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His stomach knotting, Danek studied the carnage. Bodies, swollen and death-distorted, sprawled upon the ground before the cavalcade. Others slumped over the edges of carts, and in their seats—shot through before they’d ever suspected an attack.
What an appalling waste of life. Some forty guards and merchants or dignitaries lay here, many clad in Ceyphraland’s conspicuous red and gold royal colors—obviously official emissaries heading toward Khelqua. Whose army had murdered these unsuspecting people?
Danek approached the ghostly cavalcade of carts and chariots, and wrenched an arrow from one of the bodies. Sun-burnished red wood gleamed at him. Yew from the Na’Khesh Mountains, north and east of here. Not the darker violet-brown tones of good Walhaisii yew.
Footsteps approached, light and quick. Lady Eliya, accompanied by others. When had he become attuned to her pace? Danek glanced over his shoulder at her, then shook his head. It would be best if she didn’t inspect the bodies. And yet, she’d be the wife of Laros Rakiar of the northern realms. Rulers must never feel safe and complacent. He wouldn’t lift a hand to stop her.
She approached, hugging herself, obviously physically suppressing her tremors, her golden eyes distress-widened. One step behind her, Valo stared at the slaughtered cavalcade. “Ceyphraland’s colors. Someone dared attack an official cavalcade.”
“Yes.” Danek faced the royal siblings. Showed them the traitor-arrow. “And this is Ceyphraland yew, from the Na’Khesh Mountains. Why would anyone from Ceyphraland attack their own people?”
Valo’s dark eyebrows lifted. “Is Ceyphraland mired in another civil war?”
Her troubled gaze flickering from the bodies, then up to her brother’s face, Eliya murmured, “We’ve heard nothing of another civil war in Ceyphraland. In fact, we’ve heard nothing from their king in almost two months.”
Danek lowered the stained arrow, hiding it from view. “Perhaps mercenaries purchased Ceyphraland weaponry for this attack.”
Khelqua’s princess studied the bodies again, tears glittering in her golden eyes. “These poor men. They had no time to defend themselves.”
“Or no suspicion that defense was needed.”
Valo stepped toward the lifeless cavalcade. “Perhaps they trusted their attackers. We shouldn’t be as susceptible. I’m commanding all my men to hold their weapons near—readied even while they sleep.” He looped one arm around his sister’s shoulders. “Eliya, don’t look at them so closely. You’ll give yourself nightmares.”
“I already suffer nightmares.” She looked up at Danek, the evening sunlight gilding her olive-brown skin, illuminating her pale eyes. “We should gather evidence of their identities, then bury the bodies.”
Gripping the polished, bloodied arrow within the folds of his cloak, Danek nodded. “I agree.”
He didn’t like her hushed composure. Emotional numbness often promised hysterics later. Did he misjudge her? Perhaps her preternatural calm meant that she was planning a defense.
If so, then he’d include himself in those plans. Until then, however, he’d oversee this encampment’s safety. He called to his men, “Double tonight’s patrols! Send two men down to Sevold Valley to order armed volunteers to join us—immediately. And before we leave, these bodies must be buried. Bring any unusual weapons or objects to me—anything to indicate this cavalcade’s destination and purpose!”
If the raiders and murderers remained nearby, he must vanquish them. These killings were too close to Walhaisii lands to be ignored.
ELIYA HEADED FOR HER cart and removed her exquisite crossbow case from among her most prized possessions. If she weren’t so upset, she would have smiled—she could almost feel Valo’s consternation as she opened the case and loaded her crossbow’s bolts into their polished, high-built chamber. The evening light glinted off the elegant violet-wood recurved bow, its layers as strong as they were decorative. Like her brothers and Jesca, she’d trained as an arbalest. All healthy and able royals of Khelqua were expected to master the crossbow, complying with Khelqua’s ancient traditions.
Crossbows, according to lore, had once saved the royal family from annihilation, and she and Valo were near-equals during royal competitions. He finished instructing their guards for the evening, then retrieved his own ironwood crossbow while she set up a target.
She’d just finished loading bolts into the polished chamber when the Walhaisii king approached, greeting her with an equal’s nod. “Lady Eliya. I’m pleased you’re obviously proficient with a crossbow. It’s best to be prepared.”
“Thank you for not trying to spare my fears of an attack.”
“You anticipate one.”
