Shadows of Suspicion
The woman’s eyes flashed with fury as she ground out each word like a curse. “You think my words are beneath you too?”
Her fierce presence made him take an involuntary step back. The frail princess, her slender frame trembling, raised her voice in a sharp outburst. “How many times must I tell you to leave me alone? Do you find my words so amusing?”
“I only brought food because I feared Your Highness might collapse,” Edric replied, his voice faltering as he tried to defend himself with an aggrieved expression.
Thalia let out a derisive snort right in his face. “Why would someone like you worry about me?”
“I am Your Highness’s personal knight. It is my duty to attend to you—”
She burst into sudden laughter. His face flushed crimson; never in his life had he been mocked so openly to his face, and he had no idea how to respond. She regarded him with open contempt before continuing in a slow, deliberate tone.
“You must think me a complete fool. Do you imagine I don’t know that the Roem Knights are little more than the crown prince’s loyal hounds?”
His expression hardened. She glanced disdainfully at the basket in his hands and added coldly, “What did you put in there that you want me to eat? Some filthy trick?”
“I am a knight!” Edric snapped, his voice rising for the first time. The insult burned all the way to his ears. “Your Highness’s words are an affront not only to me but to the entire imperial order! We have sworn before the gods to protect the imperial family. We would never—”
“You think I would believe that?”
He stared at her, speechless, at the ice-carved mask of her face. She wiped the faint smile from her lips and delivered a final, frigid rebuke. “If you wish to flatter someone, go to my half-brothers. I have no need of it.”
With that, she slammed the carriage door shut, ending the conversation with a resounding bang. Edric gripped the basket so tightly his knuckles whitened; otherwise he might have flung the door open and shouted at her to stop being so stubborn. He glared at the carriage for a long moment, then turned on his heel. He had done enough. He had no intention of coaxing a woman who openly insulted and antagonized him.
Edric tossed the basket onto a shelf outside the communal barracks and strode toward the serving line. The other knights were already seated in the field, eating. He joined them, heaped his plate high, and began devouring the food with savage appetite, telling himself it was none of his concern whether that wretched woman starved or not.
* * *
In the darkness Thalia tossed restlessly before carefully pushing herself upright. When she drew back the curtain, a few faint lights from the sentries’ lanterns glimmered in the night; everything else lay swallowed in blackness. She gazed up at the moonless sky, then slipped quietly out of the carriage.
Days of surviving on nothing but a few slices of bread and honeyed fruit had left her limbs weak. Perhaps she should have accepted the foolish knight’s offering after all. He had not seemed clever enough to devise any real scheme; maybe she had been overly cautious. She dismissed the thought at once. She had learned too well that the most dangerous people were those who wore harmless faces. He might simply be waiting for her guard to drop before striking.
She studied the sentries near the fence with wary eyes, then began to pick her way forward. Her night-adjusted vision made out the triangular shapes of tent roofs, the long line of supply wagons, and the dark forms of horses. Careful not to trip on any stones, she moved between the tents. A cool wind from the hills slipped beneath her clothes. The sharp scent of crushed grass mingled with the smell of dying campfires. Relying on her senses, she crept onward through the dark.
At last she located her attendants’ quarters. She narrowed her eyes, confirming she had found the right place, then clambered onto the nearest wagon. Wedging herself among the stacked bundles, she curled into a tight ball and fixed her gaze on the tent entrance, watching for any sign that her mother’s planted spy might act tonight.
She hugged her knees and stared into the darkness without blinking. Occasionally she heard soldiers snoring or grinding their teeth; horses snorted and insects chirped. She had not realized the night could be so noisy. She fought to calm her frayed nerves, counting each painful second.
She did not know how long she had been holding her breath when the black sky began to lighten toward dawn. It seemed tonight would pass quietly after all. Stiffly she unfolded her cramped limbs; every joint protested with sharp cracks. She was rubbing her tingling arms and legs, swallowing a groan, when a dark figure emerged from the tent.
She narrowed her eyes. The light was too poor to see the face, but the slender build clearly belonged to a woman. Thalia forced her aching body upright and followed.
She trailed the figure past the long row of wagons until Aila’s carriage came into view. Thalia wiped her damp palms on her skirt. If only the woman would slip inside that carriage and do what needed to be done in her place. She watched the retreating back with desperate hope, but the woman passed Aila’s carriage without stopping and continued toward the far end of the camp. When Thalia’s gaze followed, her face hardened. The black-horse banner of House Sierekan fluttered before a tent.
She hurried forward, but by the time she reached the spot the woman had vanished. Frantically scanning between the tents, Thalia stared at the entrance in disbelief. Could she have gone inside?
Her heart dropped. If Aila and Barcas were joined, Garese’s position would become unassailable. House Sierekan wielded immense influence across the east and even the north. If Aila became Duchess of Sierekan, Garese would have the full weight of the noble alliance behind him. It was entirely possible he had decided to eliminate Barcas to prevent that future.
The thought sent her rushing headlong into Barcas’s tent, reason abandoned. She pushed aside the central partition. The bed was empty. Barcas always rose before dawn to begin his duties; he was probably inspecting the camp or checking on Tork. The rational explanation did nothing to ease her fear. She ran her hands over the bed, searching for any trace of blood, then snapped her head up at the sound of heavy footsteps. A large figure stood silhouetted in the tent entrance.
Thinking it was Barcas, she started forward—then froze. Garese, dressed in light clothing, regarded her with startled eyes. “What are you doing here?” he asked, his gaze sweeping over her from head to toe.