He nodded reassuringly at Dara as she approached Lord Bale and his tall stallion. She was wary of the strangers—as well she should be—but she looked downright terrified of the horse.
“Have no fear, my lady,” Lord Bale said. “He’s never bitten a soul.”
Dara froze a few feet from the horse, as if biting hadn’t even occurred to her. “Uh . . . how do I . . .?”
“Let me help.” Siv went over to offer a boost with his left hand. His right arm still hurt like hell irons. Before he hoisted Dara onto the horse’s back, he leaned in and whispered, “Don’t tell him anything. Sounds like the news hasn’t made it off the mountain yet.”
Dara shot him a look that said she didn’t need to be told and scrambled indelicately onto the horse’s back. With a muttered apology she wrapped her arms around Lord Bale’s thick waist and held on for dear life.
Siv pulled himself up behind Uncle Tem with more grace. His uncle looked back over his shoulder, and Siv noticed a few lines in his face that hadn’t been there before. Tem was the youngest of his mother’s siblings, and he still had plenty of youthful energy despite his age.
“Comfortable?”
“I’m ready if you are.”
Tem’s charger danced beneath them, no doubt annoyed at the extra weight. It kept tossing its head, making the yellow crest flutter.
“Horses don’t like cur-dragons much,” Uncle Tem said. “Make them nervous.”
“Oh right. Rumy, why don’t you follow us from a distance?” Siv said. The creature cocked his head to the side suspiciously.
“You expect the damned lizard to understand?” Lord Firnum grumbled.
Siv ignored him. Trurens never understood dragons.
“Don’t worry about us, boy,” he said. “I’m sure you can take down these horses if they try anything.”
Rumy snapped his jaws in agreement then took a running start and launched into the air.
“Shall we, Uncle?” Siv said.
“Aye! Race you back to the inn, my lords.”
The three men wheeled their horses around and started back the way they came at a swift canter. Rumy flew ahead, occasionally circling back and squawking as if to make sure they were okay. Wind whipped into their faces, carrying the scent of dry grass, cold earth, and a hint of horse manure. Siv relaxed into the rapid movement. He could get used to this. Anything was better than walking.
Uncle Tem and Siv apparently had different ideas of what “not far from here” meant, though. It was dark by the time they reached Dapplen Town, where the lords had left their spare horses. The village was the closest settlement to Vertigon, serving as a way station for merchants and other travelers. Siv breathed a sigh of relief as they rode in amongst the first buildings. The lights burning in the windows promised rest, comfort, and hopefully a decent mug of ale or two. The town looked quite prosperous, with more than one inn and its own racing grounds. Trurens did love their races.
After a brief consultation, they agreed to stay the night at the inn and ride on to the capital city in the morning. Siv’s legs buckled beneath him when he slid off Uncle Tem’s horse. It had been a long time since he went riding. He felt sore in muscles he’d forgotten all about. Sleeping on the ground so much lately hadn’t helped either. He limped toward the inn, trying not to let Dara see his slightly pathetic condition. She positively skipped away from her horse—though that might have had more to do with her desire to get some distance from the creature.
After handing off their horses to the stablemen, the group sat down for a hot meal in the inn’s well-appointed common room.
“This is the best inn in town,” Uncle Tem said as the innkeeper placed five steaming bowls of stew before them. “We come out to Dapplen in the winter because there aren’t many people on the road to Vertigon. We have it all to ourselves. There’s nothing like a road race.”
“We’re fortunate you were here,” Siv said in between shoveling bites of stew into his mouth. “It might have taken us a week to walk to the city.”
“I’m sure plenty of other riders would have been thrilled to assist the King of Vertigon,” Lord Bale said. His green coat hung open, revealing his large belly straining against the ties of his shirt.
“Now, now,” Uncle Tem said, turning to make sure the innkeeper was not within earshot. “Let’s not shout about that here.”
“Thank you, Uncle,” Siv said. “I’d rather go unrecognized for now.”