“Yes. All royals have enemies, don’t they?” She lifted the crossbow and rested its carved violet-wood butt near her shoulder, then hesitated. Torena and Vaiya lingered, but not close enough to hear. “Speaking of enemies ... do you believe Aretes is following us? Or that he will return?”
The Walhaisii king’s handsome face remained unreadable. “My men and I haven’t seen or heard traces indicating that we’re being followed. Nevertheless, it’s best that we’re prepared.”
He seemed so calm. Was he hiding distress over the attack on Ceyphraland’s people, as she was? Eliya concentrated on her target, lifted the golden lever above her crossbow’s stock until the bolt clicked into place, then swiftly lowered the lever and shot a bolt. The small missile lodged gleaming and peg-like in the target’s outer rim, shaming her. “I’m out of practice. But at least weapons will help us against mortal enemies. Unlike quakes and floods.”
Lord-king Danek agreed, his voice low and somber as a mourners’. “Despite the Eternal Liege’s prophecies, no one in this encampment believed the devastation could be so widespread.”
He’d mentioned the prophecies, and the Liege. Eliya looked up at the Walhaisii lord-king. “You follow the Eternal Liege.”
“Yes.”
Why did the knowledge comfort her? She lifted the shining lever, setting another bolt. “Before the quake, and the flood, I would have said I wasn’t wholly convinced of the Liege’s claims. But seeing His prophecy so overwhelmingly fulfilled ...”
She couldn’t finish. But words weren’t needed. Lord-king Danek nodded, obviously understanding her inability to discuss the prophecy foretelling Khelqua’s doom.
Eliya exhaled a calming breath and focused on her practice target. She mustn’t think of the prophecy’s pledge that Ariym would be swept away, and the king and lords would wail, helpless before the destruction. If her father and Iscah were gone, then so was Jesca. She’d ...
No. She wouldn’t think of Jesca and their family. She loaded and released bolt after bolt until each shot struck near-center on the distant target.
Lord-king Danek watched her practice in silence, while Valo and Torena waited nearby. Then, he watched Valo practice as Eliya gathered her gear and returned her crossbow to its case.
Was the cryptic Walhaisii ruler determining their fitness for hunting and confronting enemies? Most likely. She couldn’t blame him. Each arrow, sword, and bolt might mean the difference between victory or defeat.
She looked over at the ill-fated cavalcade, its doomed travelers now being buried by her servants and Lord Danek’s men. Torena approached, her veils fluttering in the light evening wind. For one childish instant, Eliya longed to crawl into Torena’s arms. Instead, she murmured, “Revered lady ... I wonder who killed them. And why.”
“As we all do, lady.” Torena’s saddened glance skimmed over the lost cavalcade, then studied the landscape around them. “This has always been considered an accursed place. Somewhere within these rocks lie the ruins of ancient Parneh.”
Eliya’s skin chilled at the name. Parneh. A rebellious city-state doomed by a girl-prophet. Both Parneh and the girl prophet thoroughly scorned by Cyphar’s chaplet-faith fanatics as mere legends. Tales told to children learning to read.
Were the legends true? These borderlands haunted one’s soul—forsaken enough to persuade Eliya of their disastrous history as recorded within the Eternal’s Sacred Words. “I hope we spend only one night here.”
“I’m sure we will, lady,” Torena answered dryly. “I, for one, won’t sleep tonight. These lands were condemned long ago. Some say that the Chaplet faith originated here. Others say that it emerged far away from Khelqua, in Pheniarpas, Cyphar’s birthplace.”
To distract herself and shake off her creeping fears of the lands around her, Eliya asked, “Which do you believe is the truth?”
“Pheniarpas.” Torena’s well-bred face hardened as her voice chilled. “The Chaplet religion fit Cyphar well. For the Chaplet faithful, the Eternal is never consulted directly. Any rebellion or lust can be overlooked and ‘forgiven’ if one pays enough. Entire kingdoms can be murdered for a price. Even the Eternal Liege was condemned. For a price.”
“I wonder ... what price was demanded to atone for murdering this royal cavalcade?
Shivering, Eliya returned her crossbow’s case to her storage cart, but kept her crossbow close. She clambered inside her luxuriously gilded violet wagon and washed her hands and face. Finished, she sat on one of the narrow, deeply cushioned beds and allowed Torena and Vaiya to unpin and comb her hair while she stared at the flower-and-vine-painted ceiling. True, they were traveling, but she mustn’t look like some refugee. Even if she felt like one. What was Jesca doing? And Father?
