either monsters or the Destroyer. Deeply she drank, finishing the wine . . . already wishing for another.
But nothing was free, and Lizzan had told them all that she could bear to tell. “I thank you for this,” she said, placing the cup down. “I regret that I had nothing to tell you.”
“You told us more than we knew before,” said Mediva. “Perhaps at supper, you might tell us what supplies we will need for a winter on the windward side of the island.”
The old woman gave the cup a sly glance. “Or perhaps you might stay with us through many suppers, and show us the windward side yourself.”
Lizzan’s throat closed. No, she could not do that. She had been exiled and her name had been struck from the books. To merely speak it was against Kothan law. And if Lizzan returned to the island, she would be killed . . . and worse, she would bring more shame to her mother and brothers than they already knew.
But more wine she would not refuse—though this time she would earn it. Gripping her sword, she rose to her feet.
“What shall I hunt for our supper, then?”
CHAPTER 2
AERAX
Many times since leaving Koth, Aerax’s eyes had tricked him into seeing Lizzan where she wasn’t. In the turn of a woman’s head, the shape of a smile, the sound of a laugh. Never had he seen her in a footprint.
Or in two footprints—for it was the pairing that had made him stop to look again. The soft impression left by a leather-clad boot could belong to any number of women. But that stride was Lizzan’s.
Aerax searched for more prints, but the Parsathean horses that passed down this road after the woman had obliterated most of them. He spotted a single print here and there. Not a full stride.
“How intently you stare at the ground,” Lady Junica said as her periwag walked up alongside his mount. From her lounging couch atop the wide beast, she craned her head as if to examine the tracks—then winced and settled back on her cushions again, apparently thinking better of moving. “Does the rain make it harder to follow the Parsatheans’ trail?”
Aerax shook his head. The rain made it easier. And better allowed him to judge how much time had passed since the caravan had come through, and then the Parsathean warriors.
But rain or sun, this took no effort. He had spent his early years hunting through the northern wilds. Yet even in this unfamiliar jungle, he could follow the trail of a red-cloaked warrior who had drawn notice everywhere she went—as could anyone. Reading the tracks only meant they did not have to continually stop and ask for the direction she’d gone.
“Our feral prince did not likely expect to be of much use on this journey.” Degg spoke to Lady Junica, who rode between them, but his bland smile was aimed at Aerax. “You must be glad to have a purpose again.”
Aerax grunted. He had a purpose. One that the king would kill him for and these councilors would put a stop to, if they knew of it.
And despite the title he’d been given, Aerax was not truly a prince. His uncle had only acknowledged Aerax’s existence out of desperation after the red fever had torn through the realm, killing nearly every member of Koth’s royal family—including Aerax’s father, the king, and his legitimate heirs. But Aerax would never inherit Koth’s throne; he would only know the burden of it, and the ink that finally added Aerax’s name to the books had not yet dried when a sullen and resentful Degg had been assigned to act as Aerax’s guide through the palace and to teach court etiquette to a coarse huntsman.
Aerax had never taken to those lessons, and Degg had never refrained from saying how badly he’d failed them.
So no diplomat was he. Aerax had only been sent on this journey for appearances’ sake. The snow-white hair of Koth’s rulers was legendary—and so was the rarity of any Kothan royal leaving the realm. His uncle had believed that Aerax’s presence would communicate the urgency of their need to Krimathe better than any words could.
Of the words that needed to be spoken, few would come from Aerax. Not when he might offend the High Daughter of Krimathe with his coarse manners and vulgar tongue.
When they had arrived in Krimathe, however, there was no High Daughter there to speak with—instead it was her cousin, Mala, who looked after the realm