“Pointless,” Moria muttered as they left the city. “How about some actual words of wisdom?”
Take care, Keeper. Be well, Seeker.
“Helpful. Very helpful.” Moria looked at her. “Is it just me, or do they seem a little too happy to see us leave?”
“Thea and Ellyn are their Keeper and Seeker. We’re intruders.”
Moria grumbled. Ashyn had read stories of wise old women eager to impart their wisdom to the younger generation. Thea and Ellyn imparted each bit of their wisdom as if it were a tooth and soon they’d have none left. With everything that had happened, Ashyn would have loved to seek counsel with the elderly Keeper and Seeker, but they hadn’t even seen the two women since the day they arrived. Were they busy preparing for Alvar’s war, preparing to fight shadow stalkers? If so, shouldn’t all four have been doing it together?
Ashyn sighed to herself and then looked across the convoy. She and Moria were the only women. The caravan drivers would double as staff. Six warriors rode with them, half in front and half in rear, their sword sheaths clicking in the dawn quiet. There were two counselors, bound up in their cloaks, the morning’s damp still on them.
“All is well, Ashyn?” Tyrus said as he caught her gazing about.
She smiled for him. “It is,” she said, and they rode from the city.
By the second day, Moria seemed ready to jump out of her skin with frustration. Their pace was slow, the days were long, and the children of Edgewood waited. When Moria snuck off with Daigo – for the third time – Tyrus stepped up his efforts to keep her entertained, calling on one warrior or another to chat with them. After the midday meal, they stopped in a village where two men were to join their group. Tyrus, Ashyn, and Moria explored while the rest of the group awaited the new arrivals.
When the caravan stopped for the night, the three of them assisted with the pitching of the tents and then rode off so Ashyn could practice at daggers without providing amusement for the warriors. The lessons alleviated Moria’s frustration and, if she was being honest, Ashyn would admit the physical workout helped hers, too. She was as eager to reach Fairview as her sister. She simply hid it better. When they returned to camp, Ashyn went on ahead, leaving Tyrus distracting Moria with a heated debate on the tactics used in the Battle of Asteth.
Ashyn reached the tents. They were tall enough for a man to walk upright inside, with dividers splitting the space for multiple sleepers. Ashyn shared one with Moria and Tyrus – the prince taking the “front room,” which was considered more appropriate than allowing the girls to sleep unguarded.
When Ashyn opened the flap on what she thought was their tent, she saw the younger of the two men who’d joined them that afternoon. He sat on a cushion as he wrote on a low table.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” she said. “Wrong tent.”
“Actually, your timing is excellent. I’ll take tea, please. And I believe there were some honey cakes? I’ll have one of those.”
She let out a soft laugh. “We haven’t been formally introduced. I’m —”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“What?”
He waved his hand. “I don’t mean to be rude, but I’ll never remember your name, so there’s no point in giving it.”
Living in Edgewood, she’d seen people from all corners of the empire – exiled convicts and traders and travelers. It was impossible to say, from appearance, where someone hailed from. There were no restrictions on movement and there was much mingling of blood, so to presume someone with pale skin lived in the North was to mark yourself an ignorant peasant. The one true indicator was accent, which she was proficient at deciphering. This young man surely hailed from the steppes. He looked like it as well, with skin only slightly darker than hers, light brown hair, and ruddy cheeks, as if they’d been permanently burned by the steppe’s legendary winds. As for whether he was handsome, it mattered little. He was rude – that canceled out any physical attractions.
“I am not a serving girl. I am Ashyn, Seeker of Edgewood.”
A sharp look her way. “You ought not to play that game, girl. It might be mistaken for blasphemy.”
“Game? I am —”
“And that is your Hound of the Immortals?” He waved to her empty side; Tova waited outside the tent. “I did not realize they could cloak themselves in invisibility. Is your sister invisible as well? I believe I’d have noticed twin Northern girls in camp. As someone who knows many from your home region, I would suggest that you do them a disservice in concocting so preposterous a story. You will only further the stereotype of their intelligence – or lack of it. Now, my tea. Quickly or I’ll report you to the wagon master.” His gray eyes met hers. “I ought to do so anyway.”
He turned back to his work. Ashyn withdrew from the tent. Tova was nudging the flap, as if trying to figure out how to open the ties and come to her rescue.
“I’m fine,” she whispered as they walked away. “But someone is going to wait a very long time for his blasted tea and cake.”
Tova looked shocked by her language. She smiled and patted his head.
“I know, but he deserved it.”
“Who deserved what?” Moria asked behind her.
Ashyn turned as Moria and Tyrus caught up. Sweat streaked through the road dust on their faces and both were in desperate need of fresh tunics, but the jaunty gleam in Moria’s eye kept Ashyn from moving farther downwind.