As Vaiya began to plait her hair, Eliya said, “If only we’d news of Ariym and the northern lands.”
“Indeed, lady.” Vaiya smoothed one long strand of Eliya’s hair, then continued plaiting. Her voice wavering, Vaiya confessed, “I keep telling myself that the entire river valley can’t be flooded.”
Yet Ariym was nearer to sea level than the now-drowned plains. No. Eliya closed her eyes and resisted the thought. Ariym must have survived the flood. Seated adjacent to Eliya in her own cushioned, quilt-draped bed, Torena’s dark eyes reflected sorrow—unspoken certainty that their hopes were wasted.
Outside her wagon’s partially opened door, a hunter’s horn sounded in the distance. But shouts from guardsmen and the clatter of weapons belied a mere hunter’s call. Eliya tugged her hair from Vaiya’s grasp and stood. “Something’s happened. We’ll finish my hair later.”
“May I tie it for now, lady? Just one knot.”
“Thank you.” Eliya waited, listening to the commotion outside. Men’s warning-sharp whistles and another horn’s blare sounded. Torena edged toward the back of the wagon, stepped through the doorway, then descended the wooden ladder. The instant Vaiya released her, Eliya seized her crossbow and descended from the wagon. As she met up with Torena, Valo stalked past them, holding his crossbow readied. Eliya rushed to catch up with him. “What’s happened?”
Valo grimaced and flicked his golden gaze from her to the clearing ahead. “I heard the warning call, then saw one of the Walhaisii run to bow before Lord-king Danek. I’m sure his men found something.”
They approached the impressively grim Danek, who approved their weapons with a sidelong look and a nod. Three Walhaisii guardsmen hurried into the clearing, half-dragging a rough-clad bowman among them. The lead guardsman bowed his head, then motioned toward their captive. “Here’s an unusual object for you, my lord. We caught sight of him spying out the valley beyond the ruins and chased him down.”
The two subordinate guardsmen shoved their prisoner onto his knees before Danek, and the lead guard swept a plain wooden arrow from the rustic quiver that rested over the prisoner’s back. Eliya glanced at the arrow’s shimmering red-gold grain. This marauder had evidently participated in slaughtering the ill-fated cavalcade. The prisoner’s bewhiskered, sun-bronzed face tensed. He looked from Danek to her, then froze. His brown eyes widening, the captive stared at Eliya as if seeing some incredible thing he’d heard of, but never expected to see.
How did this foreigner recognize her? From another’s description, undoubtedly. But had he been searching for her?
Before Danek could say a word, Eliya accused the man. “Somehow, you’ve heard of me. You’ve expected my cavalcade.”
The prisoner looked away. But not before she saw a shadow of acknowledgement flick over his rough-shaven face. Valo asked, “Is this true?”
When the man remained stubbornly silent, Danek reached down, grasped the man’s wrist, then wrenched his entire arm backward and up, twisting it at the shoulder, making the prisoner gasp. “You will lose this arm if you don’t comply. Tell us!”
The Walhaisii lord-king lifted the captive’s arm higher and more sharply until the man yelled. “Stop-stop ... !”
Danek growled, the noise low and savage in his throat. “Talk, or you lose your arm!”
The prisoner bellowed, “You’ll die if you don’t release me! They’re planning another attack!”
“On our cavalcade?”
Through bared, gritted teeth, the man snarled, “Yes!”
Danek adjusted the man’s arm, provoking another pained yell. Eliya fought the instinct to look away. To plead for mercy. The man was a killer—he’d all but admitted it. As the prisoner hushed again, the Walhaisii lord-king spoke, low and savage, as if he’d tear into the man’s flesh like an animal. “Who is this lady to you?”
“Dead! Unless you release me!”
Danek leaned down and bellowed into the man’s ear, “Where are your comrades?”
The captive squirmed beneath Danek’s grasp. “Searching for me, soon enough!”
“Whom do you serve?”
“I’ll swallow my own tongue before saying more!”
Straightening slightly, Danek wrenched the man’s arm, provoking one last yell. Danek flung the prisoner to the ground, then ordered his lead guard. “Take his weapons. Strip him down to his slops, then chase him from camp.”
As his guards obeyed, stripping the thrashing, raging captive, Danek firmly steered Eliya and Valo away. Beyond the prisoner’s earshot, Danek muttered, “My men will follow him. I’m convinced he’s heard a description of Khelqua’s princess, and his comrades plan to capture her. Within a day, we’ll know.”
