Chapter Four

VITALIYA

 

Vitaliya awoke the next morning as the sun rose, still cradled in the grass nest she’d spun for herself and Ioanna. In the night, a few wildflowers had bloomed around her, a side effect of the magic she’d poured into the spot.

Vitaliya looked around, expecting to see Ioanna still asleep. But the space beside her was empty. She tried to get up, but her legs had become tangled in the long strands of woven grass, and she fell to the soft ground.

Ioanna stood by the horses, staring out in the direction of the road. Her fingers were slightly curled like she was preparing to summon her magic. But she did not. She merely stood and watched.

“Hello,” said Vitaliya. “Do you want more oranges?”

Ioanna turned around, her face unreadable.

“I can get us some,” continued Vitaliya, determined to be helpful. She wasn’t really in the mood for oranges. She wanted something warm and substantial, but they had no options. “Maybe I’ll pack some? In case we can’t find more food later.”

Ioanna nodded, and Vitaliya went to the tree she’d poured her magic into last night. The branch was still laden with fruit, and she grabbed as many as she thought would fit in their bags.

“Have there been any soldiers?” asked Vitaliya.

“Not that I’ve seen. Perhaps they passed us in the night. Or maybe…”

“Maybe Netheia gave up!” suggested Vitaliya, determined to interject a bit of cheer into the conversation.

“Mm,” said Ioanna.

“I can’t wait to meet your grandmother. I’ve heard of her, but nobody really seems to know much about her. She’s a very mysterious figure in Vesolda.”

“In Xytae too,” said Ioanna, turning away from the road at last. “I don’t think there’s anyone in the world quite like her.”

“I’d like to know why she gave up her crown. It must have been a difficult decision.”

“Not at all.” Ioanna struggled to place her mount’s saddle on its back, and Vitaliya came around to help her with it. “She’s never made any secret of the fact she hated her title, and she’s quite pleased with herself for managing to shake free of it.”

There were few people on the road at such an early hour, and the sun was not too strong yet. They rode along in silence for a time, and Vitaliya watched as the woods beside the road changed to neglected farms with broken fences.

“These fields look terrible,” she observed, canting her head in their direction.

“Well, it’s not time for planting yet,” began Ioanna, but Vitaliya shook her head.

“This is more than just a season’s worth of growth. These fields haven’t been cleared or tended for years.”

“Oh,” said Ioanna. “Well, I don’t know. Perhaps the soil is tainted?”

“I don’t think so. The weeds are growing just fine.” Vitaliya would not pretend to be any sort of authority on farming practices, but her time spent using her blessing for the benefit of Vesolda had managed to teach her a few things. “I’ll ask when we go into town. That’s very strange.”

Besides, everything Vitaliya knew about Xytae suggested they were shipping a significant amount of their harvest out to the war effort. She’d even heard rumors they were decreasing their sales to Thiyra, the mountainous continent to the west not suited for farming.

Soon enough, Vitaliya caught sight of a little village with thatched roofs and more fields. As they rode toward it, Vitaliya glanced over at Ioanna. Her face appeared as solemn as ever, but her shoulders were tense as she examined the road ahead of them. Doubtless she was expecting soldiers to come intercept them. Vitaliya couldn’t bring herself to worry about that very much, though. They were outside of the city now, so surely Netheia would have given up? Vitaliya certainly would have if she’d been in Netheia’s place.

But then, Vitaliya would never be in Netheia’s place. She had no intention of ever standing between her older brother and the Vesoldan throne. Being the Queen of Vesolda might be fun for a few days. But once the coronation and parties were all over, everyone would expect her to settle down and listen to their problems and never leave Bergavenna or do anything fun ever again. They might even try to talk her into getting married.

Vitaliya looked at Ioanna again and wondered if she ought to suggest Ioanna forget about being empress and try to enjoy her life. Perhaps it would be a little insensitive given everything that had happened yesterday. Maybe it would be better if Ioanna worked it out for herself.

As they arrived in town, Vitaliya could not help but compare it to the farming communities she’d visited to help with the harvest. True, those had all been within a few hours of Bergavenna, but they weren’t terribly far from Xyuluthe now. Yet this town looked rather sad. The homes were all in need of repairs, and a few of them were so poorly maintained Vitaliya hoped they were standing empty. No flowers, nor statues, nor any other kind of decoration added any sort of charm or personality to the community.

