"There's lots of other people. Qunari. They can do it," Myra blathered, feeling a bit foolish. She used her magic for defense. There was no way her parents could be mad at her for it. Okay, it was slight overkill, but it got the job done.
"You're such an oddball, My," Bryn shook her head, breaking out of the hug. As she smoothed down her dress, Gavin hustled up. In his exhausted and probably injured state, he couldn't keep up with a panicking Myra.
For a beat his eyes traveled over Bryn before landing right upon the half-blood. "You found her. Good," he smiled bright.
"Yeah," she tipped her head, not about to let go even as Bryn tried to worm her way out.
"I'll, I think I shall return to the head. No doubt my knight has orders to...something," Gavin gasped, suddenly realizing he trailed the entire way to the end of the caravan with Myra. Unable to think of a response, Myra waved meekly while he turned to do as he said.
"So," Bryn whistled once Gavin was long out of earshot. "Did he really...?"
"Yes," Myra spat out fast, feeling as if her hair was blushing. Maker, she hoped not. She'd look terrible as a redhead. "But don't go thinking anything. It was just, he was probably ordered to."
Bryn sighed, her head tipping back to the sky, "Right, ordered to. Whatever you say."
"Shut up," Myra lightly punched her in the shoulder. "Come on. Forget whatever you were doing back here. Let's go find Rosie and see what the shit happened here." Knotting her fingers with her friend's, Myra pulled Bryn with her.
* * *
Deep breaths. A count of two in and then two out. To most people dashing about the disaster area their princess was the porcelain figurine decorating a jewelry box. When they wanted her to dance, they simply had to turn the key, but without her being needed at the moment she stood perfectly still, always in anticipation. Inside however her stomach churned with how close of a call that was. Cailan, in particular, was in the mood to keep reminding her.
"If Myra wasn't there..."
"I know," Rosie sighed. She kept her eyes closed so no one would see her rolling them.
Unable to stop picking at the cindered door, Cailan's fingernails black from the effort, Rosie ordered him to sit down on a trunk. Even with his ass locked tight to it, he kept staring at the handle the bandit rattled. The cocky prince who had a comeback for everything froze in that moment of potential death. With it passed, he seemed to be doing everything he could to replay it and find a better solution.
"Aren't we supposed to have guards around us?" Cailan whined, before his eyes darted out to the pile of squires that weren't doing much beyond standing in the way. "Better guards. I'm going to write a letter to father telling him..."
"You will do no such thing," Rosamund spun fast on her heels, startling a few of the handmaidens who flocked to their princess' side once they were certain it was safe. It'd been an hour or so since the attack, those who weren't useful in cleaning up forced to sit by the side and wait.
At her outburst, Cailan narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms. In doing so, he scraped the black charcoal across the sweat stained doublet. Quickly, Rosie tried to reel in her emotions. "The people here are trying, and doing their very best." Her lout of a brother snorted at that and began to nervously tap his knees up and down. He looked as if he wanted to argue, no doubt he had a dozen good reasons, but at that moment Daryan returned to their side.
"Ser Knight," Rosie said trying to get some grip upon the situation, but her mouth fumbled and Daryan sneered at the lack of her proper name. "You have news?"
"Sort of," she stretched her neck, trying to work a crick out of it. Bloody handprints coated her chestplate as if she smeared them across it in an attempt to clean off her hands. "It'll be a few hours before we get started."
Rosamund nodded, she'd assumed as such given the state of things. "The bandits," she pressed, "what do you know of them?" Jogging up behind the knight came Gavin, who once again held Anjali's metaphorical leash. He tipped his head to the princess before seeming to fold in half in exhaustion.
"Oh look, the assassin's here," Cailan muttered. "Yay." He'd found the idea of Rosie keeping her around rather humorous at first, as if his sister wanted a pet. But after the attack he was firmly in the decapitate her camp even if she'd done nothing wrong.
Catching on fast, Anjali tipped her head to the prince and then said something in her native tongue. It split through the air like a hatchet shattering firewood, everyone turning to the woman in question. She didn't blanch at the attention but lifted her chin and grinned. For his part Cailan shook his head and sighed, "Whatever you said."