Capture? Eliya huffed out a frustrated breath. “Who’d dare to risk Tetrarch Rakiar’s anger by capturing me? They’d have half the empire hunting them.”
Lord-king Danek grumbled, his rich voice comforting despite the uncomfortable topic of her safety. “Anyone crack-skulled enough to snatch you won’t survive the attempt. If all goes well, my reinforcements should arrive tomorrow morning. Tonight, we keep watch and pray.”
Torena approved the Walhaisii lord-king’s verdict with a silent nod, then a quizzing glance at Eliya.
Did her revered mentor suspect her growing admiration for the Walhaisii lord-king?
Eliya looked away.
Nearby, in the looming dusk, their men finished burying Ceyphraland’s dead. While placing the last rocks over the makeshift cairn, the Walhaisii began to croon out a tune, low and lulling. The tune deepened, gaining force and wordless emotion, the raw notes chilling Eliya’s flesh as she listened. She couldn’t look away from the Walhaisii, Danek now among them, all lifting their hands and faces to the darkening skies, closing their eyes, their voices soaring upward toward the Eternal, wailing their formless anguish and innocence over Ceyphraland’s murdered citizens.
Tears burned Eliya’s gaze, blurring the night’s first stars.
Unasked, Torena and Vaiya encircled her in their arms, crying with her as they mourned this journey’s losses.
DANEK WATCHED THE PREDAWN shadows shift, then brighten in the far edge of the clearing. At least forty burly and suspicious Sevold Valley men rode surefooted golden horses into the desolate open fields, each man exemplifying the warrior-silence and stamina of their highland ancestors.
Danek’s lord-father and all their kindred claimed deep ties and loyalties to the clans of the sprawling Sevold Valley—its citizens among the few Walhaisii untroubled by their nearness to accursed Parneh’s supposedly haunted ancient lands.
Sevold fighters were the most difficult Walhaisii to trouble. Or to conquer.
Danek muted a sigh of relief as they approached.
The Lady Eliya would be safe. And he’d sleep for an hour or two while the Sevold warriors watered their horses from Parneh’s ancient wells, then ate their morning meal. Their leader, Sion—a giant of a man who insisted he was Danek’s distant cousin—dropped from his horse and grinned. “My lord, how did you know we were bored?”
Danek returned his grin. “You Sevolds are always bored.”
“We heard rumors you were heading toward Parneh. Why?”
“I promised Rodiades of Khelqua that I’d take his eldest daughter and his second son safely through Walhaisii lands.”
Obviously baffled, Sion pushed his big hand through his dark, untamed hair. “So? Parneh’s wilds are beyond Walhaisii lands. Your pledge is satisfied.”
“Not if I leave my charges among marauders.” He nodded toward the doomed cavalcade, abandoned and desolate, just beyond the princess’ still drowsing encampment of wagons and tents. “We spent yesterday evening burying corpses. I need to ensure that Khelqua’s young royals aren’t murdered as well.”
Sion grimaced, then nodded. “That might give me pause if I were walking your path, my lord. We’ll deliver them safe to ... where?”
“Laros Rakiar of Trisguard.”
“I thought you said we wouldn’t leave them among marauders.”
Undoubtedly Sion spoke in jest, but his taunt sharpened Danek’s fears. “I’ve heard Rakiar called many things, but he’s not known as a marauder.”
Yet.
DISMOUNTING A SAFE distance from the edge of the cliff, Aretes, former commander of the third royal regiment of Ariym, beheld the newborn death-dark sea and gauged its waves and breadth compared to the far foothills. Those sea-lapped slopes framed Ariym’s river valley, guarding the mountain passes. The mountains loomed in the distance, bleak and dark gray, promising difficult passage to the far-away sacred city of Pheniarpas.
The flood waters lapped the far foothills. Ariym was drowned.
Khelqua was dead.
Aretes screamed until his agony echoed against the nearby hillsides, then shut his eyes against the onslaught of tears. He must give up hope. Reckoning and desolation had swept over his homeland, just as those verse-spouting cultist fanatics had proclaimed ... echoing that legally reprobate Liege they revered as the Eternal.
The prophecy lay before him, proven.
Two choices emerged from Aretes’ dazed grief. He could follow the Liege, and the Rone’en’s fanatics, or—
He turned his back on Khelqua’s flooded grave.
