21
Boredom, anxiety.
Anxiety, boredom.
It was the fifth day into their journey east, and when Tasia didn’t feel one, she felt the other. Bored because, day after day, she spent every daylight hour jostled along a bumpy road in a stuffy carriage. Her arse was sore from all the bouncing; she sweated beneath her traveling clothes; and the constant movement made her seasick. On the first two days of their journey, she tried reading, but found the ever-rocking carriage nauseated her whenever she looked down at the page.
Norix and Joslyn shared her carriage, and the three of them talked sometimes.
Or more accurately, Joslyn and Tasia talked when Tasia could get the guard to string together more than a sentence at a time, while Norix often lectured for hours on end. Which meant that being inside the carriage with him was like being trapped inside an interminable lesson.
Occasionally, he would change carriages to ride with General Remington, where the two of them no doubt either argued nonstop about the Kingdom of Persopos or else conspired together on how to script exactly what Tasia would say when she visited the generals in the field.
“She’s obstinate and childish,” she could imagine Norix complaining. “I don’t know what the Emperor was thinking, naming her his heir.”
“And she still cannot accurately describe the difference between heavy cavalry and light,” General Remington would answer.
They could both lecture her all they wanted to. She listened to Norix and Remington, but she didn’t intend to follow their script. She had her own instincts, her own mind. Ultimately she was the one who’d be commanding these generals one day, not her two advisors. That was one of the pieces of advice her father had given her before she’d left:
“Always recognize the value of your advisors, and respect the wisdom they bring to the table. But also recognize their limitations,” he said. “Norix is the wisest of the Wise Men, that is certain, but I didn’t choose you as my heir simply because I could be assured of your loyalty. I chose you because I believe your instincts are in line with my own.”
It was the kindest thing he had ever said to her in almost nineteen years of life, and similar to something Joslyn had told her almost a month before. Tasia was determined to prove them both right.
But there was also the anxiety.
At least her lifelong tutor’s lectures provided her with some distraction. When he left her alone with Joslyn, sometimes they would attempt a game of Castles and Knights, but most of the time, they just stared out the carriage window at the passing landscape. It gave Tasia far too much time to dwell upon the task ahead of her.
Almost anything could happen once they arrived at the front in another ten days. She might be successful in her mission: She would talk to common soldiers, to officers and generals, bringing them words of encouragement, boosting their morale, and restoring their will to fight, all while Norix and Remington worked behind the scenes to find out the truth about General Telek and what was going wrong in the war.
But then again, she could just as easily fail. She could fail to inspire anyone. And Norix and Remington could fail to learn anything that would help them end the war once and for all.
She comforted herself by thinking that even if the mission failed to bring back anything new and valuable to her father, at least she was doing something useful for once. At least her father and the council knew she cared about the future of the Empire.
That counted for something… didn’t it?
Anxiety. Boredom.
Boredom. Anxiety.
#
On a sunny mid-afternoon on the sixth day of the voyage, after a water and hay break for the horses and a short meal for the travelers, Norix excused himself to one of the other carriages and Tasia found herself riding alone with Joslyn once again.
She watched the guard across from her discretely, trying to think of a way to open a conversation. It wasn’t really that she had a burning desire to converse with her guard as much as that she was terribly bored and conversation with Joslyn seemed as if it might be at least marginally better than conversation with Norix.
“Are we practicing with the daggers again tonight, before bed?” she asked after a minute or two, her mind finally seizing upon a topic she might be able to get the guard to discuss.
Joslyn pulled her attention away from the carriage window. “That was my intention.”
“Ugh. I’m so sick of daggers,” Tasia said, although it was a lie.
Joslyn lifted an eyebrow and looked away, turning her gaze back out the window.
Why couldn’t Tasia simply admit the truth to Joslyn? Why couldn’t she tell her that she actually liked dancing around the evening campfire every night with the twin blades in her hand? She felt strong when she carried the daggers Joslyn had given her. She felt powerful. She felt like the generals she would soon meet would be wrong to underestimate her.
So why not tell the guard that?
Tasia hesitated. “I’m sorry,” she said. “The truth is that… I have been grateful for your service. And I’m probably the only Princess of Dorsa in all of history who’s ever learned how to wield daggers in both hands. That makes me unique. Doesn’t it?”
“Why did you agree to this mission?” Joslyn said instead of answering her question.
It was rather pert to ask, and it took Tasia a moment to decide if she would answer the question at all. But she’d learned to expect such occasional audacity from the guard, so she answered anyway.
“Because someone needs to boost the morale of the troops in the East, and who better to boost them than the Princess of the Four Realms,” she said. Then she added, “And while I’m there, Norix and Remington will make a detailed analysis of the Empire’s war efforts, get a better sense for the generals and their field commanders, and understand clearly what’s been going wrong. Then we can report back to my father so that he can decide what best to do next.”
Joslyn stared at her impassively, said nothing.
“What?”
The guard tilted her head to the side, studied Tasia for a long moment, and shook her head.
“What?” Tasia said again, irritated. “If you have something to say, Joslyn, just say it.”
“Your father named you his heir,” Joslyn said at last. “Not the Wise Man. Not the General. Yet you seem content to play the part of princess rather than ruler.”
“What do you mean? I am the Princess. And I’m doing exactly what Father asked me to do,” Tasia huffed.
“Are you sure about that?” said the guard. “He made you heir because he trusts your loyalty and your instincts. He does not trust Norix, and his patience with General Remington has worn thin.”
Tasia was taken aback. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Norix and Remington are the two advisors he trusts the most.”
The Princess waited for Joslyn to elaborate, but the guard only shrugged.
“He trusts Norix,” Tasia said again.
“Why do you think so?”
“Because he’s served my father since Father was younger than I am now,” Tasia said, thinking the answer was obvious. “Since Father was Adela’s age. And Norix served my father’s father, too, when he was the Emperor. He’s always served our family.” She paused. “Why do you say my father doesn’t trust him?”