Desperate to see something other than a dusty main road and wilted, withered trees, she looked around for a building that might be a temple. Back in Vesolda, a place like this would probably have a Temple of Eyvindr. Or if it wasn’t large enough to justify such a thing, they might have an undedicated temple, plain and simple, kept tidy by the children of the town and open for any traveling priest or priestess to use. The priestesses of Pemele, who performed marriages, and the priests of Adranus, who performed healing and cared for the sick or performed funeral rites for the dead, were the ones most frequently traveling from place to place.

“Does anyone live here?” murmured Ioanna.

That was an eerie thought. What if the entire town had been deserted? What if they went inside the nearest building and found corpses ravaged by a plague or mauled by a monster?

“Maybe we should go,” suggested Vitaliya. “Forget this place. Forget the fields. Let’s just leave.”

“No,” said Ioanna. “What if they need our help?”

“Then they could have walked to Xyuluthe and asked.” Vitaliya hadn’t meant for it to come out as cruelly as it did, but she still thought she’d made a good point. They were only a day’s ride from the capital, even if it didn’t feel like it. Standing there in the middle of a quiet village, surrounded by nothing but sad, overgrown fields, it was difficult to believe they could be back at the Imperial Palace before sundown if they decided to give up and turn themselves in.

It seemed as though they’d stepped into another world.

“Maybe this is Iestil,” murmured Vitaliya, naming the plane of Adranus, God of Death and Tenth of the Ten. “Maybe we’re dead. Maybe we died in our sleep.”

“It can’t be. I’m going to Solarium,” said Ioanna very seriously. “Besides, Iestil isn’t empty either. It’s filled with hundreds of thousands of people.”

“Dead people.”

“It’s just a village,” Ioanna insisted. “Come on, let’s knock on some doors.”

Vitaliya wished she had a knife. All the Xytan nobles carried weapons, some openly at their belts and some tucked away. During her brief time in the palace, Vitaliya had taken note of rings that concealed needle-sharp blades, or long, decorative pendants that came to a sudden point, and even metal hairpins that had been sharpened into knives.

If she carried such things in Vesolda, everyone would think she’d gone mad. But in Xytae it was normal, even expected. She wondered if Ioanna had any hidden weapons. From what she’d heard and seen, Vitaliya doubted it. And Ioanna had Iolar’s defensive magic, so perhaps she didn’t need such things.

Vitaliya thought of her own magic, trying to imagine a way it might be turned into something she could use to defend herself. The only thing she could think of was calling up thorny vines, but that would be reliant on what plants were around at the time, and anyone with a sword would be able to cut through those in an instant.

Besides, Eyvindr would probably be displeased if he saw her using his blessing to hurt people, even if only in self-defense. Not that Vitaliya believed she’d be able to grow anything fast enough to intercept a soldier.

Ioanna got down from her horse and moved in the direction of the nearest house. Vitaliya slowly did the same, remaining far enough behind her that she could turn and flee if there was something dreadful within.

But Ioanna knocked, and knocked, and there was no reply.

Vitaliya wasn’t sure if she wanted to suggest trying to force the door open. On the one hand, answers might be inside the house. On the other hand, so could any number of awful things…a trapped monster, a waiting wildcat, a rotting corpse.

But Ioanna was already moving in the direction of the next dwelling, unafraid. “There must be people living here,” she insisted, despite all evidence to the contrary. “Even if it’s only a few.”

Vitaliya turned her eyes back to the neglected fields. “Let’s just go. Please? I’m scared. This place is eerie. I feel like something’s about to jump out at us.”

“It’s just a village,” Ioanna insisted again. But perhaps she was beginning to feel unsettled too because she nodded. “All right. We’ll just check the temple, and then we’ll go.”

The temple, as Vitaliya had expected, was undedicated. It was very small, about the same size as the surrounding houses, and built from plain gray stone. The lack of decoration gave it a cold, austere feeling. But as they rounded the side to approach the front door, Vitaliya’s eyes fell upon a small, open-topped wagon and a donkey.

“Someone’s here! Someone’s alive!” She went to the donkey and patted its neck affectionately. “Or if they’re dead, I guess we have a cart now.”

“Stop saying people are dead,” said Ioanna.

“People are dead. People have been dying for thousands of years.”

“Maybe, but you don’t have to keep bringing it up.”

