacing along the front, and I imagine running my finger down the rough cord. How would the leather feel against my fingertips? Would it be cool, like the day? Or warm like the man who wears it?
Rhys’s palm flattens on my shoulder-blade, and his fingers slowly splay over the fabric of my dress, sending delightful shivers across my skin. I pull my gaze back to his, and we stare at each other.
His eyes are such a shocking green in the gray light of the stormy day. A lock of hair falls across his forehead, and I want to brush it back with my fingers.
But I don’t dare.
Suddenly, the sky opens, and rain sweeps the deck, falling slowly at first and then coming down in great sheets.
Rhys looks up, using his hand to shield his eyes. He then clasps my hand and pulls me toward the wall of the shelter that rises from the middle of the ferry. An eave extends over us, offering a narrow strip of protection. He tugs me close, with one arm looped around my waist so we’re both protected. Mist rises from the bay, and tiny droplets of rain drift to us in the sea breeze.
People cry out and laugh from other parts of the ferry, hurrying inside the enclosure, but we’re safe enough where we’re at, surrounded on three sides by wooden crates. Ember crawls under a space between them and lies down, watching the rain with bright eyes. She’d play in it if I’d let her.
“Should we wait it out?” Rhys asks. “Or make a run for it?”
“I’m all right.” My answer is spoken a bit too quickly. Maybe it’s even a touch eager, but he doesn’t seem to notice.
The huntsman’s attention is on the storm, on the water pelting the deck and the shifting fog.
He doesn’t notice how alone we are. And for once, it’s not night.
“Rhys?”
“Hmm?” he responds absently. He turns to me, not nearly as flustered by our closeness as I am—or flustered at all, for that matter.
“We probably shouldn’t…”
I fully mean to say we shouldn’t stand this close, but the words won’t come. This isn’t proper; it’s not right.
It feels too good, and it’s confusing me something awful.
Rhys raises a brow, waiting for me to complete the thought.
Trying again, I say, “What I mean is, people will get the wrong impression if someone were to see us.”
The huntsman listens with his enigmatic expression, but now his lips twitch with the tiniest of smiles, making my cheeks grow warm.
“What impression would that be?” His voice goes a touch lower. Smoother. Amused.
Humor looks good on Rhys. It takes his solemn features and makes them roguish. His handsome face becomes devastating. The change is subtle, but it steals my breath, nevertheless.
“I thought you wanted people to think we are together,” he adds.
“I do…” There’s no one to see us anyway, and even if someone did, he’s right—it would only aid in our ruse. “This is fine.”
“Are you sure?”
His expression is nothing but serious, but I’m certain he’s teasing me now. Well, fine. Two can play that game.
I answer with a nod, not trusting my voice.
“Then why do you look like you want to say something?”
“You’ve misunderstood.” I stand straighter, angling my chin up. “I was actually thinking you still owe me a kiss.”
16
I’m not sure what I expect Amalia to say, but it wasn’t that. Her words take me so completely by surprise, my arm tightens around her, inadvertently drawing her closer.
Her expression flickers between embarrassed, stoic, and eager, and it’s a combination that has my stomach muscles clenching. It doesn’t help that the princess, though belonging to a kingdom I loathe, is very beautiful.
I think back to Amalia’s words, her blatant misunderstanding of history. I have no doubt she believes the Chasm is a benign rift and that her ancestors were heroes for ensuring the safety of their kingdom.
But is it Amalia’s fault that she’s been led to believe a false history? Is she to blame for being born in this kingdom? Living her life of ease, blanketed by benevolent magic, while we in Draegan fight to eke out a living thanks to the curse that was unleashed on our side of the Chasm?
Even if I were to accept it, to forgive her for being Renovian, other things are keeping me from giving Amalia what she’s requested. The least of which is that once she finds out who I truly am, what I’ve done…and what I’m doing now, she’ll never look at me with those soft eyes again.