"The bandits..." Rosie prompted to the Knight in charge.
"We have a few in custody," Daryan said with a weary sigh.
"Some lived?" Anjali responded with a surprised lift of her brows.
The knight honed in on her, eyes staring daggers into Anjali's, "We are not barbarians, assassin."
"Not good ones, at least," the woman laughed, always keeping everyone off kilter. It was what she did, seemed to revel in it. Daryan, like a bear in a cage that just had someone rattle the bars, puffed her chest out and rose to the limits of her spine.
"Please," Rosamund interrupted, "tell me what we know of the bandits!" She was exhausted, her face still flushed from the saving fire, and she was tired of everyone looking at her. All Rosie wanted was to curl up under a cool, wet cloth away from questioning eyes and wagging tongues.
Daryan stepped away from the assassin, but not far. No doubt she wanted to keep within easy striking distance in case. "They're bandits. The two remaining were jabbering about how they had no idea this was a royal caravan. They thought it was easy pickings."
It was Cailan who snorted first, "Right. We are to believe bandits can be so brainless they'd ignore all signs and displays of strength, and swoop down upon the first thing they find? They're either idiotic or desperate."
"I'd say these are both, your highness," Daryan snapped at him. No doubt she'd been trying to get more out of the captives for the time being. Was it their blood that coated her chest from an interrogation and not a dead body's?
"Meaning we are remaining firmly in square one with little chance of moving forward. Delightful," Cailan was in a full on snit. He wasn't much of a drinker, preferring to savor the rarer brews than go bottoms up on swill, but Rosie suspected he'd be ten deep into a cask tonight. In this state, it was doubtful he'd even want a woman to join him.
"As I understand it, then," Rosamund began, trying to fold her hands in front of her stomach like in all the old portraits. It wasn't natural, but it made people think queenly thoughts whenever she did it. "We have no proof of any malfeasance beyond the fact bandits have grown too numerous in the Highever Teyrn. This is an issue, and one I must discuss with the Teyrn himself."
Her head advisor dashed forward, Avery having been kept far from the real danger along with the others. Once it cooled and squires dragged him out of his hiding place beside their belongings, he considered it his job to pontificate upon the situation -- loudly and with hand gestures. "My lady," he said, bowing his head a bit lower, "the Teyrn is not a fan of being lectured by..."
"Is it not his duty to protect the roads? Why even have this alliance with the crown if he refuses to honor it?" Rosamund was growing more cross with every word. She wanted to take it out upon someone and Teyrn Cousland seemed an obvious choice.
"He..." Avery tried to talk over her, but she was having none of it. She was growing weary of men inserting words into her sentences.
"Shall have to face the issue of the bandits when we drag our prisoners before him," Rosamund ordered.
The Knight flinched, her fingers digging into the sword upon her side. "Your Highness," she began in that mocking tone, "that's really not smart. It'd be best if we chop off their heads now."
"No," Rosie thundered, collapsing her hand into her outstretched palm. "Justice in such matters rests in the Teyrn's hands and it is he who will answer to it. Surely he will agree with a
need to increase soldier patrols down the king's highways once he's greeted with such proof."
It seemed so simple to her. Present the bandits, ask the Teyrn to meter out justice, and then calmly bring up one of the sticking points that her father was often railing about. Far too many bandits easily slid into the forests stashed about Ferelden's roads, making travel risky. A lot more people would take the Waking Sea than dare tempt the roads, which was causing the middle of the country to dry up.
Rosie was practically grinning ear to ear at her brilliant plan, when she caught Avery fiddling with his fingers and Daryan sigh, "As you say, my Lady. We'll chain up the prisoners and drag 'em with us. Here's hoping they don't escape."
"I shall put that on your head," the princess shot back, but the Knight only shrugged. No doubt she'd assumed as such.
Sliding away as if she had far more matters to attend to than keeping her leader informed, Daryan began to march away when she paused. "On the matter of the assassin..." she began.
