The Beauty of Darkness - Mary E. Pearson Page 0,78

meadow and my mother’s warm touch again. It was a dangerous thought because it tumbled into more longings, for the laughter of Bryn and Regan, the sound of Aunt Bernette humming, the echoing chimes of the abbey, the aroma of Tuesday buns filling the halls.

“You’re ready.”

I spun. Rafe was waiting near the door. He was dressed, not as an officer, nor as a king, but as a warrior. Black leather pauldrons tipped with metal widened his already broad shoulders, and two swords hung from his sides. His expression was hard and scrutinizing, like that long-ago day when he had first walked into Berdi’s tavern. And in the same way it had that day, his gaze took away my breath.

“Expecting trouble?” I asked.

“A soldier is always expecting trouble.”

His voice was so controlled and distant, it made me pause for a second look. His dark expression didn’t waver. I grabbed my saddlebag from the bed, but he took it from me. “I’ll carry it.”

I didn’t argue. It sounded like the stubborn declaration of a king rather than a proffered kindness. We walked through the camp in silence except for the jingle of his belts and swords, which made his footsteps seem more ominous. With each step, he seemed larger and more impenetrable. The camp was buzzing with activity, supply wagons rolling toward the gates, soldiers still carrying gear to their horses, officers directing troops to their squad positions in the caravan. I spotted Kaden, Tavish, Orrin, Jeb, and Sven clustered on their own horses just inside the outpost gates. Two more horses waited beside them, which I assumed were for Rafe and me.

“Find your places in the middle of the caravan,” Rafe told them. “I’ll help the princess. We’ll catch up.” The princess. Rafe wouldn’t even say my name. Kaden looked at me oddly, a rare flash of worry in his expression, then turned his horse, riding away with the others as ordered. Dread snaked through me.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“Everything.” Rafe’s tone remained flat, frighteningly absent of the lively sarcasm he had favored lately. He stayed busy, his back to me, taking an excessive amount of time to strap on my saddlebag.

I noted that my horse was heavily laden with supplies and gear.

“My horse is a pack animal?” I asked.

“You’ll need the supplies.” Another dose of his distant coolness plucked at my ire.

“And you?” I asked, looking at his horse, which had none.

“Most of my gear and food will be in the wagons that follow.”

He finished with my horse and moved to his own. A sword sheathed in a plain scabbard hung from the pommel of my saddle, and a shield was strapped to the pack behind it.

I ran my hand along the horse’s soft muzzle. Rafe saw me examining the plain leather noseband. “None of your tack denotes a kingdom. You can become whoever you choose as the need arises.”

I turned, not certain what he was saying.

He refused to look at me, checking his own bag and cinch again. “You’re free to go where you wish, Lia. I’m not going to force you to stay with me. Though I would suggest you travel with the caravan for the first twelve miles. At that point, there’s a trail that veers west. You can take it if you choose to.”

He was letting me go? Was there a catch to this? I couldn’t go anywhere without Kaden. I didn’t know the way. “And Kaden is free to go with me as well?”

He paused, stone still, staring at his saddle, his jaw clenched tight. He swallowed but still didn’t turn to look at me. “Free,” he answered.

“Thank you,” I whispered, though it didn’t seem like the right response at all. I didn’t know what to say. Everything about this threw me off.

“Don’t thank me,” he said. “It might be the worst decision I’ve ever made. Get up.” He finally turned to me, his voice still cool. “And you’re free to change your mind about leaving anytime during those twelve miles.”

I nodded, feeling disoriented. The day I had laid out in my head had suddenly vanished and was replaced with a new scenario. I wouldn’t be changing my mind, but I wondered why he had changed his. He got up on his horse and waited for me to do the same. I looked at my horse, a fine-boned runner, sturdy but swift like a Morrighese Ravian. I unsheathed the sword, testing its feel, the cynical tone of Rafe saying swordplay still ringing in my ears. The