Bring Me Their Hearts(104)
17
T’raGan
DHim Af-artora,
Af-reyun Horra
The effect of the prince’s speech can be felt as ripples throughout the camp—from the highest noble to the youngest stableboy, wine flows and smiles abound. Everyone is talking. A Cavanos of peace? A Cavanos without hate, without fear? Without the threat of war? Guards chatter—eager to see a time of peace wherein the chances they’ll die on the battlefield are slim. The cooks of the camp—women, mostly—titter excitedly about what they’d do if they could leave the safety of Vetris’s walls, where they’d go, what new and exciting places they’d see.
Hope.
That’s what drips from everyone’s mouth. I can almost see it as a golden honey on their lips as Fione and I walk through camp toward my tent after dinner. With the cold steel curtain of fear lifted, humanity doesn’t seem nearly so terrifying and strange. They have hopes and dreams, just like I do. Given the chance, they want peace just like I do.
“Never in a million years did I think our dour little prince would inspire so many,” Fione muses with a little laugh. “He’s barely been able to look at a noble without a sneer for ten years, and all of a sudden he’s instilling courage in them! What’s gotten into him?”
I touch my lips absently, the memory of his kiss lingering. I look up to see Fione’s face very near mine, her blue eyes voraciously curious.
“Now that I think about it, you’ve been awfully quiet the whole night. You’ve snarked maybe two times total, and that’s being generous. Do you have a fever? Is your brain addled?”
“If it is, you’re going to have to teach me how to use a salad fork again.”
A courier approaching us cuts off her laugh. He looks very young and thin compared to the royal couriers stabled at the Hunt—the same hungry thinness as that girl Lucien gave the gold watch to, the girl with one eye. He hands Fione a letter, and she unfolds it, reading quickly. Her whole posture changes in a moment—spine straight, skin draining to white so quickly it’s as if she’s made of paper.
“Fione—what’s the matter?” I ask. She swallows, eyes riveted to the page. Finally she shoves the paper at me. The writing is sloppy, but dire:
Checked Gavik’s cell. Guards tell me it’s been empty since this morn—he bribed one of them. The king’s been keeping it quiet. Last known location headed east from Vetris. Stay safe.
My stomach tumbles over itself. I look up from the letter, but Fione is already walking away from me, cane insistently thumping into the grass with great speed.
“Fione! Wait!” I finally catch up. “What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know.” Her knuckles gripping the cane are white, too. “There’s only one reason he’s headed this way—for me. I’m one of the scarce few he taught to solve puzzle-locks. He’d make his way down the list, I knew that. And now—” She swallows. “Now he’s coming for me.”
“I can help,” I insist. “I can challenge him to a duel, stop him at the gates, and you can escape—”
Her laugh is fragile. “You think he’ll stop to duel you? I took everything from him, Zera. And he’s going to take everything from me. But the joke is on him. He already did, all those years ago. All that’s left to take is my life.”
“We can get the guards to watch for him—”
“The guards won’t stop him. King Sref’s kept it quiet—they don’t know he’s a traitor. He’ll order them to bring me to him, and that will be the end of me.”
“Then—the royal guards! They listen only to Lucien—”
“As skilled as they are, the lawguards outnumber them fifty to one. You don’t think I haven’t thought of every possible avenue of escape already?” she snaps. “Nothing you suggest is any better than what I can think of.”
I flinch. Her venom is born of fear. But I deserve it anyway. She just doesn’t know that yet.
“Let me help.” I put a hand on her shoulder. “I’ll do whatever you need.”
“You’ll remain quiet about this. You’ll act like nothing’s wrong. And if he shows his face, I’ll tell him what I did—how I feel about him—once and for all. No masks. No facades. Only a niece who hates her uncle. Only a family argument that’s been brewing for thirteen years.”
Fione turns on her heel and enters her tent, never inviting me in. It’s a clear sign she wants to be left alone, and I have to honor that. It’s the least I can do. Or is it?
Ulla lets the dark settle in and the wine wear off before she announces that it’s time for the purification. She’s going on as if nothing has happened at all—the smartest move, and the one least likely to get her own skin in trouble later. Whatever repercussions ensue from Lucien’s speech, she’s staying far away from them. Despite Lucien’s words about shirking Vetris’s traditions, he obviously thinks the purification one is worth keeping—perhaps because it’s an Old Vetrisian tradition, and not a new one?
The servants saddle the nobles’ horses, Fisher preparing one of his gray mares for me.
“She’s gentle as can be, miss,” he insists. “You won’t have any problems with her.”