"Yes," Rosie lifted her head and stared directly at Daryan, "I wished to discuss that as well. Thank you for the opening." The knight snickered at that, as if she was really doing the princess a favor. "Given the danger we apparently face, I think it only proper she be returned her weapons."
"What?!" Daryan gasped, all but leaping towards Rosamund. Behind her she heard a few others exasperate in surprise, and one palm smack into a forehead. "Lady, my lady," Daryan struggled to act contrite in the face of such madness. "This is by a wide margin..."
Lifting her palm up, Rosie managed to maintain an air of serenity about her, "If you please. Anjali shall have her daggers returned to her; however, they will be tied into their sheathes. It will be up to the guards watching her, in particular you Squire Gavin, to decide if she should be trusted with them."
"Me?" he jabbed at his chest in surprise, but it was the assassin Rosie turned to next. She anticipated a smile of gratefulness upon those full lips, but the woman had them pursed to the side, her eyes staring warily around the group.
"Your highness, princess, this is..." Daryan tried to shake her out of it.
"Bonkers, balmy, a sign Rossie whacked her head into a low beam," Cailan muttered before he looked up as if surprised anyone heard. "Shall I continue on?"
"I'd say she proved herself. She assisted the squire in the attack and then rushed to my aid, not my death."
"As far as you know," Avery butted in. "She could have been planning to steal a blade and in the chaos assassinate you, but the squire here got the better of her."
Rosamund ignored him. She was getting good at letting the man's words wash into the background like waves upon the ocean. No wonder her father would often hum songs whenever the flock of crimson robes circled him. Stepping closer to Anjali, she looked the woman in the eye and asked point blank, "Did you intend to murder me in the chaos?"
"Uh," she bounced on her toes, her eyes darting around to the faces that wished to be rid of this problem immediately. After a circle, they landed fully upon Rosie's. For a beat that felt like more, she locked her umber gaze in before her eyes darted to the ground. "No, of course not. I mean, if I had I would have waited until everyone was busy with clearing out the archers, then attacked."
Her honesty brought a smile to Rosamund's lips and she nodded her head. "Is that what you would have done, Ser Daryan?"
"I would not kill my Princess," Daryan stuck up for herself, "nor engage in such dishonorable tactics."
Rolling her eyes, Rosie turned to stare over her shoulder at the last person to trudge up to the ground. "What of you Myra?" Her sister had her arm around an elven servant's shoulders, but at the focus from the royal think tank she paused.
"Yeah, probably. I mean, easier to slip out in the chaos if half the guards are on the other side of the wagon or in the trees," for a moment her sister's sight wandered off from Anjali to the boy standing beside her. Rosie followed to find Gavin's face knotted up in a sneer. "Not that I think that's proof of..." Myra began, but Rosie turned from her.
"I dare say that's enough of a reason to give the woman a bit more trust in such matters. Now, Ser Daryan, Chancellor Avery, and the rest, I need a moment to cool myself off," she tried to step back from the horde, but they all squeezed in around her. The handmaidens in particular fluttered up like a flock of seagulls, but Rosamund was in no mood.
"I have given my word, do as I say," the curtness was enough to freeze everyone in their tracks. Rosie turned from the group, shuffling out into the cooler shadows below the trees while the advisors all fell to bickering about the princess behind her back.
She didn't get into the forest proper, no doubt there'd be a good swath of people who'd run out to rescue her, but Rosamund had to free herself from the pressing fist of politics. How in the Maker's holy name did her dad manage any of this? Putting up with people questioning your every decision and choice as if you were little more than a chicken pecking at a board with words scratched on it made her want to scream. Her father was...not prone to being diplomatic, to put it nicely. It must take every sweet bone in his body to keep from regularly sending an advisor to the stocks for a few hours.
Running her fingers over her flushed cheeks, Rosie sighed. What she really needed was to cool off, and mercifully someone left a bucket of water perched upon the ground. The reflection of her face in the murky depths was all shadows, her light dimmed to a sliver like the moon before it vanished behind the horizon. She stared down at herself, lost in the sneering face of the darker version of the princess. That one would have never suffered fools so gladly. She would have strung them all up to decorate the trees with.