The sight of the wagon made Vitaliya feel better, but she still stood back and allowed Ioanna to open the door to the temple. She stepped inside, and Vitaliya followed cautiously, keeping one foot in the doorway so the door could not slam shut and trap the two of them inside forever.

The inside of the temple was made from the same plain stones as the exterior. A few small windows let in a little bit of daylight, but none of the candles had been lit. The floor had not been washed in a long time, and dried mud stuck to the flagstones. Enormous balls of dust gathered in each corner, and cobwebs grew over every surface. A few rows of hard wooden benches filled the largest part of the room, and near the front was a plain altar.

But the temple’s strangest feature was certainly the red-brown chickens that wandered through the rows, pecking at spots on the ground and clucking softly as though they had every right to be there.

And standing just before the altar, folding a blanket into careful quarters, was a middle-aged man in brown robes. At the sound of the door opening, he jumped and gave a cry of shock.

“Oh!” he yelped. Then he took in the sight of Ioanna and Vitaliya. “Ladies—you nearly scared the life out of me! I thought I was the only one here.”

He was a priest. The color of his robes meant he was from the Temple of Cyne. Cyne was the God of Animals, and Eleventh of the Ten in Ioshora. Mostly priests of Cyne were called upon to serve as healers to animals that were sick or injured. They could usually be found in farming communities.

“We’re sorry,” said Ioanna. “We were only passing through and hoped to purchase supplies here. But it seems this village is abandoned.”

“It is,” confirmed the priest. “All the residents have gone to war, died, or moved away. I only stopped here for the night to take shelter in the old temple. You’re not far from Xyuluthe, though. You can purchase whatever you need there.”

“That’s where we’ve just come from, unfortunately,” said Ioanna. “We’re headed north.”

“You’ve been to Xyuluthe?” The priest looked curious. He tucked his blanket under his arm, pulled a large leather rucksack onto his back, and began to walk toward them. “Here, let’s talk outside. I forgot how badly this place needs to be cleaned. I might have been better off in the cart after all.” He made a sound with his tongue, and the chickens hurried after him, their long claws clicking on the stone floors.

“Has this village been abandoned for long?” asked Ioanna as they emerged into the daylight.

“A few years, I think,” said the priest. “It didn’t happen overnight. I’ve lost a few small communities to the war, and I expect I’ll lose more in the coming years. You’ll probably pass more if you’re going to be traveling. Be careful—bandits have been known to use them for camps sometimes.”

“I was never told of any abandoned villages,” said Ioanna, frowning deeply. “I’d think that would be important news.”

The priest shrugged. “I’m sure it was a decade ago. But they’re quite common now. We’ve grown accustomed to them.”

Ioanna did not appear to be at all consoled by this, and Vitaliya didn’t blame her.

“I heard a rumor last night,” added the priest. “They say Emperor Ionnes is dead.”

Ioanna nodded. “That is what they’re saying in the city as well.”

“Two priestesses came through last night a few hours after I arrived here. From the Temple of Reygmadra. They were looking for two young ladies. Princesses.” He gave them both a meaningful look.

Vitaliya really didn’t want to have to fight a priest, especially one of Cyne’s. She looked to Ioanna for help. But Ioanna’s face was stony and impassive and gave no indication of whether she thought the same thing.

“What else did they say?” asked Ioanna.

“Emperor Ionnes is dead, and Princess Netheia had been named his heir.” The priest paused again. “I asked how she could have been named after he was already dead, and they threatened to stab me. Very unpleasant women.”

“It’s not true,” said Ioanna. “She’s not been named heir. She just…believes she ought to be.”

“That’s about what I expected,” said the priest. “My name is Otho, by the way. I’ve got some spare robes if you want to be my acolytes.”

Ioanna frowned. “You want to help us?”

“If it means a chance at no more of this?” Otho made a broad gesture with his arm, indicating the entire abandoned village. “Yes. Certainly. If you don’t mind riding with the chickens. You are the princesses they’re looking for, aren’t you?”

Vitaliya liked to believe the best of religious figures, and priests of Cyne were not known for their ambitious natures. But what if Otho’s intentions were bad? What if he turned them in to Netheia for a reward, and set aside his wagon and chickens for a life of leisure?

But for some reason, Ioanna wasn’t suspicious. “Yes,” she said. “I am Ioanna of Xytae. And this is Vitaliya of Vesolda. We’d be very grateful for your aid. We’re very poorly equipped and don’t know this area.”

