“Ah. Well, then, safe journey.” She didn’t wait for a reply. Time was short and Arece needed to be with her children. She moved closer to her daughters and huddled them together so prying ears could not listen. “Watch out for each other, and be wary of the politics in Waterfall Citadel. They play by different rules.” She gave them both a stern look.
Sacha rolled her eyes. “Of course, mother. We aren’t children anymore.”
“You could’ve fooled me.” Sloane narrowed her eyes at Sacha.
“You. Shut up,” Sacha growled at her sister.
“The two of you. Please!” Arece commanded.
Sacha’s irritation with the entire affair was bubbling to the surface more often in the days before the departure. It was becoming increasingly difficult to keep Hathorn from reacting to his daughter’s provocations. Squashing irritants flat and having a servant sweep the pieces into the ocean was generally the king’s preferred course of action, but Arece was determined that their last days be at least partially peaceful. Though it pained her anew, it was just as well Sacha was leaving today.
Arece looked around and smoothed her dress. “We will most likely not see each other for some time. I would like to remember you both as loving, doting daughters. Not spoiled brats.”
Sacha’s gaze went to the ground. “Forgive me, Mother. I meant no disrespect.”
“Yes, forgive me as well, Mother.” Sloane shot a glance at Sacha.
Arece smiled at her daughters. “That’s better. Now, don’t forget about your cousins. They will need tending, especially Marcella.”
Sacha snorted and a wide grin made its way across Sloane’s face, the tension of moments before forgotten in the face of Marcella’s reputation. “It will be our solemn duty to keep her out of trouble,” said Sloane, putting an arm around her sister.
“She’s almost as much trouble as I am.” Sacha pressed the fingers of her right hand into her breast, and gave her mother an exaggerated look of exasperation. “You ask the impossible!”
“You both will manage.”
Horns sounded in the courtyard.
Tears welled in Arece’s eyes. “Forgive me daughters, for my weakness. I will miss you both, more than you can possibly imagine.” She hugged them as tightly as she could. “Be strong.”
“Your cousin is definitely a handful, Princess.” Kinsey looked over his shoulder at Marcella. She lounged on one of the wagons with her other relatives and every so often glanced his way.
Princess Sloane laughed. “Forgive her, Master Kinsey. She is a harmless flirt.”
“You women of Pelos have a very different definition of ‘harmless flirting.’ If we were in Basinia, Marcella and I would be considered a courting pair.”
The princess tossed her head back and laughed even louder. “Just wait, you may find yourself married yet, Master Kinsey.”
His brown eyes grew wide. “Oh, no, Princess. That’s not the life for me. Well, not yet, at least.” Marcella was a beautiful girl, no doubt, and lively to boot, but Kinsey liked his independence. Besides, there was much more of Orundal to see before he settled down. If ever.
“I cannot say the same, even though I feel it. The choices in that matter were never really mine.” Her bright face waned slightly with melancholy.
“Forgive me, Princess. I didn’t mean—”
She shook her head and closed her eyes. “No, Master Kinsey. You carry no blame for this.”
Despite her pardon, Kinsey still felt like a heel for his words. He cast about for a new subject, but every topic seemed to lead back to the purpose of their trip. The princess seemed content to ride in introspection, however, and so they continued on in silence.
He listened to the morning gales’ chirping and the creaking of the wagons trailing behind them. Fields of green stretched as far as the eye could see, dotted here and there with large copses of oak trees, surrounding pockets of water created by the land draining to the Tanglevine. The sky was crystal clear and seemed more vast than the heavens.
The southern route to Waterfall Citadel was just as picturesque as the northern one in its own way, though much easier to traverse. The escort had been traveling for two weeks since its departure from Pelos, and so far the trip had been blessedly quiet. By the following day they would be well within Basinian borders, but even with dozens of Pelosian soldiers at his back, Kinsey felt as if he were holding his breath, waiting for the inevitable disaster.
“What is he like?” The princess broke the silence, shifting in her saddle. “The prince, I mean.”
