THEY TRAVELED faster once March was healed, but keeping to the quieter roads meant slow progress, and the villages were often so small there wasn’t even an inn. They studied the map every morning and evening to work out roughly where they were. Holywell said they were heading toward Pravont to catch a barge downriver to Rossarb, and from there they’d get a ship to Calidor. But to get that far they needed to eat. Edyon was tired and hungry. And now as they crested the hill they saw a small roadside inn beside a stream in meadowland surrounded by wooded hills. There were chickens pecking around the back, goats in a pen, and a few pigs too. Fresh eggs, bread, and milk would all be there. It was beautiful.
“I’ll go,” Holywell said.
Holywell or March always went. And only one of them, as if they didn’t trust Edyon to be left alone. Holywell said that one person at an inn was less conspicuous, but Edyon thought that one person buying enough food for three was more noteworthy. He was tired of the whole charade. Holywell was paranoid—they were miles from Dornan and perfectly safe. And Edyon wanted a warm pie straight from the oven.
“Actually, I think I should go.”
“How do you figure that?” Holywell asked. “Your Highness.”
“You’re a foreigner. Your accent gives you away and your eyes are . . . distinctive. We’re in the remote north of the country. What reason will you give for being here?”
“It’s none of their business.”
“Maybe not, but that doesn’t mean they won’t be interested. They won’t get many customers. What else are they going to talk about?”
“And what reason will you give for being here?” Holywell asked.
Edyon didn’t hesitate. “I’m going north to join my uncle’s law business. He specializes in trade contracts and really my interest is criminal law, but I’m young and have to start somewhere.”
“I suggest you avoid any mention of criminals or where you’re going.”
“You think I need a better story? I could be . . . going to buy the special wool they make in the north for my lover, a great dancer, who dances at court in Tornia.” He waved his arm dramatically. “He’ll look so wonderful in woolen trousers.”
Holywell seemed, for once, stunned into silence. March was almost smiling, though, which was at least a little grati-fying.
“You lie well,” said Holywell, giving him an appraising look that made Edyon feel uncomfortable. “Stick with the lawyer story. Get a couple of those chickens if you can. And eggs. Ham. Cheese. Stuff that’ll last. Find out if the sheriff’s men have been by. We’ll ride round and meet you in the trees at the far side. Don’t dally. The longer you’re there, the more likely it is others will turn up. Possibly sheriff’s men.”
The chances of the sheriff’s men having followed them there seemed tiny. Edyon was sure Holywell was trying to frighten him. And he’d completely forgotten about addressing Edyon as “Your Highness,” not that that really bothered him. The words sounded strange in his ears, particularly when they fell from March’s lips.
“I’ll be as swift as an arrow, Holywell.”
“And leave the smoke with us. Don’t want you getting into trouble over that stuff again.”
Edyon set off, quickly forgetting about Holywell and thinking instead about bread, cheese, and—if he was lucky—hot pies.
A boy ran out as he rode up, offering to take care of the horse for a kopek. Edyon dismounted, gave him the coin, and brushed the mud stains from his trousers as he walked to the door of the inn, realizing too late that most of the marks were actually blood.
He was the only customer. He exchanged greetings with the woman behind the crude bar—little more than a trestle table, really—and ordered a pie for his lunch. While he waited, he went to sit outside in the sun. That’s when he noticed the poster pinned to the wall.
WANTED. FOR MURDER.
His blood seemed to freeze in his veins.
EDYON FOSS
And below his name was an awful picture of him.
His life should have improved once he knew his father was a prince. Instead it had got worse, much, much worse. But was it about to get worse still? Had the innkeeper recognized him from the poster? Had she gone for help?
Just then she appeared and set his pie down on a table by the door, just below the poster.
“Actually, I’ve had enough sun on the road. I’ll eat inside.”
The woman sighed. “Yes, sir.”
But as soon as he was indoors Edyon regretted moving. If she had recognized him and called for help, now he was trapped inside.
Edyon ate the pie as fast as he could. He was starving, but he also felt sick with anxiety. He wanted to leave, but he knew he had to get food for March and Holywell.
Then a man appeared. “Ah, sir, my wife said we had a customer. Nice to see you on this lovely day. You’ve had a long journey from the looks of you?”
Edyon coughed on the last crust of his pie. Was this a ruse to delay him, or was the man just being friendly?
“A long journey and a difficult one.” He held his arms out to show rather than hide his sorry condition. “I got lost, dropped my bag crossing a river, and spent the night in the open. I’m not used to this sort of traveling.”
“Well, I can give you a room for the night, a bath, and dinner. All at a good rate.”
“Alas, your offer is tempting, but I’ve lost too much time already. I have a new legal position awaiting me with my uncle.”
“Where’s that, sir?”
“Pravont.”
The word was out before he could stop it, and Edyon could have kicked himself. Still, it was too late now, and he could at least ask directions. “Can you confirm my best route? And perhaps sell me some bread and cheese to sustain me on my way?”
“To be honest, I didn’t even know they had lawyers in Pravont.”
“How so?”
“Well, it’s so small.”
Another mistake! But a short time later Edyon had a bag of food, a well-fed and groomed horse, and a full if slightly nervous stomach, as well as clear directions to Pravont. He rode swiftly away, and waiting under the trees out of sight of the inn were Holywell and March.
“All go well?” Holywell asked.
“Yes. Fine.” He hesitated. “There was a poster there. A wanted poster. For me.”
Holywell swore.
“You weren’t recognized, though?” asked March anxiously.
“No.” Edyon shrugged casually. “No one ever looks at those things. I knew I’d be fine.”
He handed over the sack to Holywell. “Bread, cheese, and eggs. And a pie.”
Holywell’s eyes gleamed. “Well done, Your Highness. Given the poster, though, we’re best being on our way.”
“Yes, but at least now I’m sure of the way. I got directions.”
Holywell looked up. His voice was dangerously expressionless as he asked, “How did you do that? Your Highness.”
“Well, I mentioned that we were going to . . . to Pravont.”
“We?”
“I mean, I was going there. Of course I didn’t say, ‘we.’ I said, ‘I.’”
“So they have a poster of you. And you told them where you were going.”
“He didn’t recognize me,” insisted Edyon. “I would have known.”
“Yes, but next time he walks past that poster I’ll bet he has a little think, and then he mentions the remarkable likeness to one of his customers—who was on his way to Pravont—to the next sheriff’s man that comes in.” Holywell shook his head. “We need to move faster.”
Edyon’s face burned. “I’m sorry. I realize I made a mistake.”
“Do you, Your Highness? I’m so gratified.”
Holywell mounted his horse and set off.
Just to make things perfect, it started to rain.
* * *
The midges were thick in the air. March, Edyon, and Holywell were sitting around their campfire with cloths wrapped round their faces and necks, and their jackets tightly secured. The rain had been bad, but the midges, which had been attacking them from the instant the rain stopped, were worse.