Stormcaster (Shattered Realms #3)(45)
Their chosen road took them through Delphi, now ruled by a coalition of Delphian patriots. The town was swarming with travelers, so that it wasn’t easy to find a place to stay. The snows had been deep and relentless in late winter, and many travelers had stayed longer than they’d planned on, waiting for better weather. The city was in a bit of a hangover from its recent victory celebration, now grappling with the hard work of self-rule. There was still at least a salvo of Highlanders working with the fledgling Delphian army, but no one they knew.
So, in the interest of speed and safety, Ash and Lila did not announce themselves. He preferred not to have his return to the queendom heralded by a bird from Delphi. His father had given him a message for his mother when he lay dying on the streets of Ragmarket. Ash felt like he owed it to his mother to deliver it in person. Lila, too, seemed eager to move on, so they pushed on north after spending just one night in the gritty mining town.
The road north was crowded, too, in both directions. Families separated by the long occupation were taking advantage of the open border to visit relatives they hadn’t seen in decades.
Security was still tight at the border crossing between Delphi and the queendom. The border officer seemed to know Lila, though, and so accepted her companion, Ash Hanson, a farrier from Tamron. Ash kept expecting to see someone he knew, worrying that he might be recognized, but it didn’t happen. He guessed he was scarcely recognizable as the bookish, solitary thirteen-year-old who’d disappeared after his father’s murder.
As they climbed toward the pass, the air carried the sweet promise that spring would come. At lower altitudes, he saw maiden’s kiss and trout lily, buttercups and foamflowers and trillium. The names came back to him readily, as if he’d never been away. Who knew that the memory of flowers went so deep? Whenever they stopped to rest the horses, even Lila picked a few sprigs from the roadside. Who knew that Lila was fond of flowers?
At higher altitudes, flowers became scarce, and eventually the trail changed from mud to beaten-down snow. The high pass was a tunnel of weeping ice that would freeze again with nightfall. Now, the wind blew down from Hanalea, carrying with it the lonely sound of howling wolves. Gooseflesh rose on Ash’s neck and arms.
When the wolves walk, the queendom is in danger. That’s what the clan elders said.
The wolves are always walking in this queendom, Ash thought.
For once, Lila did more thinking than talking. Just past the top of the pass, she reined in and dismounted, then walked along the trailside, as if searching for something.
“What are you looking for?” Ash looked down at her from atop his pony.
“Here it is.” Lila dropped to her knees beside a half-buried stone marker. Using her gloved hands, she brushed snow away from it, then laid a small bunch of flowers on top.
“What is that?”
“My grandfather died here, defending your mother,” Lila said, coming to her feet and scrubbing snow off the knees of her breeches. “Your father found his body.”
“That was here?” After Hanalea’s death, the queen had kept her other children close, so Ash had spent little time exploring the borderlands.
She nodded. “I usually stop, whenever I come through here. I consider it a monument to foolish self-sacrifice.” Fitting her boot into the stirrup, she remounted her pony. “Let’s go.”
As Ash and Lila descended into the Vale, the trail widened until it was more of a road. Ash was shocked by how much had changed. Many small farms had been abandoned, their buildings falling into disrepair. Though Gray Wolf banners still flew celebrating the Delphian victory at Solstice, some homes stood dark and empty, their windows as opaque as the eyes of the dead.
“Too many houses, not enough people these days,” Lila said, following his gaze. “It’s hard to work the land with so many off fighting in the summers.”
The Dyrnnewater was running high, fed by the melting snow, roaring down out of the mountains on her way to the sea. They crossed the river several times on arched stone bridges, freezing spray needling their faces.
“Lila,” Ash said, “could I ask a favor?”
“Depends.”
“Just hear me out. When my father was murdered, it was like I turned into a different person. I did some things I’m not proud of.”
“Look,” Lila said, “if you want absolution, go to a speaker or a priest. I’m hardly in a position to give you advice.”
“I’m not asking for advice or absolution,” Ash growled. “I’m asking you to keep quiet about my being at Ardenscourt—all of that. I’d really like to go back to being Adrian sul’Han, aspiring healer. Just give me this, and I’ll owe you.”
“You think you can shed your past like a set of scummery smallclothes?” Lila raised an eyebrow. “If I were you, I’d want to take credit. I won’t say a word, if that’s what you want, but you’d better come up with your own story about where you’ve been all this time.”
Dirt turned to brick and cobblestones as they followed the Way of the Queens through the market districts of Southbridge and Ragmarket. Ash saw little on offer there—bags of barley, mostly, and rice from the Shivering Fens. Even the pawnshops and secondhand shops had little to display—most likely everything of value had been sold off long ago. Food was dear, though clan-made goods were less expensive than he remembered, reflecting the law of supply and demand.