The Beauty of Darkness (The Remnant Chronicles #3) - Mary E. Pearson Page 0,83

Lia’s way. He walked over to the firewood I had gathered and set his spit, spearing the pheasant he’d already gutted and cleaned.

Tavish returned from washing up in the brook. His thick black ropes of hair dripped with water. He followed my gaze, looking at Lia, and offered a quiet grunt. “I wonder what drill she’ll put one of us through tonight.”

“She wants to be prepared.”

“One person alone can’t take on an entire kingdom.”

“She has us. She’s not alone.”

“She has you—and that’s not saying a lot. The rest of us turn around once we reach the Morrighese border.” He shook out his hair and pulled his shirt over his head.

The first few days riding with Rafe’s loyal trio had been tense, but for Lia’s sake, I held back my tongue, and a few times my fist, too. Now they seemed to accept that I wasn’t along to whisk Lia back to Venda and that I had retired my former title of Assassin, at least until Lia was back in Morrighan. Whether I wanted to admit it or not, they were useful too. I knew hundreds of trails along this southern route, but every Rahtan knew them too. These three had surprised me with a few trails that wound through hidden box canyons where I had never traveled before. And with Orrin along, we never had to eat snake. He was able to draw an arrow and bring down game from his saddle while barely slowing his pace. His skill and passion were perfectly matched.

“Have you noticed,” Tavish asked as he shook out his saddle blanket and hung it over a low branch, “every dusk when she says her remembrances, the wind stirs?”

I had noticed. And wondered. The air seemed to thicken and come alive, as if she were summoning spirits. “Could just be the natural shift of air as the sun goes down.”

Tavish’s eyes narrowed. “Could be.”

“I didn’t think you Dalbretch were the superstitious sort.”

“I saw it back at the Sanctum too. I was there watching from the shadows, and I heard everything she said. Sometimes it felt like her words were touching my skin, like the breeze was carrying every single one past me. It was a strange thing.” I had never heard Tavish ruminate on anything beyond trails and suspicions of my true motivations, which had almost brought us to blows. He blinked as if catching himself. “My watch,” he said, walking away to relieve Jeb. He stopped after a few steps and turned.

“Just curious. Is it true you used to be Morrighese?”

I nodded.

“That’s where you got all the scars? Not in Venda?”

“A very long time ago.”

He eyed me as if trying to figure out how old I must have been.

“I was eight the first time I was whipped,” I said. “The beatings lasted for a couple of years until I was taken to Venda. It was the Komizar who saved me.”

“Being the fine fellow that he is.” He studied me, chewing the corner of his lip. This revelation probably didn’t improve his regard for me. “Those are deep scars. I’m guessing you remember every lash. And now you suddenly want to help Morrighan?”

I leaned back on my elbows and smiled. “Always suspicious, aren’t you?”

He shrugged. “Tactician. It’s my job.”

“Tell you what, I’ll answer your question if you’ll answer one of mine.”

His chin dipped in agreement, waiting for my question.

“Why are you really here? Your king could have sent any squad to escort the princess to the border of her kingdom. Why his top officers? Was it only so you could escort her back to Dalbreck once she came to her senses? And if she didn’t, to force her back?”

Tavish smiled. “Your answer isn’t so important to me after all,” he said, and left.

As Tavish walked away, I watched Lia stride toward me, with dusty riding leathers and a smudged face. Three weapons hung from her sides, and she looked more like a soldier than a princess, though in truth, I wasn’t even sure what a princess should look like. She had never fit any image I had conjured of one. Royal. How easily I had disparaged the title when the only nobility I had ever really known was my father, the esteemed Lord Roché of County Düerr. His line went all the way back to Piers, one of the first Holy Guardians, affording him an elevated status and special favor among nobility, if not the gods themselves. My mother had told me of my ancestry once. I