Pieces of Eight (The Frey Saga, #2)(8)
Ah, hope. I almost clicked my heels to catch her right then, but she was riding by Chevelle. He tended to get annoyed at this sort of thing. And I still had an odd feeling about him, the dream, the memory. I tried to shake it off but I stayed back with Steed.
I had a lot to avoid thinking about as we rode, so I bantered with him like we had when we’d first met. It was nice to be out of the castle, to have a purpose. Even if I had to keep from thinking of what our purpose was so that I didn’t quiver in fear or get sick to my stomach with worry. When we talked, the laughs came easy and soon our pace had slowed as everyone joined in the conversations.
The casual pace continued throughout the day and everyone seemed in good spirits when we stopped, earlier than usual, for the evening. I groaned when Ruby suggested training before dinner so Chevelle offered to spar with me. He knew it was something I enjoyed, possibly the only training that was tolerable. Mostly it was because I didn’t get hurt but also it wasn’t as tiring. Everyone gathered around to watch as we clashed swords, a rhythmic clinking the only sound besides the occasional comment or murmur of approval from the makeshift audience.
As it often did when I was training with Chevelle, time slipped past faster than I’d realized. It was getting dark when he straightened and lowered his sword. I tried to wipe the silly grin off my face; I knew I was improving immensely, at this at least. Someone lit a flame and our audience moved to surround it. I started to follow but Chevelle stood for a moment, simply watching me. I thought he might have something to say but the pressure of silence started to build and I panicked, blowing out a nervous breath as I hurried past him to join the others.
I glanced at him frequently during dinner. He seemed to be watching me but sometimes I imagined stuff like that. I was, after all, looking at him. When it became obvious I was staring, I looked back down, nervously picking at my food, the whole process becoming daunting because I kept feeling his eyes on me.
After we’d eaten, Ruby came to sit beside me, smiling mischievously as she slipped me the diary. I should have known she’d heard. I held it in my hand, unsure now that I wanted to read it. Maybe Ruby had been right about being happier not knowing. I ran my fingers over the cover, etched with a V. Now I knew it was Vita’s initial there. I remembered once thinking it stood for Vattier. I’d been wrong about so many things.
I tucked it into my bag. After the day we’d had, I didn’t want to lose the good feelings just yet.
But I should have known better.
Chapter Three
Recognition
I’d fallen asleep thinking of nothing more than the patterns of crossing swords (choosing to avoid the thoughts of Chevelle) so I was surprised, in my dreams, that it was Fannie I’d seen. It was a familiar dream but I couldn’t be sure why. I was taking in the scene from above, my vision slightly off. I could see her there, wild, violent. She was destroying the village around her, uprooting trees, burning them to ash. And she was laughing. As I watched the devastation, I recognized the villagers as my own, but even in my dream, that was not the worrisome part. There was something frightening about it, but not the broken bodies, not the demolished grounds. Something else, something I couldn’t quite grasp…
I woke unsettled. The group still seemed in their elevated moods, but I couldn’t shake the foreboding. I was quiet as we mounted and started back on our path. We had been riding long enough that the way had settled some. It wasn’t as steep or rocky as it had been so I was able to relax a little, physically anyway.
I guessed it was because I was thinking of her, but I realized that I knew something about Fannie. Something that I was sure hadn't been explained to me. It might have only been a dream but it seemed like it had just come back, or been there, unnoticed until I'd thought of her. However it had happened, it was there and it was, like all my other "new" memories, odd.
What I knew was that Fannie had been skipped over, older and rightfully next in line for the throne before her sister. Their father had for all public purposes disowned her, instead choosing my mother as his secondary, his heir. The details weren't all there in my mind but I remembered from reading my mother's diary that from an early age Fannie had been shunned for her light features, a product of her mother's heritage, and was a disappointment because of her lack of power, or maybe a uniqueness, that her sister apparently possessed.
It was disturbing to turn up new information in such a way. Most of the recovered memories came to me in dreams, which could be slightly confusing at times because the dreams often seemed real enough to be memories and the memories often so strange they could have been dreams. Chevelle had once told me that he thought the memories found their way out easier in my sleep, that they didn't have to fight so hard to be released from their bonds while my mind was resting and unable to resist. It had made sense. But now, now I wasn't sure they couldn't just slip through at any time. Or maybe they were there and I simply hadn't sifted through them enough to find out. A shiver ran through me, though I was wrapped tightly in my cloak.
A rock clattered down the path, knocked loose from a horse hoof, and I stiffened. Embarrassed, I adjusted in my saddle and tried to relax my posture before anyone saw how jumpy I was. I casually looked right and left, checking the faces of the others. They seemed oblivious. Or maybe they were just getting used to me.
The dream had shaken me and I needed some peace of mind so I closed my eyes and drifted, finding solace in the bird soaring overhead. Once above, I glided for a while in large, calming circles. Eventually, I looked down at our group and then scanned farther out, surveying the mountain and our path ahead. I wasn’t positive where we’d be going, but if I could do a sweep of the land every morning… or maybe a few times a day…