And she will find out eventually—it’s inevitable.
I glance at the rain. It’s already slowing, falling gently now.
“It’s letting up,” I say, releasing the princess, refusing to look at her face. “Let’s find Gage.”
The remainder of the trip across this narrow strip of the bay is uneventful. To keep up appearances, Tryndon and I stay in the company of Amalia and her cousin.
The princess hasn’t looked at me again even once. Her irritation is tangible. More than that, I’ve mortified her. She’s embarrassed, thinking she misread the situation.
She didn’t…but that makes no difference. Repeatedly, I remind myself I did the right thing.
Thankfully, Gage and Tryndon carry the conversation. How my brother has such a gregarious nature is beyond me. Most of the time, I find it tiring, but today—since he has someone else to blather to—it’s a relief.
Rupert joins us once more, clinging to our group like a barnacle. Though I can tell she doesn’t want to, Amalia wanders to my side, more wary of the man than she is irritated with me.
We reach Grib’s docks just before dusk. It’s a small fishing community, dirtier than Talton, with a gray, pebbled shoreline and a few shabby buildings. It sits at the base of the Saulettes, a mountain range with tall, jutted peaks. It’s still early in the season, and the higher elevations are snowy.
I have no idea why the princess decided to travel this way. Going through the mountains could potentially save days off the trip to Saulette, but the travel will likely be harder, and it could end up taking longer because of it.
“Will you be staying in Grib for long?” Rupert asks as we lead our horses to the stable next to the inn.
Without a word, I hold my hand out, offering to take Amalia’s mare. Even though she’s still irritated with me, she hands off the beast without hesitation.
Amalia begins to answer Rupert, “Only for—"
“We’re not sure yet,” I interrupt, not wanting to give the man information he doesn’t need. “Do you have business in Grib?”
“I’m passing through,” he answers, “though I might stay a few days. I haven’t decided.”
Amalia flashes me a look, finally admitting that Rupert is up to no good. It’s th
e first time she’s met my eye since the conversation we shared in the rain. Perhaps it means she’s forgiven me—or, more likely, her dislike for Rupert trumps her frustration.
By the time we reach the small inn, it’s dark. A few lanterns hang from wooden posts that are haphazardly scattered throughout the streets. The inn, which doubles as a tavern, is the brightest building on the dirt street, and the only one with real glass windows. The owners must do well with travelers who make their way between Kenrow and Saulette.
Tryndon reaches the door first, and when he pulls it open, we’re greeted with a rush of warm air, loud voices, and the savory smell of supper.
“I’m starving,” I overhear Amalia whisper to Gage. “I could eat an entire cow.”
I hide a smile, knowing that was meant for her cousin’s ears alone.
Gage grins at Amalia, and the pair exchange a look that gives me an unexpected pang of homesickness. More than anyone, I miss Cassia. I have no doubt my sister is exhausted in my absence, now that she’s the only one to tend our brothers, take care of our sick mother, and ease the burden of Father’s hallucinations.
We knew my mission into Renove wouldn’t be a short one, but the weight of the responsibilities must be crushing her.
The reminder that I’m doing this for them—for the good of all Draegan’s suffering people, who are sick and tired and weary—steels my resolve.
My mission is honorable, even if I have done less than honorable things to see it through.
“You like the princess,” Tryndon accuses with a grin, barely keeping his mouth shut until we’re in the privacy of our shared room.
I give him a dark look.
“Don’t bother to deny it. I think I saw you smile twice, maybe even three times today. That must be a record—are you exhausted?”
“Do you want to sleep with the horses?”
He throws himself onto the bed, which looks neither soft nor long enough for a grown man. “Just try to move me.”
I shake my head and walk to the window, pushing open the shutters to look into the dark night. I can’t see them, but the ocean waves lap at the nearby beach. It’s a cold sound, lonely. Like the wind howling on a sleepless night, I don’t care for it.
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