With her fingers, Rosie tugged up a stained rag and dipped it into the water. The dark princess lapped away from her dousing the cloth, receding back to the depths of her brain. Wringing the cloth out once, Rosamund placed it to her cheeks and sighed in relief. A cool balm suffocated her burn, knocking it back to let her feel normal for a moment.
"Never thought princesses would wash using old rust buckets and rags stained in blood."
Her eyes shot open wide at the voice, but she didn't turn around. Trying to dig for a semblance of poise Rosie left in the dust, she covered her face in the cloth a moment. "I'm afraid I can't speak for others, but..."
Anjali laughed a moment, the woman folding her arms over her chest in a defensive pose. "So, I'm allowed to have my daggers back." She spoke as if it was fresh gossip for Rosie, her tongue sucking in her bottom lip before she chewed upon it in thought.
"Do you not want them returned?" she let the rag fall from her cheeks, water glistening upon her flushed skin as she turned to Anjali. The woman's eyes lit up as her nervous gnawing halted. She made no bones about staring across Rosie's features, those umber depths memorizing her nose, her cheeks, her thinner lips. It was so brazen it brought a new burn to Rosie's already weary cheeks.
"Just," Anjali sighed, her hands unfolding to dangle against her thighs. "Seems a bit on the unwise side of things."
"Because..." Rosie prompted, turning back to the bucket. She washed her fingers off, trying to remove the last of the char from Myra's spell. When she blasted the bandits to ash, some of it blew back into the carriage. Rosie kept insisting to herself it was the dust of burnt wood and not a dead body. It was the only way to keep from screaming whenever she stared at her fingers.
This stranger she let live, let travel with them, found herself trusting for no good reason, and would often stare at without her aware, closed her eyes tight. "Because there's a good chance, a damn good chance, that those bandits were hired by my friend to try and test the security capabilities of the caravan. She'd risk nothing, and convincing a bunch of starving idiots living in the woods to have a go would be pretty easy."
Anjali winced as the words left her mouth, each one placing another log onto her pyre. The bandits were related to the assassin. An attack the one supposedly here to protect Rosie failed to anticipate or mention. It would reflect poorly upon her and was why she
kept quiet about it with the Knight.
Dropping the rag back into the bucket, Rosamund nodded her head, "It's as I assumed."
"You..." Anjali whipped her head back at the caravan but surprisingly no one followed her. Then she honed onto Rosie, Anjali's body slipping right into her personal space. Through the burn in her cheeks, Rosie could feel her heartbeat increasing in speed. It thumped faster, sending blood and rampaging adrenaline throughout her body. Run. Fight. Something else?
Rosie dug her fingers into her thighs to keep herself measured and stared up into Anjali's eyes. The woman smiled, a side one that quickly spread over the fullness of her lips. "You knew?"
"Assumed," she said, swallowing to hide the tremor creeping up her spine. Why was she shaking like a leaf? Her guards weren't even a few steps away. "I didn't know if it was a real possibility until you confessed it to me. For which I am grateful."
"Maker's kiss," Anjali whistled, clearly impressed. The idea twisted Rosie's stomach into a bow. "How did you know? How did you know and not the rest of them? Or tell them?"
"I read a lot of tactic books as a child," Rosie confessed. Her mother was often complaining about how the war books wouldn't really suit the future queen. People would rather be at peace than war. She understood, but the strategies were fascinating in a way incidents of public intoxication and correlations with incidents of death by exposure were not.
Anjali's fingers lifted up into the air. Something in Rosie tensed, watching them hover near her arm. It wouldn't take anything more than a breeze for those strong but soft hands to cup against the sleeve of her dress. But Anjali was only reaching to scratch her nose. Rosamund swallowed hard, cursing at herself for even thinking to...fear such a thing.
"I need to rethink everything I know about princesses."
"Perhaps," Rosie smiled. "I also didn't say anything to them," she jerked her head towards the various advisors, "to see if you would bring up the subject."
"Well well, beauty, grace, brains, and a love of old military stratagems," her eyes burned as she settled onto her heels while staring deep into Rosie's sight. "The Maker sure took His time crafting you."
My Love Page 299