“You’ve turned into a strapping young man,” Uncle Tem said. “I doubt anyone will recognize you from your last visit. You used to be quite a gangly fellow. And you’re looking a little, shall we say, rough. Are those bandages a disguise?”
“Afraid not.”
“Alas.” Uncle Tem took a long swig from his mug of ale. “I was hoping you and your lady were merely eloping.”
Siv coughed and glanced over at Dara. She had frozen with her spoon hovering over her bowl.
“Come now,” Uncle Tem said with a chuckle. “I recognize a romantic pairing when I see one. You don’t expect me to believe she’s really a guard, do you?”
Siv cleared his throat elaborately before Dara could start wielding her spoon like a sword.
“We thought it sensible to leave the mountain,” he said. “Romance had nothing to do with it.”
Uncle Tem frowned. “Can you give me any hints about the trouble you’re in?”
“I’d rather wait until we reach the palace,” Siv said. He gave a meaningful glance at the nearest table, where a handful of merchants playing a drinking game could easily overhear their conversation.
“All right. Sorry to push,” Uncle Tem said. “I’m sad to hear it of Vertigon, though. The world’s not the same these days, what with Soole on the move.” None of the other guests in the common room wore the distinctive Soolen clothes or had their coloring as far as Siv could tell, but Tem still lowered his voice. “And after your father died like that, well . . . I’m glad my sister came home when she did.”
Siv didn’t answer. He trusted Uncle Tem. Indeed, of all his mother’s relations, he was probably the best person who could have found them, but Siv didn’t want to talk about what had happened in an inn full of strangers. He didn’t particularly want to talk about it at all. Besides, Lords Bale and Firnum were listening nearby, their ears perking up higher than their horses’. Even Tem still appeared to be struggling against the urge to press Siv for details.
Siv and Dara retired as soon as they finished their meals, partly because they wanted to avoid further questions and partly because they could barely hold their heads up. Uncle Tem paid for their meal and room as neither one had any money. Siv had lost the coin purse Vine Silltine lent them during their unplanned dip in the river. Rumy had been sent to sleep in the yard behind the inn after the stablemen flat out refused to give him a stall near the horses.
Siv had decided it wouldn’t be prudent to ask for separate rooms for him and Dara. The less Uncle Tem knew about her the better. Being a Ruminor might make her a target when word got out about what had happened in Vertigon. If Uncle Tem believed she was Siv’s mistress, it would be easy to dodge further speculation. Besides, he hoped he and Dara could make up when they were alone again. He didn’t like feeling out of step with her.
But as soon as the door closed behind them, Dara strode to the bed and separated the two blankets spread on top of it.
“I’ll sleep on the floor,” she announced, voice crisp as a summer apple.
Siv blinked. “Huh?”
“I don’t care what your uncle thinks of us, but you haven’t spoken a civil word to me for two days,” she said. “I’m not sharing your bed.”
“Dara.”
“Siv.”
“Dara.”
She scowled. “I’m serious.”
“Maybe I’ve been a little grumpy lately, but—”
“If we’re not friends anymore, then we’re not friends,” Dara said. She spoke rapidly, as if she’d been holding this in for a while. “I’
ll try to help you. I owe you after what my parents did, but let’s keep things professional.”
“Professional?” Siv gaped at her. “You’ve been giving me the silent treatment too.”
“I’ll talk when there’s something to say,” she said. “But I’d rather sleep on the floor than beside someone who considers me an enemy.”
“Not an enemy,” Siv said. Okay, he’d implied as much the other day. But still, she was the unreasonable party here. “A liar, maybe,” he muttered, not quite under his breath.
“Good night,” Dara said. She sat straight down on the floorboards and yanked off her boots.
“Oh yeah?” Siv said, kicking off his own boots. One thudded into the wall with a bit too much force, and someone shouted a curse from the room next to theirs. “Well, what if I don’t want to share a bed with you?”
Dara raised an eyebrow. “That’s fine. I’ll sleep on the floor.”
“Look,” Siv said, abandoning that tactic. “We both need a decent night’s rest, and you won’t get it on the floor. Stop being stubborn.”
