A carriage drawn by black stallions with gleaming coats waltzed down the road halting right in front of Rea. The crest of the royal family, two arrows laid in an X, was embossed on its ebony exterior.
A liveried coachman opened the door for her studying her face with barely disguised distaste. Suspicion and prejudice swirled in his eyes: Why is the master with a Suveri? Has he lost his mind? The unspoken questions rang through Rea’s ears like gunshots.
“Where’re we going?” she asked, suddenly arcing back feeling the prickle of the general’s gaze at the nape of her neck.
“To eat the delicacy you wanted,” he replied.
“I know that. But where?”
“It’s called ‘The Bloody Sparrow’. If you couldn’t guess from the name, it’s a tavern, quite close to here. The proprietor’s wife makes the most delicious goulash in the kingdom.”
A tavern. So, there would be other people. At least that was reassuring.
“Is there a reason you’re hesitating?” Sebestyén asked helping her into his carriage.
“I was having doubts,” Rea admitted. The interior of the carriage was luxurious, with velvet paneled walls and opulently upholstered seats. Every detail was so grand. Fit for a duke;it only served to reinforce how out-of-place she was.
“Rest easy,” the general said. “I have little respect for trickery. Can I trust you to make good on your promise?”
Rea gave a curt nod. “The Suveri cannot read or write. Our word is our contract. You may start taking lessons tomorrow if you wish. I live just outside the town’s borders, in a tiny shack by the grasslands. It might prove…challenging to locate.”
“I can manage,” said General Sebestyén. “Shall I meet you there at dawn’s first light?”
“I might still be asleep at dawn’s first light.” Rea fidgeted with the sleeve of her dress. “How about the afternoon?”
The general rubbed his jaw. “I’ll rearrange my schedule.”
And with no more words exchanged between them, they departed the prison and arrived at the tavern, where they an enthusiastic, slim lady with curly brown hair and her equally obsequious husband greeted them.
“Are those tattoos?” Despite her amicable demeanor, the woman couldn’t hide her shock. “You want us to serve a Suveri, your highness?”
“No. I want you to serve me.” The slight lowering of his pitch, that extra air behind the vowels…his display of authority was both subtle and over-the-top. Threatening yet sweet. Rea supposed there was a reason General Sebestyén was a warlord. He could command anyone to do his bidding with nothing more than the right tone of voice. “Please provide two goulashes to the room upstairs. I assume it’s vacant?”
“Certainly.” The proprietor’s eyes narrowed. She bit her lip so hard, it started to bleed. “We’ll bring up your order soon.”
The rest of the morning was a blur. Rea only remembered the barest of details about the furnishings in the dining room upstairs, likely because there weren’t many furnishings to remember. But she couldn’t forget the goulash. It was divine, so different from the food of the Suveri. Juicy. Spicy. Rich. Complex. Heart-warming and stomach-filling. Or maybe it felt that way because of her long bout of starvation.
She finished the meal in the blink of an eye. The general, though, took his time. Because the room was so tiny and sparsely decorated, she couldn’t avoid meeting his gaze every now and then.
“I realize I’m easy on the eye, but could you stop staring at me like a love-struck maiden?” He set his spoon down. “Having so much attention focused on me affects my digestion.”
Rea blushed. “Love? I hate you, general. Despise you and your kind. Don’t forget that.”
Her father would still be alive if not for the callous cruelty of General Basa and the warlord who turned a blind eye to everything going on in his territory. They were both equally responsible. She wouldn’t forgive either of them.
“Then I’m glad.” The warlord’s response surprised her. How could someone be happy to be hated? “In my experience, hate tends to be simpler than love. And far more enjoyable for both parties involved.”
Rea couldn’t tell if he was jesting or serious. Probably both. Sinister undercurrents throbbed beneath his words, but before she could decipher them, he rose from the table, and she, too, jerked to her feet.
“It’s time to leave,” he announced.
“I’ll make my way home on my own,” Rea said when they were outside the tavern. Their paths diverged there. The palace and the valley were in opposite directions. “I have no wish to spend more time in your company. Tomorrow will come soon anyway.”
The warlord chuckled. “You really do hate me.”
“But I will still keep my promise,” she emphasized. “I bid you farewell now.”
Without giving him time to respond, Rea dashed down the street, her chest filled with both anticipation and worry for the future.
Sebestyén
He’d first seen the lone woman plucking dahlias on the hill fifteen full moons ago.
Passing by on the way from Fregl, he’d taken an uncharted route and ended up wandering into Crua Valley, where the Suveri congregated every other year. It was an isolated region, avoided by the villagers for fear of encountering a Suveri and being possessed by their magic.
His horse, fatigued from the long journey, had given up beside a puddle.
And that’s where he’d laid eyes on her. The sadness of her crooked back, the graceful way she wiped the sweat off her brow, her fierce determination to survive despite being confined to a tiny plot of land on a godforsaken hill…it had all called out to him in a mysterious way.
Before he could catch himself, he’d begun frequenting that nook in the valley. He’d started anticipating the tunes she would hum as she worked herself to the bone. He couldn’t help but wonder if the tattoos on her hands carried some special meaning, or if she was an outcast from her tribe, and if she wasn’t, why they’d left without her.
To be fair, it was a way to relax. Looking at something soothing and beautiful, letting his worries about feeding his soldiers and conquering countries fade away.
Not once had he intended to get close to her, to speak to her, to touch her. To be anything to her but a phantom.
They were like sky and earth, meant to look upon each other without ever meeting.
When winter had stormed in with blizzards and snowfall, blanketing the valley in unending frost, he’d left food outside her doorstep so she wouldn’t perish in the cold.
For she was a Suveri, not welcome anywhere. If she traveled to town to buy food, people would hurl stones at her and exorcise her like a ghost. Even if she covered herself, she likely had no money to buy a meal. The Suveri were an isolated tribe, moving from place to place, living on the fringes of the kingdom, surviving through sheer adaptability.
They were also the only humans who could wield any form of magic, which in a way, meant they weren’t humans at all. Their magic was in their tattoos, which some thought were a curse bestowed by an evil power.
Alisia wasn’t kind to those with magic.
His thoughts slowed as that lone hut came into view. It was nothing more than a tiny speck of brown in a landscape of rolling green hills, easily missed by any passer-by, and if seen it would be mistaken for an abandoned site.