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Beneath an inappropriately tranquil blue morning sky, Eliya stood with Valeria and watched as servants picked through the tilted, charred, sodden remains of her ruined wagon. Valeria hugged herself, obviously still distressed. “Have you lost many irreplaceable things?”
Irreplaceable? Her boots, slippers, and medicinals were destroyed, but could be replaced. Her writing gear, too, was replaceable. However ... “My books. Notes from Jesca and Father ...”
Valeria’s beautiful silvery eyes misted, their dark-lashed edges shimmering with unshed tears. “I’m so sorry. Notes from loved ones are more precious than gold. If I lost my parents’ notes, now that I’m orphaned, it would be like another death.” She gave Eliya a fierce, brief hug. “Thankfully, some of your most precious belongings are in my tent.”
“Yes. What a mercy that your ladies demanded to see my bridal goods.” Her gems, money and wedding-week clothes, all rested safe near her sleeping gear in Valeria’s tent, along with most of Torena and Vaiya’s belongings. “But how could a fire consume my wagon if the stove wasn’t kindled last night?”
Valo emerged from the small throng of servants and stalked toward Eliya, his dark-whiskered face grim, one hand resting on the gold dagger-hilt slung alongside his belt. He stamped his boots free of icy mud-clumps, then nodded to her and Valeria. “I looked inside the wagon earlier. The worst of the fire wasn’t near the stove. Evidently an oil lamp shattered on the floor in front of the doorway and somehow caught fire. If you’d been sleeping inside, you wouldn’t have survived—you’d have been trapped unless you woke in time and escaped through the flames.”
The fire had started near the doorway? From a broken oil lamp? How? “All my lamps were metal and suspended on hooks from the roof. We never took them down. Furthermore, no one lit lamps there last night.”
Valeria whispered, “Then this was either mischief gone horribly wrong, or the fire was deliberately set. I hope the arsonist didn’t believe you were asleep inside. Bless the Eternal you weren’t!”
Nodding agreement, Valo hugged Eliya, his voice lowered and rough. “I could have lost you! What would I have told Father?”
That she’d been murdered. Eliya leaned against her brother’s shoulder, swallowing hard. “Who wants me dead? Valo, no sneaking thief carries a lamp. Didn’t the prophets say that evil deeds are done in darkness?”
Valo’s grip tightened. “I’ll find the arsonist and kill him.”
A quiet, authoritatively feminine voice lifted behind them. “Perhaps I was the target.”
Torena stepped nearer, hugging her treasured Rone’en protectively. “My beliefs aren’t exactly popular. And now that they’re known, I might be targeted the farther north we travel.”
“Or east,” Valeria added, gloom weighing her words. “Ceyphraland’s becoming equally hateful toward the old faith.”
Eliya straightened. “An attack on my teacher is an attack on me.”
“Nevertheless,” Torena persisted, “my point is that if I’m a danger to you, I’ll leave.”
“No.” Eliya rested one hand on her teacher’s arm. “You made a pledge to my lord-father and you should be allowed to fulfill your work. I won’t allow you to be hounded—if you’re the true target. I’m not convinced you are.”
Valo grimaced. “Whatever the motive, it’s all the same to me. Whoever did this must be found and prosecuted for endangering you.”
Lifting her chin, Valeria said, “The culprit will be found—my uncle and cousin are furious, fearing blame.”
At once, Valo’s voice and expression softened. “We don’t blame them, lady. Or Belvasae. It’s likely some maddened reprobate with an unreasonable grudge.”
Eliya glanced from her brother to Valeria. Was she wrong, imagining admiration between these two? If not—
A man’s bootsteps crunched over thin patches of early-morning ice. Adalric of Rhyve approached, perfectly groomed, swathed in a vibrant crimson cloak opulently lined and edged with ermine, his expression mingling sympathy and admiration. He clasped Eliya’s hand. “How glad we are that you’ve escaped harm. If anything had happened to you, lady, Ceyphraland’s losses would have been as immeasurable as Khelqua’s. Believe me when I say that we’re concerned for your safety and determined to bring the miscreant to justice.”
He wove his gloved fingers into Eliya’s, smiling down at her as if they’d been friends for years. His fondness for continuously holding her hand was becoming unnerving. Was he seriously pursuing her?
The northern realms wouldn’t be pleased.
Valeria gave her cousin a teasing shove. “Are you trying to steal my friend? Go away.”
“What if I do want to steal her? Why should she have to put up with Trisguard’s bitter cold lands and citizens—and I won’t even mention Rakiar.”
