Page 10 of Legacy of Thorns
Daphne rolled her lips together, trying not to laugh.
“I thank you for your sacrifice,” she said gravely.
“Clearly you’re one of those who were gifted with song, like Morrow and Nisha,” Finley said. “How many godparents do you have?”
“Four,” Daphne said with a small wince. “And I know that’s considered tempting the Legacy by most locals. But my parents were overeager at the prospect of an Oakdenian baby.”
Almost all children born in Oakden had godparents chosen by their parents. The main role of these individuals was to speak a blessing over the baby in their first weeks of life—a gift chosen from the list given to Oakden’s famous sleeping princess. No one risked having actual christenings, of course, or making any formal occasion out of it. They already had enough trouble with the Legacy when it came to party invitations. No matter how carefully hosts prepared, someone important was always left off every party invitation list made within the kingdom’s borders.
But parents were eager to make the most of the Oakden Legacy’s history of gifts for newborn babies, so they had developed their own traditions that didn’t require a formal event. The chosen godparents would visit individually and speak their gift over the baby’s cradle. No one had all six of the gifts given to Oakden’s historical princess, as that was considered too great a risk. In most parts of Oakden, two was considered standard, three greedy, and four or more foolhardy.
Of course, the value of the gifts was debatable. Some argued they did little beyond make the parents feel good. But most people agreed they had some effect on the child—the strength of that effect depending on the general power of the Legacy in the area at the time of the blessing.
“Let me guess…” Finley said slowly, a smile in his eyes. “You were given song, grace, beauty…and wit.”
“Should I be offended by that hesitation?” Daphne asked, hiding a smile of her own.
Morrow glanced over his shoulder. “Ignore Finley. Clearly the power of the Legacy was strong in Ethelson at the time of your birth.”
“Thank you, Morrow,” Daphne said gravely. “From the sound of your voice, it must have been overflowing at the time of yours.”
Morrow laughed. “That’s what my parents claim, anyway. Although my mother always complained that she’d told her sister to give me wit, not song.”
“She certainly didn’t give you beauty,” Finley remarked, earning a narrow-eyed look from Daphne.
But Morrow just laughed again. “You’re just jealous your godmother gave you beauty instead of song, my friend. Unlike beauty, the gift of song is a gift to oneself as well as others. That’s what my aunt always said.”
Daphne gave a snort of laughter. “Finley got beauty?”
Despite her teasing, she wasn’t actually surprised. If anyone represented masculine beauty, it was Finley, with his sharp lines and strong brow.
“I didn’t only get beauty!” he protested, but the combined volume of three people’s chuckles drowned him out.
The moment of friendly teasing filled Daphne with more joy than the variety of flowers beside the road. But the happiness unsettled her even as it brought a smile to her lips. Just as when she had first seen Ethelson, the unexpected moment brought a rush of conflicting emotions. She had resented the Legacy for forcing her to leave her true home in Glandore to return to Oakden—she still did—but it had been years since she had laughed with friends over their respective birth gifts. It was something no Glandorian would understand. Glandore might have become home, but a part of her would always be Oakdenian.
The afternoon’s walking passed with stretches of silence, stretches of song, and stretches of light conversation. Twice they stopped to rest, and both times Daphne napped—although she no longer felt the need to pretend extended sleep in order to test her companions.
“How much longer until we reach Lorne?” she asked as dusk began to fall.
“We won’t reach him tonight,” Finley said. “Possibly not even tomorrow. His new nurse will arrive faster in the coach, but I’m afraid we’re stuck at the slow pace.”
Daphne considered the information, comparing it to a map of Oakden in her mind. Their destination must be inside the forest, which meant Lorne and his son must be in one of the forest hamlets that nestled among the trees. Had Gordon been traveling between the capital and Ethelson when the accident occurred?
As they all worked to set up a camp for the night in a small clearing near the road, she asked Finley about her assumption.
“Does your uncle live in the capital now?”
Finley paused in unrolling his bedroll and frowned at her, his eyes confused.
Daphne’s brows drew together. “Your Uncle Gordon? Given our direction, it seems like he must have been traveling through the forest from the direction of the capital, not Klympton.”
“Oh, right.” Finley resumed arranging his bedroll, hiding his face from her. “Yes, he was coming from the capital.”
Daphne finished laying out her own bedroll—putting it with Nisha’s on the opposite side of the fire to Finley and Morrow. As she worked, she threw covert glances at Finley. He hadn’t actually answered her question. And he’d seemed confused by it as well.
Despite the dedication he was showing in traveling to his uncle’s sick bed, Finley didn’t seem very concerned about the man. Was Gordon unlikable in some way? Was it only Lorne Finley cared about?
As they worked together to build a campfire and prepare an evening meal, Daphne continued to watch Finley from the corner of her eye. As far as she could see, he behaved normally, but she couldn’t shake the certainty that something was off. What was he hiding from her?
