His head cocked to the side, and he edged closer. I couldn’t move without stepping toward the fissures of the cliff. He was only inches from me when he reached out, his fingers brushing my shoulder. Heat streamed through me.
“And what’s this?” he asked. “It bears some resemblance to tradition. To mark a celebration?”
I looked to where he had touched my skin. My chemise had slipped from my shoulder, revealing a portion of the lion claw and the vines of Morrighan. What had they done that I couldn’t be rid of this beast? Damn the artisans!
I yanked at my chemise to cover it. “It’s a terrible mistake. That’s what it is. Little more than the marks of grunting barbarians!”
I was incensed that this damnable kavah refused to let me go. I tried to brush past him, but a strong jerk left me suddenly facing him again, his hand securely circling about my wrist. We didn’t speak. He only stared at me, his jaw tense, as if he was holding back words.
“Say it,” I finally said.
He released his grip. “I already told you. Be careful where you step.”
I waited, thinking he would say more, do more. I wanted more. But he made no move.
“Is that all?” I asked.
His nostrils flared as he took a deep breath, and his chest heaved as he let it out again. “That’s all,” he said, and he turned and walked back down the path toward the canyon.
His bite will be cruel, but his tongue cunning,
His breath seductive, but his grip deadly.
The Dragon knows only hunger, never sated,
Only thirst, never quenched.
—Song of Venda
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Meet me at the temple ruins
east of the cottage. Come alone.
I turned the torn piece of paper over in my hands. The writing was nearly illegible, clearly written in haste. Who was this lunatic who thought I was crazy enough to travel into the forest and meet him alone based on a scrawled note tucked into my wardrobe?
When I found the cottage door ajar upon my return, I knew something was amiss. Pauline was careful about such things, never leaving anything out of place. I warily pushed the door open the rest of the way, and when I was assured the cottage was empty, searched it. Nothing was missing, though the remaining royal jewels could easily be found in a pouch in my saddlebag. It wasn’t a thief who had paid us a visit. The wardrobe door was also ajar, and that was where I had found the note, jabbed over a hook and not to be missed.
The command Come alone was the most unsettling.
I looked at the note again and drew in a sharp breath. There was no name on it. Maybe this note wasn’t for me. Maybe it was for Pauline. Perhaps Mikael had arrived at last! Pauline would be so—
I whirled and looked out the open doorway into the forest. But why a note? Why wouldn’t he just go straight into the tavern and sweep her into his arms? Unless he had a reason to hide. I shook my head and wrestled over what to do. I couldn’t show Pauline the note. What if it wasn’t from Mikael?
But what if it was, and I ignored it? Especially now with—
I threw open the wardrobe and put on Pauline’s black cloak. It was almost dusk. The dark fabric would give me some cover in the forest. I hoped the ruins weren’t a far trek and could be easily found. I unsheathed my knife and gripped it in my hand beneath the cloak—just in case it wasn’t Mikael who had left the note.
I traveled directly east, as much as the terrain would allow. The trees grew denser, and the moss on their northern sides thicker as less light filtered to the forest floor. There was no skittering of squirrels or birds, as if something had passed this way very recently.
The last glimpse of Terravin disappeared behind me. I thought about the Ancients and the unexpected places their ruins were strewn. My brothers and I called all the ruins either temples or monuments because we had no notion of what their original uses were. The few inscriptions that had survived the ages were in ancient languages, but the rubble left behind spoke of grandeur and opulence—like the immense ruins Rafe and I had gazed upon.
Whatever I had said today as we looked at them had disturbed him. Was it eschewing traditions? Or comparing artisans to grunting barbarians? Could it be his own father was an artisan? Or worse, a barbarian? I dismissed that possibility, because Rafe was quite articulate when he wanted to be, and contemplative, as though a great weight pressed on him. The things that matter. He had a tender side too, which he tried to hide. What weakness had made him share it with me?
My steps slowed. Just ahead was a wall of moss, its jagged edge softened by creeping forest foliage. Ferns sprouted from crevices, making it almost unrecognizable as anything manmade. I circled around, trying to glimpse any color besides green beyond the wall, looking for the warmth and brown of human flesh.
I heard what I thought was scraping and then a ruffle of air. A horse. Somewhere behind the walls, my mysterious host was hiding his steed. That meant he was here too. I pushed back my cloak so my throwing arm was free and adjusted my grip on the knife.
“Hello?” I called. I heard the crunching of footsteps, and someone stepped out from behind the wall. I screamed and ran toward him before he could even speak. I hugged him, kissed him, whirled around in his arms, so full of joy all I could say was his name over and over again.
He finally stepped back and cupped my face in his hands. “Had I known you’d be so happy to see me, I’d have been here sooner. Come, let’s go inside.” He led me into the ruin as if he was taking me into a grand manor, then sat me down on a tumbled block of stone. He looked me over, making a show of assessing my health, turning my face first to one side and then the other. He finally nodded, judging me fit, and smiled. “You did well, little sister. The finest royal scouts have been tracking you for weeks.”
“I learned from the best, Walther.”
He laughed. “Without a doubt. I knew when the stable boy said he saw you heading north, that meant you’d be going south.” He raised an amused brow. “But officially I had to lead a party north to keep up your ruse. I didn’t want to direct anyone straight to you, and up north I managed to leave more traces of your presence. When time afforded it, I came south with a few of the best to look for you.”
“You trust them?”
“Gavin, Avro, Cyril. You needn’t ask.”
They were Walther’s closest comrades in his unit. Cyril was a thin, scruffy fellow. It had to have been him that Pauline spotted in the tavern last night.
“So you approve of what I did?” I asked hesitantly.
“Let’s just say I wasn’t overly surprised.”
“And Bryn and Regan?”
He sat beside me and looped his arm over my shoulder, pulling me close. “My dear sweet sister, your brothers all love you as much as we ever did, and none of us blame you for wanting more from a marriage, though we’ve all been worried for your well-being. It’s only a matter of time before someone discovers you.”
I jumped up, shed my cloak, and spun for him. “Really? Look at me. If you didn’t already know who I was, would you have guessed I was Princess Arabella, First Daughter of Morrighan?”
He frowned. “Ragged clothes?” He grabbed my hand and examined it. “Chipped nails? Those aren’t enough to disguise what’s inside. You’ll always be you, Lia. You can’t run from that.”