“A fair man I suppose. I don’t really know him.”
She looked at him in mild disapproval. “Surely you have a better idea of what he’s like than that? He governs your country, for Eos’ sake, and you live in the capital city.”
He shrugged. “Well, it’s not as if we have dinners together.”
Sloane pinched her lips together, lapsing again into silence.
Kinsey felt the beginnings of a headache coming on and rubbed the back of his neck. There had to be something that might suit the princess’s curiosity. “He’s a decent man,” he ventured, “and he’s good to his people and his family. I don’t know what else I can say.”
Her rigid posture eased a bit, but she turned her head, almost shyly. “Is he... an attractive man?”
Biting his tongue, he tried not to laugh. The poor girl was serious, and it wouldn’t do for him to make light of it. He cleared his throat. “By human standards, I’d say yes.”
She let out a long breath. “Thank Eos.”
Kinsey couldn’t help but chuckle at the frankness in her response. Apparently, being royal didn’t make her so different from common folk when it came to certain things.
“Laugh if you will, Master Kinsey. At least you have a choice in who you wed.”
“I am sorry, Princess.” He raised his hands in surrender. “I truly meant no harm. I just thought that his appearance would be the least of your worries.”
She frowned. “I suppose you’re right. It doesn’t really matter, does it?”
“Well, I wouldn’t say that. But there are far worse things than ugliness.”
Sloane nodded. “True.”
Kinsey looked back along their caravan line and caught sight of the royal coach. The carriage’s tall, dark wooden walls were easy to spot as it jostled back and forth along the pitted roadway. “What I truly worry about is your sister.” He grinned, glad for an opportunity to change the topic. “She’s been trapped in that glorified box with the chancellor for almost the entire journey. She may die of boredom or be talked to death before we reach the Citadel.”
“You may be right, Master Kinsey.” The smile returned to the princess’s face, and she glanced back at the royal coach. “Although, she does have a love for politics. Any insight into your country she can glean from the chancellor would be time well spent for her.”
He paused, considering her words. While the graceful young woman had not spoken with derision, there was a distinct lack of enthusiasm in her voice. Wouldn’t the daughter who desired to dabble in the turbulent waters of the powerful be the more ideal choice for a wedding of state? “I take it you like politics about as much as I do?” Kinsey turned his head to the trial ahead. Then, just as if his tone hadn’t been perfectly clear, he offered, “Which would be very little.”
“Certain parts are not so bad, but others, dreadful.”
“I think it’s all dreadful.” He chuckled.
“The political process has its purpose at times. Communities cannot work effectively without structure, and politics provide a method for managing the bureaucracy of decision making and performing actions on the behalf of all.”
Kinsey focused on the large grouping of trees just before them. “Too bad we aren’t more like trees.” He gestured to the thicket. “You don’t see them killing each other over a border dispute.”
“They also do not build empires, care for the needy, or farm the land for crops, but yes, it is too bad.
” The princess paused and regarded the grove, then added, “On the other hand, they do prevent others, not of their kind, from growing, and they do compete for the resources of light and water, shading out competitors and invading with their roots and changing the nature of the soil beneath their canopies.” She smiled grimly and opened her palm toward the approaching trees. “What you have here is actually a very slow war, if you think about it.”
Kinsey was a bit taken aback. He had been proud of his peaceful tree example. They didn’t look to be warlike, standing in their untidy rows, shaded ground below. Even as he considered Sloane’s words, his perspective on the copse changed, and now he could see the lack of diversity in the thick grove of trees. Small saplings at the edges of the wood leaned away from the larger specimens, struggling to reach the light at the fringe. The very ground below the oaks had been cleared for paces in every direction from the boles, except for a few struggling weeds.
Well, she can twist things like a politician, to be sure, he thought. Rolling his shoulders in mild agitation, he blew out a breath before trying again. “Do you have plans for your two nations, once united, that is?”