A coincidence. He must believe the flood a coincidence or go insane.
Thus, his allegiances changed through no subterfuge of his own. What choice did he have? Would his new lord reward him for this news or kill him for it?
He’d learn soon enough.
What was the swiftest, surest route through the Walhaisii mountains?
Goading his horse away from the fatal sea and its appalling coincidental destruction, Aretes rode downslope through the trees. At a turn on a rain-washed hillside, he risked one more glance toward Khelqua’s grave. How could Ariym be gone? Its splendors vanquished? His gaze slid from the distant ocean to surprisingly clean-swept paths below. To a storm-shredded banner dangling from a tree over the remains of a makeshift camp. Tumbled logs, debris, and the corpses of a horse and a Khelqua guardsman lay snarled amid the leavings of a fatal inland tide.
Lord Valo’s search party. They’d camped too low in the valley and were overtaken by an unexpected flood. Good men lost, searching for hope from their devastated realm.
Willing back a madman’s wild screams, Aretes turned his horse toward higher paths, heading east—as swiftly as his and his horse’s strength allowed.
ELIYA GATHERED HER mantle in one hand, her crossbow in the other, and then stepped down from her wagon into the darkness.
Sleep, when it overtook her, offered horrors. Bodies floating among Ariym’s ruins, herself among them, fighting to hold her last breath while murky water stole her unformed tears.
Breathing in tonight’s chilly air, she walked past the watchmen toward the shadowed blade-like stone formations sheltering tonight’s encampment. Tall stones curved around her promising solitude and sanctuary—a natural temple in the darkness. There, walled away from the world among the spires, she halted and stared up at the stars. At the Eternal’s endless robe of glittering night.
To Him, she whispered, “You’re here. I sense You. Why do You seem so close tonight? If only I could receive Your thoughts, as a prophet of old. If I could have warned everyone ....”
No one in Khelqua would have listened. When were prophets ever trusted or allowed to live to old age? Better to be an ordinary mortal. Yet, if only—
A thin current of air skimmed past her cheek, touching her face, alerting her senses, halting her where she stood. Something intangible lingered beyond the warning, protective, near-whispering current.
All the hairs prickled across Eliya’s forearms. By instinct, she lifted her crossbow toward the shadows. Forms took shape, unfurling in the darkness as wings swept back to reveal faces. Taunting, mocking, leering faces, their dark eyes deflecting light.
Eliya shot a bolt into the shadows. The unfurled creatures loomed untouched, mocking her, their lightless gazes multiplying—a fathomless army’s loathsome night watch. Her heartbeat racing, she begged, “Eternal Liege, banish them!”
The current gusted toward those otherworldly watchers, and the shadows fled, skimming away over the rocks, seeping into the darkness.
Eliya knelt, countless unformed prayers muddled within her thoughts. Who would believe her, if she told anyone of this?
She waited until her breath and heartbeat slowed, then staggered to her feet and left the spires’ solitude.
Khelqua’s guards turned toward her as she approached, bored, yet alert to everything mortals usually saw. Obviously, they’d heard nothing amiss.
Torena sat on the wagon’s lowest step, waiting for her. “Lady, are you ill?”
“Yes. And I doubt I’ll recover for years.”
Avoiding her teacher’s too-sharp gaze, she entered the wagon and hid herself in a pretense of sleep.
RIDING BESIDE TORENA amid the deepening shadows cast by rock spires and crags above, Eliya loosened her veiled, broad-brimmed hat and let it dangle down her back. No need to ward off a sunburn here. Though tonight’s scenery offered plenty of fearsome images amid this endless, nightmarishly long journey. “I’ve come to dread the evenings. Terrible things always occur just as we build our camp for the night. Where do you suppose we are?”
Her veiled silver hair gleaming in the fading light, Torena looked around and quoted, “‘The Eternal sent His prophet into a wilderness, to understand His Spirit and comprehend His ways. To trust Him, even to death. May His servants bless Him forever.’ These must be the renowned lands of testing. In other words, I believe we’ll soon reach the border. Trisguard lies beyond these lands of forsaken stones and briars.”
These were the lands of testing? Eliya studied the reddened rocks, now shadowed with violets and gray-blues. What traits were tested in these renowned lands during ancient times? A willingness to seek the Eternal? Perhaps ... to listen. Or to trust. Was she being tested?