Dara jutted out her jaw and engaged Siv in a staring contest. He’d seen that before. Dara never broke eye contact because she thought losing one of her little staring contests meant she’d lost the argument. But Siv was on to her. He crossed the floor in two swift steps and swept Dara into his arms like a baby.
She squawked in protest, sounding a little like Rumy, but he held her to his chest and stalked to the bed. His plan to tuck her in backfired a little bit when his injured arm gave out, and he dropped her unceremoniously onto the mattress.
“Okay, fine. We’ll share,” Dara said, clearly trying to salvage a bit of dignity. “Good night, Your Majesty.” And she crawled under the covers and turned her back on him.
Siv gave a satisfied nod and climbed in on the other side. If that wasn’t progress, he didn’t know what was.
6.
Rallion City
DAYBREAK found Dara and the others on the road once more. The three Truren lords had brought extra horses for their racing jaunt, so now they each had their own mount. Dara rode Old Fence, whom Lord Bale insisted had taken a liking to her. The horse was the biggest living thing she’d ever seen, except maybe the cullmoran that attacked them back on the mountain. Old Fence had a sleek brown coat the color of strong tea, and his mane was black and flowing. Dara would much rather admire him from a distance than sit on his back, though. She kept a death grip on the leather saddle as they trotted out of the village. His powerful muscles rippled beneath her, bouncing her around with every step.
Siv, on the other hand, rode his dappled stallion as if he’d been born to do it, which she supposed he had. His mother was Truren after all. He sat straight, rolling easily with each step, and chatted amicably with his uncle at the head of their group. Every once in a while he looked back to make sure Dara hadn’t fallen off Old Fence, but he didn’t speak to her.
Dara had been grateful that exhaustion sent her to sleep before she reached out to him across the bed last night. It grew painful to be near him the closer they got to reuniting with his royal family. They were riding out of the wilderness and back to cold reality. She winced at the thought of the hope she had indulged that night in the cabin, the fragile possibility that they could be together. She had been lulled by his heartbeat, his warmth, his arms around her. He had shattered that hope the following morning with a few words. Your father killed half my family, Dara. He wouldn’t forget it, and neither could she.
But Dara was tied to Siv. They had been through a lot together, saved each other’s lives. If anything, she cared more for him now than she ever had. She couldn’t leave him, even though it would be better for her heart to keep her distance. So she tried desperately to resume her role as his bodyguard. They had been polite to each other that morning, and she had literally jumped out of bed when she felt tempted to pull him close.
Siv turned back to check on her again. She avoided his gaze, reaching down to give Old Fence a tentative pat. The creature huffed, his huge body expanding beneath her, and she quickly resumed her grip on the saddle.
Lords Bale and Firnum rode on either side of her, proving to be pleasant travel companions. They shared the courtly gossip from Rallion City and the latest rumors about the Soolen army’s movements in the mysterious depths of Cindral Forest.
“The forest dwellers are still giving them trouble, I hear,” Lord Firnum said gruffly.
“Do you think they’ll invade Trure next?” Dara asked.
“If they dare, our cavalry will teach them the error of their ways,” Lord Bale said.
“Maybe.” Lord Firnum didn’t sound entirely convinced. “At any rate, they’ll stay put until spring. We don’t get much snow, but the plains get mighty soggy in the winter rains.”
“I sure hope the rains are better this year than last,” Lord Bale said. “My estate had a hard year, and the wife has expensive tastes.”
“I reckon your racehorses are more expensive than her fancy dresses, Bale,” said Lord Firnum.
“Perhaps.” Lord Bale chuckled. “But they’re so darn pretty. I can’t help myself.”
The conversation turned to the races once more, and Dara let their voices wash over her as they rode deeper into the Land of the Horsekeepers. It was a vast country of gently rolling hills and wide, grassy spaces. She found it hard to judge distances without the familiar boundaries of the three peaks. The dark smudge of Vertigon Mountain was smaller every time she looked back.