“Where had you hoped to go?” asked Otho.

“To my grandmother’s estate in Oredia.”

Otho nodded. “The area I am assigned to does not cover that far north, but I know the way. I do not think anyone will miss me for a few days. It is not the lambing season yet.” He pulled some brown robes identical to his own from the back of the wagon. “Put these on. If the priestesses come this way again, I’ll tell them I’m training you.”

The robe was loose enough that Vitaliya could wear her clothes underneath. It was a little too long and too large, but she supposed that was better than it being too tight. She drew the rope belt around her waist and knotted it, then looked over at Ioanna.

Vitaliya stifled a laugh. Ioanna was all but drowning in the oversized robe and resembled a child dressing in her mother’s gown. She’d never pass for an acolyte.

“Do you have scissors?” Vitaliya asked Otho. “We need to trim some fabric off, or she’ll break her neck when she takes a step.”

Otho finished placing his things and his chickens in the back of the wagon. Then he removed a heavy set of shears from one of the many bags obviously meant for sheep. “Hold still,” he warned Ioanna. “I don’t want to cut any fingers off.”

After the robe had been trimmed down to an acceptable length, Ioanna looked a little more dignified. And once she was back on horseback, it was harder to tell that beneath the robe was mostly air.

“Are the chickens your only companions?” asked Vitaliya once she was back up on her mount.

“Along with Daisy,” confirmed Otho, resting one hand on his donkey’s neck. “I had a dog, but he went to Ferra last winter, and I can’t bring myself to replace him yet. I expect one will adopt me soon enough, though. I’ve found I don’t frequently get a say in the matter.”

Vitaliya knew she wouldn’t be able to tolerate the lifestyle of a traveling priest, but she thought it sounded nice in its own rustic way. Especially if animals were involved. Still, she’d spent enough time among farmers to know it was not all delivering litters of puppies and brushing horses. Cyne’s work could sometimes turn ugly or tragic. It was the nature of…well, of nature.

As the wagon began to move, Vitaliya realized they wouldn’t be able to get to Oredia as soon now. But maybe slower was safer in this case. Especially if priestesses of Reygmadra were searching for them both. Besides, she wasn’t exactly in a hurry. She couldn’t go home until after the wedding, or else everyone might think she’d forgiven her father.

She wondered how long it would take for news of what had happened in Xyuluthe to reach Bergavenna. Would everyone assume she’d been killed during Netheia’s coup? Vitaliya curled her toes in delight. They’d be so sorry! She imagined them at her funeral (for, of course, they’d have to hold a massive state funeral for her), murmuring their regrets to one another. If only we’d listened to her. If only we hadn’t told her she was being a melodramatic child. If only we had mourned Queen Isabetta a little bit longer.

“What are you smiling about?” Otho asked Vitaliya.

“Vengeance!” Vitaliya cried happily. Otho gave a snort of laughter.

“Vengeance?” repeated Ioanna. “On Netheia?”

“What? No. I’m hardly even mad at her anymore.” Besides, getting vengeance on Netheia would probably be more trouble than it was worth. “I meant on my family. I’m sure they’ll be worrying about me soon once they learn what happened.”

“What does that have to do with vengeance?” asked Otho in confusion.

“Oh, never mind,” said Vitaliya because she couldn’t think of a way to explain the situation that didn’t make her sound deranged. “It’s not important.”

“You said you’ve lost communities to the war,” said Ioanna, and Vitaliya was grateful for the change in subject. “Do you mean they were all drafted?”

“Not all. Just enough the smaller ones could no longer sustain themselves. Villages don’t do well when there’s only tiny children and their grandparents. With no one to work the fields or the forges, they just wither. The children are orphaned or sent to live with distant family, and the grandparents die of old age or leave for larger cities.”

“I’m sorry,” said Ioanna. “I didn’t know—or else, I didn’t know it was this bad. If it’s any consolation, it’s always been my ambition to end the war with Masim. I’ve never seen the point in it.”

“That sentiment might gain you some support,” advised Otho. “The war might be popular in the capital, but I’ve seen nothing but suffering come from it. And for what? Are we all meant to migrate to Masim once the war is done? I’ve no intention of doing that. Xytae is my home and always will be.”

“I don’t know,” admitted Ioanna. “My father did always say Masim was a better place to live than Xytae.”