While Valo frowned at Adalric of Rhyve’s presumption, Aniketos of Ceyphraland stomped from his glorious tent toward the burned wagon.
His mouth set tight and grimly small, his gaze wide, stilled, and visibly shocked, Aniketos studied the sadly tilted remains of Eliya’s once-beautiful miniature residence, then shook his head and called out, “Unacceptable!”
Eliya coughed, muting a bleak chuckle. She bowed her head in greeting as Aniketos stalked toward her, his black cloak flaring. “I woke from my nap, hoping I’d only dreamed of the fire. Whoever did this, when we catch him, I’ll throttle him myself!” He halted in front of Eliya and puffed out an offended, mist-heavy breath. “What a blessing from the heavens that you slept in the ladies’ tent last night.”
Adalric groused, “I’m glad you knew she wasn’t there, my lord. My heart near-stopped when I saw that wagon ablaze in the dark.”
“Of course I knew!” Aniketos snuffed vigorously. “Obviously, her would-be assassin didn’t—and I thank the Eternal for it!”
Adalric patted Eliya’s hand. “As do we all. But Valeria should have mentioned ...”
His royal father cut off the genial complaint with a chopping wave. “The ladies’ sleeping arrangements are no concern of yours, my boy. Blast that arsonist to the lowest gullets of perdition to be consumed with all cowardly scum!” He looked over Eliya’s head and smiled a determinedly polite-host welcome. “Here comes Belkrates with that little son of his. He should send the boy away to a warrior’s camp and toughen him up—the first ill wind will blow away that stripling and no one will remember he ever lived.”
Belkrates nodded to them all, then deftly edged Adalric of Rhyve away from Eliya as if he were a fly and Eliya were a coveted dish at a feast. “Lady, my guards vow to me that they saw and heard no one last night—I questioned them all.”
Young Belkian sidled around his father and—not looking at Eliya—observed, “I’d wager someone saw something and is afraid to talk. Or were paid to be silent. Or made silent. Has anyone searched for bodies?”
Valo leaned into the conversation. “My men searched the camp and found no bodies nor apparent traitors. Why don’t we all hunt farther afield?”
Belkian hushed. But the tetrarchs of the south and the east sent guards to scour the lands directly around the camp a second time for any evidence of murder or other treachery. Something Lord-king Danek and his Walhaisii had done just after dawn—before they rode off, searching for malefactors.
Had they returned from their foray?
Eliya looked across the camp at Danek’s tent. One guard returned her gaze, waiting alone and watching in silence as he’d done since dawn.
FROWNING, DANEK GLANCED over his shoulder at the small river valley. Had he heard a horse’s distant whicker? The liquid rush of a stream flooded with snow-melt obscured too many noises. Not his favored way to hunt escaped menaces. But he and his men were in unfamiliar territory and the horses had needed water.
Riding beside Danek, Sion eased his patient golden horse’s reins, then peered at the hillsides above as if he also sensed an enemy’s nearness. “My lord, as the Eternal Liege lives, I’d vow we’re being watched and followed.”
“I agree. Let’s ride up out of this gorge and claim the high ground.”
They urged their horses to climb toward the afternoon sun, and the encampment. This morning’s hunt had garnered no meat for his men, and no evidences that might lead them to the Lady Eliya’s would-be assassin. What a cruel death the wretch intended for her! To be burned alive, helplessly trapped in her regal little traveling wagon with its near-useless high windows.
Mercifully, he’d seen the ladies trooping off together last night into Lady Valeria’s tent. As it was, he’d been troubled ever since the blaze was vanquished, unable to sleep—unlike Aniketos and Belkrates and their heirs, who’d returned to their tents afterward.
Why would someone want Eliya dead? If only he’d a prophet to consult. To his Creator, he near-whispered, “Eternal, reveal the truth. Show me Your will!”
As they wound their way upslope through a copse of pale birch trees to the crest above the river, Danek ordered Sion, “Tonight, when we return, I want you and your most trusted closed-mouthed friends to listen for gossip while you’re among the other guards.”
Sion nodded. “We might have to share food with Ceyphraland’s men. Too bad we don’t have something substantial to cook. A buck, a boar, or at least a hare.”
“Sion, you claim to be my cousin. You’ll find something.”
“Let it be as you’ve foretold! We’ll prove prophets still exist.”
Danek exhaled and grinned. “I was just wishing we’d a prophet to consult.”
“See there? We think so much alike that you know it’s true. We’re cousins.”
Danek’s amusement faded as soon as they reached the crest and he glanced down into the valley. A small procession of guardsmen entered the area he and his men had just abandoned near the river, their gold coats and green badges announcing their allegiance to Trisguard.