By noon, farms patterned the entire landscape. The fields were bare and brown, but Dara imagined they must be beautiful in the spring and summer. Villages sprawled beside the road at regular intervals as they got closer to the capital city. The thatched houses were built in wide, flat shapes with lots of space between them. Paddocks and stables accompanied most of the structures.
The people working the farms and strolling through the villages sometimes looked up to admire their fine stallions. Other riders began to appear on the road, crowding them with the smell of their mounts and the creak of leather saddles. Dara was glad her own horse seemed content to follow its companions. She wasn’t sure she could stop Old Fence if he decided to trot off and join another party.
She wished Siv would ride with his head down. She had no idea how far her father’s tendrils spread. Siv may have a bandage on his head and a simple cloak around his shoulders, but he sat his horse like a king, and someone was bound to notice. They weren’t out of danger yet.
He had bribed Rumy to stay out of sight with a large hunk of meat from the inn’s kitchen that morning. Rumy had gobbled it up and taken off, flying high into the clouds. He’d meet them at the royal palace in Rallion City. They didn’t want him drawing unnecessary attention on the road. Cur-dragons had a good sense of direction, which was why they often carried messages. He should be able to find his own way.
The sun had passed its zenith by the time they rode over a low ridge and the massive expanse of Rallion City sprawled before them. Tan-and-brown buildings scattered far across the plains, blurring into the distance. Dara thought it must take days to walk from one side to the other. No wonder the Trurens needed so many horses! Oval racing grounds were visible throughout the city. Shops and houses crowded around them like beads rolling toward a dip in the floorboards.
A wide lake interrupted the city sprawl in the west. Its shimmering waters caught the sun, making it look like a pool of silver at the city’s edge. The thin, irregular line of a river meandered away from it across the plains. Dara paused to admire the elegant body of water. It was the largest she’d ever seen, impressive even at this distance.
“Azure Lake,” said Lord Bale, stopping beside her.
“It’s beautiful.”
“Indeed. Great place for swimming in the summer too.”
“I can’t swim,” Dara said.
“You can’t swim?” Siv had dropped back to join them without her realizing. “What about the river?”
“I got lucky
,” Dara said with a shrug.
Siv stared at her, shock painting his face. Perhaps he hadn’t realized how close she was to drowning back in the Oakwind. “But you could have—”
“We made it out,” Dara said. “No harm done.”
“Well, the lake is nice to look at even if you don’t swim,” Lord Bale said. “My manor house is right on the shore if you fancy a visit.”
Dara thanked him politely, hiding a grin as Siv gaped at her.
“Hurry along, my friends,” Lord Tem called. “I fancy a bath before dinner.”
They spurred their horses forward and rode down the ridge. The outer borders of the city weren’t clearly marked. The sprawl of houses and taverns simply thickened alongside the road, the trickle of people slowly becoming a crowd.
Dara couldn’t believe she’d fled down the snowy mountain mere days ago and now she was riding a massive horse through the streets of Rallion City. She had never expected to leave Vertigon in all her days.
A mix of Trurens and travelers from the other Lands Below filled the streets. Dara had never seen so many foreigners before. Few people made the trek up to the heights of Vertigon unless they were merchants or visiting dignitaries. Once a year foreign duelists would visit for the Vertigon Cup, but they looked just like Vertigonians in their dueling gear. Here, the people wore a fanciful selection of clothes in strange styles, the fabrics light and ethereal. It was warmer on the Horseplains than on the mountain, though many people still wore coats in the winter chill. Many of the Truren women had colorful scarves around their heads, the ends floating on the breeze like feathers.
The light Truren eyes were everywhere, and many people had white-blond or dust-light brown hair to match, almost the same color as their tanned skin. The paler Vertigonians tended to have darker hair—black and dark red and bronze—and brown eyes. Dara’s golden hair was less common—though not unique—on the mountain. It looked dark as honey against the pale blonds of Trure. She spotted a few dark-complexioned Soolens from the sun-drenched peninsula to the south. They moved warily through empty patches in the crowd, as if they carried the weight of their country’s recent aggressions on their shoulders.
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