“Did nobody tell him he could have just bought an estate?” asked Vitaliya. “No need to mess around with soldiers and wars. He could have had a very nice mansion and a pet lion and a giant statue of Zeneen in the front hall.”

“I do not know,” said Ioanna. “I have never understood him. And he never understood me. I expect he did intend to make Netheia his heir. I suppose I can count myself fortunate he never had the chance.”

Vitaliya was not sure what to say. Her instinctive response of why would anyone want to be an empress anyway? felt no less insensitive than it had earlier.

“Well,” she said, “do you think your grandmother will support you?”

“No,” admitted Ioanna. “I just think she won’t let Netheia kill me.”

“It’s a start, I suppose. And maybe we can change her mind. Even if she doesn’t care about rightful succession, maybe she’ll care about not letting the country go to ruin.”

“I don’t know if she’ll see it that way. I’ve never met a noble who thought the war with Masim wasn’t a glorious enterprise.”

“Well, they would say that if they didn’t want to be in trouble with your father, wouldn’t they?”

“Perhaps,” granted Ioanna, but Vitaliya could tell she didn’t really believe this.

They rode on in silence for a time, moving at a sedate pace so they would not leave Otho, Daisy, and the chickens behind in the dust. As the day wore on, a few travelers passed them, some moving away from Xyuluthe but most traveling toward it. Everyone they encountered asked if they’d heard rumors of Emperor Ionnes’s death and wanted to share rumors. Whenever this happened, Ioanna stared down at her mount’s mane and let Otho and Vitaliya do the talking. Vitaliya imagined she must be nervous, afraid one of the passersby would manage to identify her. Or perhaps she simply hated to be reminded of her father’s death.

Or maybe, like Netheia had claimed, she wasn’t very friendly.

But Ioanna had been friendly to Vitaliya from the moment they’d first met. She was certainly shy—and who wouldn’t be, growing up at such a miserable court—but obviously she just needed someone to show her a bit of kindness, and she’d open up. Vitaliya could do that.

The first town they encountered was quite small, by Vitaliya’s standards, but the fields were well-tended and clear, ready for the planting season, and she could see children running in the street as they approached. This would not be another eerie abandoned village.

“This is one of my towns,” said Otho with some pride. “We can get supplies here.”

“We need names!” Vitaliya realized. “They’re going to ask you about us—you’ll have to come up with fake names. Especially for Ioanna.”

“You’re right,” said Ioanna. “In that case—”

“I want to be Kreszentia,” interrupted Vitaliya, afraid Ioanna might have had the same idea and not wanting to lose out.

“That’s an Ieflarian name,” pointed out Ioanna. “And you’re obviously not Ieflarian. They’ll know you’re lying.”

“My mother was Ieflarian,” proclaimed Vitaliya. “I take after my father! Who was Vesoldan! But died! In a tragic…falconry accident.”

Ioanna groaned and pressed her hand to her forehead.

“Fine!” huffed Vitaliya. “I’ll be Floriana. You can be Kreszentia.”

“Nobody is being Kreszentia.”

“Why are you being so difficult?” sighed Vitaliya. “Fine. You’re Lucia. Otho, can you remember that? Floriana and Lucia.”

“I’d like to hear more about the falconry accident,” commented Otho. “I’ve never known anyone to die in that way. And I’ve seen quite a lot.”

“Oh, it was horrible!” cried Vitaliya, cheering up now since someone was playing along. “That’s why I won’t treat birds. I’m traumatized from the experience. If I see one, I’ll go into a panic. Cows and horses, certainly. Goats? I adore goats. But birds? I simply can’t stand them. I don’t even like couriers. The sight of them fills me with existential dread.”

“You are traveling with chickens,” Ioanna pointed out, casting a glance in the direction of the wagon where the two were settled, apparently accustomed to the bumping and rattling.

“Chickens don’t count as birds. They can barely fly.”

“Perhaps we ought to let Otho do the talking,” advised Ioanna. “He knows these people best, after all. We don’t want to arouse anyone’s suspicions.”

As they moved into town, people called greetings to Otho, pausing in their work to wave or, once they realized he was accompanied by two strangers, come over for a closer look. Vitaliya had the sense there wasn’t very much to do in town, and so someone coming by for a visit was more exciting than it had any right to be.

“Floriana and Lucia,” explained Otho, once enough people had gathered that he wouldn’t have to repeat himself. “The temple in Xyuluthe has asked me to take on acolytes to gain practical experience. They’ll be assisting me for a while.”