They spied Danek, no doubt mistaking him for some minor and rustic lord out on a hunt with his men. As Trisguard’s men eyed him, their commander lifted one hand and halted their procession. To reassure the undoubtedly tense detachment of men, Danek offered them a brief nod and a salute.
The commander returned his nod, then guided his men up the slope. Sion grumbled to Danek, “Why are they riding up to meet us? They’ll delay us, and who wants to meddle with yet another realm? I’d prefer my late noon meal, and thanks!”
“Let’s wait and learn their mission.” Turning, he commanded his men quietly, “Don’t tell them who I am, unless they’re seeking the tetrarchs who accosted us.”
Sion nodded and several men murmured, “Yes, my lord.”
Trisguard’s men rode up the slope, their horses slowed by the incline’s rocky instability—a difficulty they could have avoided by threading their way among the trees, which offered a more gradual angle. Perhaps the Trisguard commander’s thoughts were more straightforward than the average Walhaisii’s. Sion muttered, “Their horses would’ve been better-off climbing the slope among the trees. By the Eternal’s pity, I hope we don’t see any of their creatures go down.”
The commander reached the upper slopes first and rode to greet Danek. “Sir. I’m Keparos, fourth in command for our lord, Laros Rakiar of Trisguard. You’re indigenous here. Have you seen an imperial encampment?”
“We were returning to the encampment—we left it this morning.”
Commander Keparos grinned, revealing a chipped tooth. “A failed hunt, eh?”
“We’ve not given up yet.” Danek smiled. “What brings you into Ceyphraland?”
“Seeking information for our Lord-king Rakiar. He’s loath to leave his own lands without knowing the purpose of the imperial gathering.”
Undoubtedly, Laros Rakiar feared an attack. Perhaps with justification. The attending tetrarchs and their heirs hadn’t spoken of him directly, but whenever Eliya mentioned her imminent wedding, regal disfavor met her words amid icy silence.
At the very least, the tetrarch of the north would face severe censure for negotiating marriage to Eliya without unanimous imperial approval. Danek almost looked forward to the confrontation—except that Eliya might indirectly share the censure and be forced to accept blame.
By now, Commander Keparos’ men had coaxed their bedraggled horses up the rugged slope with no lives lost, and they formed ranks behind their commander, awaiting orders. Danek studied his men, then paused, noticing one disturbingly familiar face.
Khelqua’s upstart commander, Aretes, who’d insulted the revered Lady Torena in the Walhaisii highlands.
The man stared at Danek as if he’d met his doom. But his unnerved expression swiftly vanished, and haughtiness settled into its habitual lines on his harsh face. Danek nodded to him, then said to Commander Keparos. “Commander, my men and I rode this morning to search for ... a malefactor who vanished from the imperial encampment. I am Danek of the Walhaisii. I’ve pledged to Tetrarch Rodiades of Khelqua, that we would safely escort his elder daughter through Walhaisii lands to meet her future husband. Our journey’s been troubled since its third day. And—to be blunt—one of the troubles now waits among your subordinates behind you. He’s known to us as Aretes, third commander in Ariym. Why is he among your men?”
The commander’s grin vanished, replaced by wary, yet commendable calm. “He’s here because our Lord-king Rakiar placed him under my command last night.” Lowering his voice, Keparos admitted, “I’m warned to not trust him, my lord, but to watch and judge his behavior.”
“Fair enough.” Danek nodded. “May I speak to him?”
“Within my hearing, yes.” Keparos raised one hand and his voice. “Pledge Aretes, ride forward and speak to us.”
His expression shuttered, Aretes rode forward, then held his horse back slightly as if debating whether or not to flee. But any man with sense would realize that flight invited pursuit, perhaps involving arrows. Aretes halted his horse alongside Keparos’, one pace behind him to signify his subordinate status. Defiance twisted one corner of the man’s mouth as he greeted Danek. “Lord-king Danek of the Walhaisii. I hope my presence here is not offensive, but I had no choice.”
“No choice?” Danek stared the man through. If only he could sift this man’s soul and find his true purpose. “Why do you—a commander in Ariym’s own royal guard—serve another tetrarch?”
Keparos twitched visibly, and his horse sidestepped as if sensing its rider’s distress. Aretes glanced at Keparos, then returned his attention to Danek. Toneless, his eyes shadowed with exhaustion, Aretes said, “I’ve no country left to serve, Lord-king Danek. I’m also tasked by my new lord-king to tell Lady Eliya what she least wishes to hear: Ariym’s drowned. Khelqua’s no more.”