Two Paths
Contrary to her expectations, the journey continued without incident.
Nights thick as tar followed one upon another, yet morning always arrived without anyone ending up bloodied, and before the sun had climbed to its zenith they packed their belongings and set out once more. The oppressive heat left soldiers lagging behind, delaying the schedule by degrees, but the pilgrimage itself proceeded without any serious disruption.
With Gareth and his personal guard at the head of the column, the procession reached the small northwestern city of Sortica on the fifth day after leaving the Imperial Palace. After spending a night there, they turned north again.
Throughout it all, Thalia watched the attendants Senebier had sent with a hawk's unblinking vigilance. They feigned a loyalty so perfect it was almost nauseating, yet she never once lowered her guard. They were merely waiting for the right moment. That something dreadful would soon occur was as certain as the rising of the sun. Wherever Senebier involved herself, some sinister scheme always trailed behind like a shadow.
If not today, then tomorrow. If not tomorrow, then the day after. Soon enough, some horrific scene would unfold before her eyes.
Thalia could not tell whether she feared that moment or longed for it.
Whenever she saw Barcas—who treated her with such cold indifference—behave with endless tenderness toward Aila, she wished some terrible catastrophe would strike them then and there. If the two of them were reduced to unrecognizable ruin, she thought, she might finally feel some relief. Better a hundred times over to look upon his corpse than to watch him stand at Aila's side.
And yet, when night deepened, a choking dread would seize her. No matter how many hundreds of times she told herself she would not care if a man like him died, it made no difference.
After a night spent trembling with anxiety, Thalia fled her tent before dawn had fully broken. Guided by the pale light of early morning, she set out to find him. Only by confirming with her own eyes that Barcas was still alive and breathing would she be able to draw a proper breath again.
She hurried along a narrow path overgrown with brush until the snort of a horse brought her to a sudden halt. Pushing through the dense thicket, she saw a gray stallion with a cascading black mane. Barcas had led the great horse skillfully to a spring and was kneeling on one knee upon the ground. He drew the reins to guide the animal's head down toward the water's surface, then scooped up spring water with his free hand and wet the stallion's long, powerful neck.
Sunlight filtering through the dense leaves painted his hair a beautiful silver. Watching the scene with bated breath, Thalia closed her eyes in despair.
No matter how fiercely she carved and carved again, her love for Barcas only grew like a tumor, devouring her from within. She could see no way out of this mire.
How do I cast this feeling off?
Leaning against a great tree, Thalia stared blankly up at the sky, then turned away with a weary motion. As she did, she spotted Aila coming along the path and hastily hid herself behind the trunk.
Aila looked as though she had come straight from her bed—wearing nothing but a thin gown over a light dress, her long hair tumbling loose over her shoulders. She was as disheveled as Thalia herself, if not more so. And yet she still looked refined and elegant. Perhaps, Thalia thought, something ran in that woman's blood that she herself could never possess, even if she died trying.
"So this is where you were."
Aila, a soft flush of warmth on both cheeks, approached him carefully and settled herself on a flat rock. Barcas's gaze found her. As though even that quiet look were almost too much to bear, Aila's eyes curved gently, and she slipped off her shoes with care. She dipped her feet into the spring and lightly splashed the water.
The snort of the horse, the soft slap of water, and a bright, birdlike laugh melted into the cold dawn air.
Thalia crushed down the urge to burst from cover and seize her half-sister by the hair. She swallowed the desire to tear the smiling lips that turned toward him, to rip out the tongue that chattered so freely in his direction. The last thing she ever wanted to see was Barcas rising to protect Aila.
At last, having splashed to her satisfaction, Aila reached a hand toward him. Instead of taking it and helping her to her feet, Barcas bent and dried her feet himself. Then, as carefully as any devoted servant, he slipped her shoes back on. The sight drove into Thalia's heart like a dagger.
She turned and ran. Branches and leaves raked her arms and calves, but she felt no pain. It was as though every sense had failed her. Gasping roughly, she raced along the winding forest path like a thoroughbred at full gallop—until her foot caught on a protruding root and she went sprawling. Buried in the undergrowth, her chest heaving, Thalia suddenly laughed.
What would Senebier say if she saw her like this? She would probably knit her lovely brow and shake her head. Thalia almost thought she could hear that mocking voice from somewhere nearby.
"There are two paths open to you, my dear. One is to seize the man you desire by any means necessary. The other is to become a slightly less wretched loser."
Senebier seemed to want her to become a seductress and tempt him, but Thalia could never become like Senebier, not even if it killed her. Senebier would have taken what she wanted without scruple. Thalia, for her part, knew nothing to do but pray that this agonizing stretch of time would end as soon as possible.
Staring up at the sky fractured between the branches, Thalia eventually pushed herself to her feet. When she emerged from the dark forest path on exhausted legs, she found several knights milling about in confusion. She brushed past them toward her carriage—only for a royal guard, some man named Rubon or something of the sort, to step swiftly into her path.
"Where on earth have you been without a single word of notice? I've told you time and again that you must not go about alone without an escort—"
The knight, midstream in his insolent lecture, suddenly fell silent. He seemed thoroughly startled by the state of her.
"What in the world… look at you… Don't tell me you met with some misfortune out there?"
She stepped past him and climbed onto the carriage's footboard. But the man showed no intention of ending his scolding. Gripping the doorframe, he continued in a hardened tone.
"I have a duty to protect Your Highness. Therefore—"
"Anyone listening would think you actually cared."
Thalia looked down at him with a sneer.
"I suppose you've been ordered not to take your eyes off the wild princess for even a moment… If you're going to keep watch, at least stay sharp about it. Why blame me for what you lost because you were standing there like an idiot?"
The man clamped his mouth shut, apparently at a loss for words.
Thalia slammed the door shut in his face. His fingers caught in the jamb, and he spat a rough curse. The gauntlet he wore had spared him serious injury, but he clearly felt no small amount of pain, for his muttering went on for quite some time.
As always, she ignored every complaint that drifted in from outside. Had she taken to heart every word spoken by those around her, she would have gone mad long ago. After becoming a princess, the first skill she had mastered was the art of letting things pass unheard.
Thalia drew the heavy curtains across the glass window where the morning light was beginning to filter in, and curled into herself like a hedgehog.