She sensed His tranquility, surrounded by such desolation. He beckoned. If only she could forget everything facing her, and everything she’d lost in Khelqua and Ariym.
She closed her eyes, allowing her horse to merely follow the cavalcade’s chosen route. Articulating her prayer in only the faintest threads of sound, lest her words echo off the rocks, she whispered to the Eternal, “Are You testing me? Weighing my heart? Yet if I accept You ... trust You ... haven’t You pledged to be my refuge?”
Torena’s voice seeped into her prayer. “What, Lady? Did you say something?”
Eliya opened her eyes. “I was praying.”
“Forgive me.” Torena bowed her head, then looked away.
Was she embarrassed? Eliya smiled, then shrugged. “My prayer was finished—no reason to ask forgiveness. But, Torena ...?”
“Yes?”
“What will we do if the persecution has spread to Trisguard? If Trisguard’s Chaplet faithful are supported by Rakiar, then we’d be in danger despite my rank.”
Torena edged her meek palfrey closer, lowering her voice. “Is that a confession of faith, lady?”
Tears blurred Eliya’s gaze—unexpected, weakening, yet somehow right. Her words shook, though barely above a whisper. “I sense the Eternal so strongly here. Don’t you?”
“Always. Though, I admit I’m not the best of witnesses for Him.”
Not the best of witnesses? Her dignified teacher? Eliya allowed herself a bleak laugh. “You are!”
Torena almost snorted. “Hardly. You might have guessed by my debates with Kiyros that I enjoy conflict. Indeed, I’m not as gentle and forgiving as the Sacred Word commands me to be.”
“That’s not how you seem to others.” Eliya took up the argument, attempting to forget her recent spiritual misadventure, and her longing to escape into this wilderness. Not even Torena would approve of such folly. “You’ve always been a spiritual puzzlement to me, my revered teacher. I know that you trust the Eternal Liege, and the Rone’en above the Chaplet faith. And I’m convinced that for all your debates, Kiyros is of the Chaplet faith. What puzzles me is that most teachers wouldn’t routinely bring the opposition into a classroom and allow them to say whatever they please. Why did you?”
Torena shrugged. “I trust my Divine Teacher, and your own powers of discernment, lady. Not to mention your strength of character. I’ve always felt that if I didn’t present both sides of an argument, I’d lose your esteem.”
“True again.” Eliya studied the dusty rock-strewn path ahead. “And I suppose that Kiyros reassured the entire court that I’m dedicated to the ruling Chaplet faith of Khelqua.” Had someone offered Laros Rakiar a similar reassurance?
Distant hunting horns blared sonorous alarms off the rock spires ahead, the echoes roiling up and down the rock-hedged road like a physical wave. Eliya reached down and lifted her sleek crossbow from its strap on her saddle. She’d loaded ten bolts into the high-built chamber, but none of the bolts were poisoned as recommended for battle. Would this confrontation become a battle?
Lord-king Danek’s formidable Sevold fighters formed ranks on either side of Eliya’s household, their lines reaching Valo and his men as well, though one glance at Valo informed Eliya of her brother’s irritation at the Walhaisii lord-king’s presumption that he couldn’t fend for himself.
She’d talk with Valo later. Danek had pledged his protection, and one mustn’t scorn a man honoring his own word. As long as the pledge wasn’t ....
Eliya’s plans faded, banished by invaders.
Foreign mounted regiments, weathered, toughened men clad in Ceyphraland red and gold, rode into the open area on the path ahead. Behind them, cavalrymen flaunting Belvasae’s brilliant blue and gold colors urged their horses into formation with Ceyphraland’s vivid ranks.
Swallowing against nausea, Eliya lowered her crossbow. These cold-eyed soldiers weren’t ruffians she and her household could simply shoot upon and chase away. What sort of attack was this? Did these men realize this was her wedding cavalcade? If so, why would half the empire officially halt her procession? Worse ... She, Valo, and Danek must tell these Ceyphraland soldiers that some of their own citizens had been ambushed in a cavalcade.
Would the Ceyphralanders accuse them of the attack?
Vaiya rode up beside Eliya, her delicate tawny-pink face tensed beneath its shading veils. “Lady, what should I do?”
Aware of Valo and Lord-king Danek riding forward, Eliya gathered her horse’s reins. “Wait. And pray.”
She urged her horse out of formation. To confront the allied blockade.