She leaned back in her saddle. “I haven’t really thought about it that much. I have been too concerned about my future husband’s looks to worry about such trivial things as the fate of my two kingdoms.”
Kinsey barked a laugh. “I like you, Princess. Against my better judgment, I like you.”
“So glad you approve, Master Kinsey. Loyal men who actually like me are hard to come by.”
“I doubt that, Princess. I believe you will find many friends in the courts of Waterfall Citadel. They are in great need of a sense of humor. You are more than equal to the task.” Kinsey made an exaggerated bow in his saddle as they entered the dense patch of wood.
The princess narrowed her eyes. “I’ll take that as a compliment, Master Kinsey.”
He straightened and looked her in the eyes. “As you should, My Lady. The way I see it, once policymakers become too serious about every little thing, real trouble starts for the rest of us.”
“Why is it you have such distaste for political figures?”
“Do you want my honest answer or the polite one?”
“Honesty, please.”
“Most of the people in power I have dealt with are similar to the man sitting back in that coach with your sister. Self-serving, arrogant, and greedy. They are not my preferred choice of company.”
“I see.” Sloane’s brow crinkled prettily, her sapphire eyes glittering between narrowed lashes. “I suppose I’ve been sheltered from dealing with that sort of behavior, given my role.”
He chuckled. “Possibly.”
Sloane nodded her head in agreement, then asked, “So, what is your ‘ideal’ company?”
Kinsey looked around at the woods surrounding them. “This.” He swung his arm wide toward the trees. “Nature has always been my best companion, aside from Erik, that is.”
Sloane laughed softly and pointed farther down the trail. “His ears must be burning. Isn’t that him coming this way?”
Kinsey’s gaze followed her pointing finger and his stomach dropped as he saw the figure in the distance. “Ah… Damn!”
Camelyard galloped at full speed toward the caravan, Erik clinging to his back with one hand and waving his bow frantically with the other.
Kinsey wrenched back on Dak’s reins, pulling the horse into a rearing turn. “Arm yourselves!” he bellowed back to the line behind them.
The forest around them erupted with furious battle cries and the air buzzed with arrows.
Dak danced alongside Sloane’s mount as Kinsey desperately attempted to shield her with his body from the archers who stood out from the boles of the surrounding trees. He could feel the individual punches of the shafts that shattered against his armored back; he turned to the princess and slapped the rump of her horse with as much force as he could muster. “Ride, woman! Ride!”
Chancellor Tomelen’s quill scrawled across the creamy yellow parchment he’d pulled from one of the many leather tubes stacked on the cushioned seat beside him. The containers were crammed in every nook and cranny of the carriage, making the already confined space comparable to a hoarding raven’s nest. He had written a dozen letters on this trip and didn’t seem to be slowing anytime soon. Each letter was folded with practiced precision, then rolled up tightly and attached to one of the numerous messenger birds he had brought with him from Stone Mountain. The black birdcages had been strapped to every available bit of free space he could find: atop the carriage, in the supply wagons, and on the backs of pack mules. As the birds were sent winging and the cages emptied, each was broken down and stowed. Perhaps half remained of the many that had littered the processional.
Sacha leaned forward in hopes of getting a glimpse of the absorbed man’s workings. “How many different cages did you bring, Chancellor?”
“Kesh,” he said, absently, without raising his head. “Please, call me Kesh.”
“Yes, of course. Kesh?”
The slender man raised his smooth writing board slightly, blocking Sacha’s view. He dipped his quill in an inkwell that had been secured to one of the two armrests on either side of him with a thin piece of rawhide. “Eight. Four birds to a cage.” He flashed his teeth. “Work never ceases, it would seem.” He began writing again, the scribbling of his quill barely audible over the creaking carriage.
“I see.” Sacha fell back against her seat with a sigh. The boredom of their long journey closed in around her like the cluttered confinement of the carriage. Talking politics with Chancellor Tomelen was interesting to a point, but after three weeks of the same subjects, even the most interesting study could become worn. She needed a diversion. Renee and Rylan had dominated her thoughts since leaving Stone Mountain, serving only to magnify the gloom of her captivity. Riding outside of the carriage as her sister did would usually be her preference. Unfortunately, she still keenly felt the embarrassment of her disastrous conversation with Erik at the celebration and had no desire to revisit the incident.
