“Do I know any stories,” I repeat, and pull my knees to my chest. My mind begins to wander, and before I know it, I’m telling him the story of Renovia, the one my aunts used to tell me at bedtime, when we were warm and safe in our cottage in the Honey Glade. It’s their favorite story, about the mage Omin and a queen and the love between them that established the ancient kingdom of Avantine, glorious and grand and full of magic and light.
I let myself get lost in the story, imagining my aunts gathered around me in bed. They seemed so big when I was so little and the way they spun this tale always left me in awe. At the end of it, Cal looks up at me. He is studying me the way I had studied him. “I know that story too,” he says. “You tell it well.”
Then without saying another word, he lies back and turns away so I can no longer see his face.
“Good night,” I say softly.
A moment passes before he responds. “Good night.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Shadow
WHEN I OPEN MY EYES in the morning, I find myself curled up against Cal, my head on his chest while his arm is wrapped around my shoulder. I must have rolled over in my sleep. I don’t move for a moment; he’s so incredibly warm, and I’m so comfortable. Eventually I try to shift away without waking him, but when I look up at his face I see that his eyes are open. How long has he been awake, knowing I was in his arms? He doesn’t appear to be perturbed by the situation. The thought bristles—perhaps he assumes I am just like any lady who waves her fan at him. Or maybe he was just being kind. It is very cold on the rocky cave floor.
“Look,” he says, and motions to his hand on my arm. His voice is as warm as the rest of him, still deep and scratchy from sleep.
“What is it?” I ask, looking down.
“The wound is nearly gone,” he says, turning it over. He runs his finger down the length of my arm where it was sliced open when I fell. His touch is so gentle that it sends shivers all over my skin.
We look at the wound together. There’s still a pink line where the cut was, but it’s almost completely healed over, and the bruises have faded away as well. “You were right,” I say. “Your father’s salve is miraculous. It’s even better than Aunt Mesha’s. Don’t tell her I said so.”
“Never,” Cal says, raising his hand as if he’s swearing an oath.
“I suppose that means we’re ready to move on now,” I say, getting up from his embrace. I wrap my arms around myself, but they are not even half as warm as his.
He doesn’t seem to notice my absence; he’s already intent on what lies ahead. “Yes, breakfast first and then we can discuss what to do once we get into Montrice.”
Fish was never my favorite, but somehow it has become one. Freshly caught as before, it is divine, even without seasoning. We eat five between the two of us, barely speaking until we’ve consumed every last morsel.
Cal works a stick between his teeth after eating. “We need a plan. The problem is, I don’t know exactly what I’m planning for, so we will have to change course as we come upon obstacles.”
I nod, thinking of the forged work order and how I chopped my hair off before running away from home. Running away from home—that’s exactly what I did, so of course they used the orb to try to find me, and they cast a locus right away, no doubt. Except that spell couldn’t reach as far as Deersia, let alone beyond it. Has Ma been informed of my disappearance? I wonder. If only I could communicate with them somehow, let them know I am safe. After all, if I am with Caledon Holt, it’s probably the safest place to be in all the kingdoms.
“I’ve only been to Montrice once, and that was some time ago. The people are friendly enough, but false words mask true intentions. Don’t forget that.”
I assure him that I’m naturally distrustful and he smiles once more, his dimple winking at me. I try not to look directly at his face; it’s too distracting. I remember what he told me earlier, that the queen believes someone in Montrice—someone powerful—is working with the Aphrasians to overthrow the Renovian monarchy.
“What I don’t understand is how the grand prince was an Aphrasian. He was so devoted to the royal family,” I say.
“A loyal façade hides the worst kind of traitor,” Cal says.
I shift uncomfortably. “And I thought we were at peace with Montrice.”
“Well, it has been about eighteen years since they last tried to assassinate the queen. I suppose that means we’re due for another conflict.”
“I’ll never understand that. Why can’t people be satisfied with peace? It’s as if they do everything possible to avoid harmony between the kingdoms.” The thought of another war with Montrice infuriates me. Such a useless loss of life. Innocent people used as pawns to carry out the whims of the aristocracy.
“You know that and I know that, but we aren’t the ones who benefit from war. We’re the ones who suffer so that others gain,” Cal says darkly.
“Why do what you do, then? Why work for the crown at all? You have the smithy. Couldn’t you do that instead of being in the queen’s service?”
Cal doesn’t speak. Then he sighs and rubs his face with his hands. “Because I have to.”
I can tell he has more to say, so I let him talk.
“My father made a blood vow to the queen. But he died before it was satisfied. So it passed on to me. Now I must satisfy it.” A blood vow? I’ve only heard of them from the old tales my aunts read to me. It seems so . . . barbaric. Evil even. The blood in my veins runs cold at the thought.
“Why did he do that? What do you have to do?” I think of the path my mother and aunts set for me. I veered off it on my own, with no consequence so far. But a blood vow—if the stories are right, then Cal’s very life has barely been his own.
“After the Battle of Baer, the queen fell apart. She wouldn’t govern. She wouldn’t leave her rooms. She wouldn’t even lower the palace flag to confirm the king’s death. My father was there to protect her, but he couldn’t do that for long if she wasn’t able to perform the most basic duties. The kingdom would look weak, it would be invaded, and that would be the end of us. There’d already been an attempt on the queen’s life soon after her pregnancy with Princess Lilac was announced, which sparked the Aphrasian Rebellion in the first place.
“The only way he could rouse her from her grief was by promising her the Deian Scrolls. She insisted on a blood vow, so he made it. He was foolish and shortsighted, I guess, but the kingdom was on the verge of collapse. One victorious battle meant nothing if the queen let it all fall to pieces. He intended to return the Deian Scrolls to her long before I came of age, but that never happened. So now I must.”