Page 74 of Kingdom of Feathers

Wren nodded, a shiver going over her that had nothing to do with the cool night air. She just hoped that they weren’t too late to throw Basil off whatever track he was on. And that Caleb didn’t suffer any more for her failures.

Chapter Twenty

“Lord Baldwin, how about we pick up the pace now? Your horse looks fine to me.” Basil tried to keep the exasperation from his voice.

He was as reluctant to push an overworked horse as anyone. But given he could see no signs of injury or exhaustion in Lord Baldwin’s steed, he suspected that the animal’s supposed struggle had something to do with its rider’s evident lack of enthusiasm for the venture. He was starting to regret asking Lord Baldwin to come. The nobleman’s constant delays had made the journey to the border take almost twice as long as Basil had expected. And now that it was finally within sight, Lord Baldwin was once again slowing them down. Perhaps he should have kept it to the enchantress and her husband. And his guards, of course, whom he knew he would never have been able to shake off.

“Forgive my denseness, Your Majesty,” said Lord Baldwin, dodging the question in a way Basil found infuriating, “but I still don’t really understand why you wish to visit the front lines. I thought your priority was negotiating with King Lloyd.”

Basil drew a deep breath, willing himself to be patient. “Negotiations which were going swimmingly.” He regretted the petty words straight away. Sarcasm was a crutch for those too insecure to speak their minds. “Lord Baldwin,” he tried again, “we both know I wasn’t getting anywhere with King Lloyd. If there’s something happening at the front that I don’t know about, then having that information can only strengthen my position for negotiation. Besides, I needed a break from Myst as desperately as this poor horse of mine needed to try his paces.” He ran a hand down his mount’s neck. “I’ve used you poorly, haven’t I, friend? Two months stuck in that city, with scarcely a chance to stretch your legs.”

“If you were after fresh air, Your Majesty,” Lord Baldwin pressed, “wouldn’t a ride near the city have been more pleasant than a visit to a war ground?”

Basil shot him a disbelieving look. Did the nobleman really think he’d come here out of idle curiosity? He knew Lord Baldwin didn’t like seeing the effects of battle, but that didn’t justify being this obstructive to his king’s plans. Basil certainly didn’t feel he owed Lord Baldwin an explanation of what had sent him here. He hadn’t confided the dragons’ words to anyone, wanting to make his own observations before deciding whether to share the discovery.

“Time to move, everyone,” Basil called to the group at large, turning from Lord Baldwin. “We should be there within the hour, and I don’t want any more delays. The sooner we conduct our business, the sooner we can be on our way back.” At the mention of returning to Myst, his thoughts flew instantly to Wren, and some of his misgivings about his absence from the city flooded back. What if whoever had attacked her by the pond tried again while Basil was away? Not that his presence was much protection, he thought ruefully, since she wouldn’t let him near her.

They’d just joined company with a scout from the outermost Mistran camp—the man turning to ride back with them, his eyes fixed suspiciously on Basil—when a cry from one of Basil’s guards made him turn in the saddle.

The whole group pulled up, waiting warily for the approaching trio of riders to be close enough for identification. They were coming from the north, so it was unlikely they originated from the front lines. Something in the air above the riders caught Basil’s attention, and he blinked at the two white forms against the blue sky. His eyes flew down to the riders, one of whom could now be seen to have a distinct mane of dark hair…

“Surely not!” he exclaimed, spurring his horse into action, back the way they’d come.

One of his guards made a noise of chastisement as he kept pace, but Basil ignored him, his eyes fixed on the arrivals now almost within hailing distance.

“Wren!” he cried, as the two groups converged.

The word had barely left his mouth when the princess drew her horse alongside his, reaching out to grip at his arm. Her eyes were brimming with more intensity than ever, and he once again had the feeling that she was trying desperately to communicate something straight from her mind into his.

“Wren,” he repeated, still struggling to comprehend her sudden appearance. “What are you doing here? Is everything all right?”

She let go of his arm and rummaged in one of her saddlebags for her slate. Scribbling quickly on it, she held it across the space between their sidling mounts.

Basil snatched it up and read her message.

Basil, you have to stop.

He blinked at the message, then up at her. “Stop what?”

Impatiently, she clicked her fingers, gesturing for him to return her slate. Basil heard one of his guards give a disapproving grunt, and Basil shot him an irritated look as he handed Wren the slate. It was so typical for his people to be more concerned for Basil’s dignity than the obvious urgency of the situation. If only they were as circumspect when they were the ones failing to show him the respect of a sovereign.

By the time he turned back to Wren, she was already holding the slate out again. Her words were barely legible, but he supposed it couldn’t be easy to write neatly on horseback.

Do you trust me?

Basil didn’t hesitate. “You know I do.” He glanced from Wren’s companions—the honey-haired noblewoman whose name he’d forgotten, and the tensest guard Basil had ever seen in his life—to his own group, whose watching faces ranged from suspicion to astonishment. “Dismount,” Basil said, turning back to Wren. “We can’t talk properly up here.”

With the words, he slid from his horse, handing the reins to the nearest guard, who received them with a bad grace. Basil didn’t stay to hear the man’s protests. He’d already approached Wren’s horse, and was holding out his hands to help her dismount. After a moment’s hesitation, she accepted the offered assistance, and swung herself down. She landed so neatly in Basil’s arms that for a moment he started to close them around her slim form unthinkingly. But reason reasserted itself quickly, and instead he made sure she was steady on her feet before stepping back.

Wren clearly wasn’t as easily distracted as he was. She’d already lifted the slate, and even as he tugged at her arm, leading her to a more private distance, she was writing furiously on it. A minute later she flipped it around so he could see her message.

I can’t explain, but I’m begging you to stop and come back to Myst with me. I don’t know what the dragons told you, but youcannotfollow whatever lead they gave you. If you trust me, please, just let it be.

Basil stared from the words to Wren’s face, his mind registering nothing but astonishment. He thought back over the letter he’d slipped under Wren’s door. Never in his wildest imaginings could he have predicted that his simple message would provoke such a response in her. She’d ridden helter-skelter out of Myst—giving her usual minders the slip to do it, judging by the expression on her guard’s face—to stop him following Rekavidur and Dannsair’s lead?

Her words seemed to dance before his eyes, even as he watched her face.I’m begging you. Her eyes mirrored the plea, beseeching him to trust her. He wanted to, but he was only human. He wasn’t restrained enough to just lock all his questions instantly away, and tamely turn back toward Myst without even attempting to understand.

“You don’t want me to follow up on the dragons’ information about the border conflict?” he asked slowly. “Does that mean you know about the magic at the front lines? Is it a Mistran enchantment, then?”

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