Page 107 of Sweetling
The day was a parade of nobles and yeomen in their finery marching out of the city, a grand processional sendoff, presided over by a patient Lady Aislinn. Though, if Molly wasn’t mistaken, the heiress watched them all vacate her castle with no small amount of glee.
Clad in one of her new dresses, a dark aubergine with shocks of lilac and pink threads, Molly held onto Allarion’s arm as they descended the castle steps. It was remarkable to think she’d ascended these same steps only a handful of days ago, unsure of her place beside her fae. She couldn’t say she was any more comfortable with the attention of the other landholders, nor surer that she belonged beside the striking figure of Allarion, but these past days had proven to her at least that she was brave—and that counted for something.
Bellarand practically pranced where he stood in the courtyard, ready to be out of the city. He’d been needling them all morning about when they’d be ready to depart. Seeing them emerge from the castle, he headed for the stairs, not caring which pages or grooms or statesmen were in his way.
Unfortunately for him—and her and Allarion—they were joined on the bottom step by brother and sister Fiona and Dougal Braithwaite. The siblings turned to peer at them, eyebrows arching to see Molly and her fae.
Lord Dougal smiled half-heartedly. “We look forward to seeing you next season.”
“Indeed. At least next time we’ll have been introduced,” said Allarion without bothering to look.
Molly hid her snickering behind her hand.
The sound drew Lady Fiona’s attention, and she craned her neck to look around Allarion at Molly.
“It was delightful to make both of your acquaintances. Our new friendship made the dull journey to Dundúran exceedingly worthwhile.”
Molly could feel Allarion’s mind catching on her supposing there was friendship between them, but then the noblewoman uttered a gasp.
“Dear me,” Lady Fiona tittered, “what is that on your face? Were you…in a bar fight?”
A guffawing laugh escaped Molly before she could stop it. She pulled back her lips to snarl a smile at the noblewoman, setting Fiona back a step in alarm.
But just as her temper flared, Allarion’s arm came around her waist, and he neatly spun to deposit her on Bellarand’s back.
Bowing the least amount possible, Allarion said, “Good day, my lady,” and swung up to join Molly, leaving behind a blinking, baffled Lady Fiona.
“Let’s leave the city with a fond memory of us, yes?”
Molly snorted. “I could take her.”
“Oh, yes, I’m quite certain of that.”
I say let them fight,Bellarand hooted in their heads.
Both of you behave,Allarion intoned in his most serious voice,at least until we’re out of the city.
Of course, neither of them behaved at all. Allarion tried to be stern, but it was hard when he was endlessly amused by the arguments his mate and his mount got into. They bickered over the smallest, silliest things. It was only recently that he’d realized—they enjoyed poking at each other. It was their form of friendship and fondness.
Although, he was wise enough not to point this out to either of them.
They alternated between rude insults and even ruder jokes as the noonday sun shone overhead. It wasn’t until they passed the pastoral village of Granach that Molly looked about her and realized, “This isn’t the way to Scarborough.”
“It’s a circuitous route, I’ll admit. I wish to speak with Balar and a few others to pass on this new demand from King Marius.”
Molly nodded, before an evil glint sparkled in her eyes.
“I suppose this makes you amessenger pony,” she crowed at Bellarand.
The unicorn huffed and puffed, and the newest volley of insults lasted them to the outskirts of the otherly village. It’d been established not far from the Brádaigh estate where Allarion and many otherly folk had migrated to after hearing about the Darrowlands.
As they approached, Allarion easily spied all the progress they’d made since his last visit. Log cabins had been erected in neat rows, and something of a town square had been demarcated by logs and stones. Several people, including humans, milled about in the square or walked between cabins.
It was an idyllic picture, and Allarion looked proudly at how far the otherlies had come. From a disjointed camp of people unlike each other as much as they differed from humans, they had built a community to support themselves and their dreams of a peaceful existence within the Darrowlands.
Lady Aislinn and her father had nothing but praise for the village, and he was pleased to hear that Granach and several other villages surrounding Dundúran had welcomed the manticores, half-orcs, harpies, and dragons into their taverns, markets, and festivals. There was even talk of establishing a new school, headed by the half-dragon Briseis.
Molly’s eyes rounded with wonder. A handful of villagers noticed their arrival; some came to greet them as others ran off to spread the news.
