Page 143 of The King's Man
Even Diadre agreed that it was a very clear sign from God.
Of course, my mate was not a quiet travel companion. Especially when we landed in the mornings.
“You’re going to do yourself harm if we keep this pace up,” she muttered two weeks into our travels as she cleaned and gutted a creature she’d caught among the roots of the trees in the forests of Kyrion Vale. “And you know if you break a wing or strain a back or whatever, we’re both screwed.”
I grunted—we had this conversation every morning. I could feel the tense chill in her when she thought of my wellbeing, her very real concern that I would be hurt. But there was also the hot spark of a woman who knew her mind and was frustrated when I didn’t listen.
While I agreed with her that injury was a very definite risk, and rest would be needed before I crossed the Raven Peaks, I couldn’t see my way clear to slowing our progress to Braventhall.
We’d found only small villages or merchants since we left Skolrag. The news was patchy and—I prayed—unreliable.
Rumor was rife that theGolden-eyed Kinghad killed his own father and taken control of the Fetch, marrying their princess and now returning, triumphant, to claim the throne in Ebonreach.
While I could swallow that the tales of Gall might have been exaggerated to include a political assassination and conquering of the Fetch, the same rumors claimed that Gall was a great orator, in possession of a warrior’s length to rival Melek’s.
For the first time I wondered if this was more than manipulation. If, perhaps, the Fallen had killed Gall and Istral and replaced them with willing imposters.
Gall, a great orator? And a warrior’s length to rival a General’s?
While I could understand how people who’d never met him before would accept it, there was no way the men who’d followed Melek into war would believe it for a moment.
It had to be the exaggeration of the rumor mill from ignorant parties.
Still, my heart was uneasy.
And then, to add to the burden of worry, the closer we drew to the Braventhall, and the border of Kyrion Vale and the Raven Peaks without any sign from Caelan, the more disturbed I became that something may have happened to my most loyal servant and ally.
I knew she would have sent messengers ahead to find me when I passed through and tell me where to meet her—or used that uncanny instinct of hers to simply show up where I was. But even accepting that she’d have trouble finding a ride over the peaks, and be on horseback from there, there was no way it would take her over two weeks to reach Braventhall.
I spoke as little as possible with Diadre about it, but forced myself not to hide the concern from her. And while she always grew thoughtful at mention of Caelan, my beautiful mate showed very genuine concern for the woman’s well-being.
I prayed when they met—because theywouldmeet, it could not be that Caelan had been killed—that it would be a show of iron sharpening iron, rather than cats fighting in an alleyway.
Both women were strong, intelligent, and accepted no shit. I knew enough of women to know they would either adore each other, or be driven mad by each other’s mere presence.
I prayed God’s mercy onmeif the latter were true.
The day before we would reach Braventhall, the winds shifted again and pushed me west. The entire night was a battle on already weary limbs and wings, and when we landed, my legs trembled with weariness.
Diadre stood with me for a moment, turning in the straps and looking up at me worriedly. “Jann—”
“We’ll rest tomorrow after we reach the city,” I muttered, taking a moment to simply breathe and recover, reminding myself that it would be at least an hour before I could sleep.
Diadre gave me a look over her shoulder, but nodded and unbuckled before urging me to sit while she made camp.
I usually tried to help, but this morning, as the sun inched over the Raven Peaks in the distance and turned the sky pink, I only prayed that I wouldn’t fall face-first into my meal.
Diadre kept shooting me glances while she hurried through hunting, building a fire, and cooking the food. At one point, while the creature she’d found roasted over the fire, she brought me a waterskin and urged me to drink.
I sat with my back to a jagged tree-stump. The great sentry of the forest must have been struck by lightning—or perhaps a Centaur stallion seeking a mate—because the break in that massive trunk was splintered, and the beast of a tree had taken others down with it when it fell.
But I was grateful to settle my ass in the hollow between the roots and let my back rest against the dead stump.
My hand shook when I took the waterskin from Diadre. I prayed she didn’t notice.
Of course, she did.
“Jann—”