Her thoughts paused on the farewell party and the brief encounter she had with the elven scout she had offended. “Tell me, Chan... Kesh, do you know much about Sha-ou-Taun?”
The chancellor’s quill came to a stop and he smiled. “Yes, I have read of the incident.” He looked up at Sacha and tapped the feathered end of his writing utensil on his thin lips. “What would you like to know?”
She wasn’t surprised by his answer. Actually, she had counted on it. The man had apparently read articles or histories of just about everything. At the least, he had proven the equal to every subject she had inquired about these past two weeks. “What happened? I mean, what caused the rift between the humans and elves after it was over?”
“That’s a very good question.” Kesh dropped his quill into the inkwell and leaned back in his seat. “Most of what we know is speculation, you must understand. The documentation concerning that particular conflict is patchy at best. There was a series of fires that broke out a few years after events settled, destroying many of our recorded histories. The Sha-ou-Taun documents amongst them.” The chancellor paused.
Sacha suspected his hesitation was for dramatic effect, so she indulged him. “Most intriguing. Please continue.”
“Yes. Well, you see, relations between humans and elves tended to be strained even before the Sha-ou-Taun incident started. Most of the hostilities revolved around the Tanglevine river. Whose boundaries started where? What level of control could be exerted along which areas of the river? Those sorts of things. Very messy business, even to the point of a few skirmishes being fought along the waters’ edge.” Kesh cleared his throat. “Anyway, in spite of the tensions around the Tanglevine, the humans and elves actually had a combined settlement to the far south. I’m sure you already know of this?” He arched an eyebrow.
“Yes, the place is called Dry Tower now.”
“Exactly.” The chancellor beamed. “B
ack then it was called Ou-Taun, literally meaning ‘of two.’ It was a small trading colony, maybe a thousand souls altogether—”
The carriage violently shuddered over some obstruction in the road. The jostling displaced several of the parchment tubes and spilled some of the precious ink onto the chancellor’s finely crafted pants. “Oh, for the love of...” Kesh snatched his board to one side with both hands to save the document he had been so engaged with earlier. “Could you?” He motioned to the inkwell with a nod. “There is a cork, just there.”
The item in question was nestled between Kesh’s thigh and the cushion upon which he sat. His finely embroidered brown coat with deep green collar and cuffs, as well as the soft, leather boots that swathed his feet, had both escaped inundation. Perhaps he would not count the well-chosen outfit a total loss.
Sacha leaned over, picked up the used cork, and capped the sloshing inkwell. Spotting the quill that had fallen between the chancellor’s feet, she leaned down further and plucked it from the floor. A generous portion of her bosom was exposed during the process and she did not miss the chancellor’s focused gaze as she righted herself to a proper sitting position. “Better?”
Kesh’s involuntary swallow made him pause before he could reply. “Yes. Much. Thank you.”
“I believe ‘a small trading colony’ is where we left off.”
His hand went to the rich collar around his neck and he tugged at it lightly while he rotated his head. “Right you are,” he continued. “Well, apparently, trade galleys whose last port of call was to have been the Ou-Taun colony, began failing to return. Travelers who had listed Ou-Taun as a destination in their journeys simply disappeared. In addition to this, all word stopped coming from the colony, and this silence persisted for at least a year. The humans and elves decided to set aside their bickering to join forces and determine what had become of their brethren to the South. At least, this is what the historians believe.” Kesh set his writing board on top of some of the leather tubes and began to inspect his stained pants. “A small army was raised, consisting of a blend of noblemen who had an interest in the colony and soldiers of both human and elven descent. Together, they traveled overland to the South to solve the mystery.”
Dark Fate: The Gathering (The Dark Fate Chronicles Book 1) Page 14