“You were in Xyuluthe?” asked one of the women. “Did you hear news of the emperor? There are rumors he was killed in battle.”

“That is what I am hearing as well,” agreed Otho. “It seems to be the truth. But the empress has made no formal announcement yet—or if she did, I missed it.”

Nobody in the crowd appeared particularly shocked or saddened by the news. Vitaliya wondered who they believed would be their next ruler. Would they prefer Netheia, or Ioanna? Or did they see them as interchangeable?

“We had priestesses of Reygmadra visit last night,” commented another man. “We thought they’d come to convince more of us to join the army. But they were asking about the crown princess. Seems she’s gone missing. Claimed the empress had sent them to find her.”

“We saw them too,” said Otho. “Rather aggressive. We were glad to see them go. They didn’t give you any trouble, did they?”

“Searched every house,” said the man. “Had some of us wondering if they were priestesses at all, and not robbers who found some spare robes. But they didn’t take anything and left in a hurry. Doesn’t make any sense the crown princess would be gone, unless she doesn’t care to be empress after all. Like her grandmother.”

“Who knows?” said Otho. “In any case, we’ve come to see what supplies you can spare. Ah, yes—” he added as a child thrust a kitten at him. “Is this one of Snowdrop’s? You see, she didn’t need our help after all, did she? Cats are clever like that. Would you like me to take a look at her anyway?”

Otho would probably be a while, Vitaliya realized. Even if it wasn’t time for the lambing, the people of this town probably kept plenty of other animals they cared deeply for. She wondered if it would be the same for her if she’d joined the Temple of Eyvindr. If her farmers would be just as happy to see her when she came to town. Probably not. She wouldn’t make a very good priestess. It was better for everyone that she not have a job as important as taking care of the kingdom’s crops. Anything could go wrong.

She felt a little guilty Otho would have to use part of his stipend to purchase supplies for her and Ioanna, but she knew they could give him more of their jewelry to cover the cost. He would come out better for having helped them in the end.

The villagers went back to their business, and Otho went to see to their animals. Vitaliya and Ioanna, still in the role of his acolytes, followed after to see if he would need any help.

“I’m sure you’ve never seen a town like this before, have you?” Vitaliya murmured.

Ioanna shook her head.

“Don’t worry,” said Vitaliya. “I was intimidated too. When my parents first sent me to the farms, I mean. But I think people are just about the same no matter where they’re from or how they live.”

Vitaliya could not tell if Ioanna was consoled or offended by this observation because her expression of calm indifference never changed. Vitaliya hoped she did not take offense to the implication she was frightened of the townspeople. She only wanted Ioanna to feel more comfortable.

Their first visit was to Snowdrop, a white housecat who refused to come down from the roof where she slept and only flicked her tail a little when Otho called her name. The little boy who owned her said she sometimes went up there to get away from her kittens.

After that, they conducted an examination of the sheep, who were all in good health, and a visit to a very old dog named Amble, who rose up on shaky legs to greet them as they approached. Otho said there was nothing more that could be done for him as his owner already fed him a special blend of herbs to ease the pain in his joints. He explained how to make it and said the concoction worked on Men as well as animals.

Vitaliya found this very interesting, having never studied healing or alchemy even though her blessing would probably be conductive to the latter. She’d never really considered it even as a pastime. It might be fun to keep a little room filled with interesting plants, liquids, powders, and glass bottles. But maybe it was like farming: a bad idea for one as irresponsible and reckless as herself.

Fortunately, there were no terrible injuries to tend or other tragic events that required Otho’s aid. Vitaliya hoped most of his visits were as pleasant and easy as this one had been.

They left the town shortly after noon, the wagon loaded with enough supplies to last them into tomorrow, or perhaps the day after if Vitaliya found more fruit trees in the meantime.

“Will we reach another town before nightfall?” asked Ioanna.

“Unfortunately, I don’t believe we will,” said Otho. “But don’t worry, we’ll just set up a camp. I do it quite frequently when I’m caught between settlements.”

“I wonder if we’ll see those priestesses,” said Vitaliya.

“I doubt it. They’re probably far ahead of us now,” Otho stated confidently. “Besides, don’t worry—they’re looking for noblewomen, not acolytes.”

Vitaliya nodded and hoped he was correct. If he came to harm because he’d chosen to help them, she would never forgive herself.