“Sawyn is planning weeks of festivities to celebrate her victory.” Ora leaned back against the patchwork of colorful cushions. “The borders to Olmdere are finally open. Entertainers from all over will flock to the capital. And seeing as we’re heading through Taigos anyway . . .” They grinned at me.
“Who better to play for the sorceress with mountains of gold?” Malou asked, tossing her ponytail over her shoulder. “I doubt there are any talented musicians left in Olmdere. It has been a wasteland these last twenty years. There will be no competition.”
My stomach soured. The curse had just been cast and Sawyn was already planning her victory celebrations. I squeezed my palm around my knife in my pocket as I glanced between the three musicians. Her arrogance was astounding. Why had the sorceress made the demise of my family her personal joy? Why not Taigos or Valta? Why did Olmdere have to bear the brunt of her dark magic?
“Are you looking for another player?” I asked, watching Ora’s face light up. Maybe sneaking into my family’s castle would be easier than I thought.
“Ah, so you do play,” Ora said. “I can always tell.”
“I don’t know any instruments, but I can sing,” I offered. “I’ve always wanted to see Olmdere . . . and there’s nothing for me in Damrienn.”
The three of them exchanged knowing glances. It wasn’t a lie, but I’d let them come to their own conclusions.
Malou leaned her elbows onto her knees. “They say the trees in the Sevelde forest are made of solid gold.”
Mina rolled her eyes, signing back to her sister.
“They could be!” Malou turned to her. “Have you ever been to Sevelde? No. How many gritas if I’m right?”
“It won’t matter how many gritas if the trees are truly made of gold,” Ora guffawed. The rings circling their fingers clinked as they clapped their hands together. “A single branch would make us rich as kings . . . but then, we would’ve seen at least one of these gilded leaves around Aotreas by now. I’m fairly certain the trees are simply of a golden hue.”
“Even if Sawyn pays us a few gold crovers, it’ll be enough to feed us for a year.” Malou lifted her mug of tea in mock salute. “We don’t need the trees at all, not in the capital of the Gold Wolf kingdom. It is said the Marriel castle was built on an island of gold coins, that they flooded the basin around them so that none would discover their treasure. Perhaps we should go for a swim in that lake to find out?”
Mina signed something again and I quirked my brow at her, realizing I wasn’t as well-versed in the languages of Aotreas as I thought. Why had we never been taught this one?
“You better keep in line,” Ora said, nodding in agreement with Mina. “Sawyn’s Rooks are a vicious lot.”
“Have you seen her Rooks before?” I asked.
“They’re rife in Taigos,” Malou replied. “Queen Ingrid lets them roam through the Ice kingdom just as they do in Olmdere. They don’t seem to follow any codes other than what their sorceress commands.”
“Why does the Ice Wolf queen let them in her kingdom?”
“Maybe it’s easier than trying to keep them out.” Malou shrugged. “Maybe since her kingdom borders Olmdere, she knows that the other kings will use her as a buffer to Sawyn’s wrath and she is smarter than to fight Sawyn alone.”
I bit the inside of my lip, and Ora patted me on the shoulder.
“Keep your head down, love, and you’ll do just fine.” They gestured up to a line of velvet curtains. “That bunk is empty or the one over the kitchen.”
Mina gestured to the one above her.
“Yeah, take that one,” Malou said. “The one by the kitchen always reeks of cooking.”
“Delicious cooking,” Ora said with a feigned scowl.
I chuckled, nodding to the curtained off bunk built into the stacks of shelving. “That one it is.”
Ora stood, bracing a hand against the cabinets to keep from wobbling. “You’ll get your sea legs, too.” They winked at me and climbed the steps to the upper level. Tossing a look over their shoulder, they said, “Welcome to Galen den’ Mora, Calla.”
“This is delicious,” I hummed, eating another spoonful of spiced lentil stew. “I’ve never seen orange potatoes before.”
“Jara,” Ora said. “They’re native to Valta. Sweet and keep for months.”
“These are great, but next time don’t overdo it on the spice trying to impress the newcomer.” Malou chuckled, tipping her head to the spice rack behind her. Dozens of jars filled the shelf, a rainbow of powdered spices and herbs. “We won’t be able to restock until we head southward again.”
Ora waved their hand. “Olmdere has plenty to flavor food. Honey, rosemary, ginger . . . We will be fine.”
Sitting between Malou and Mina, I gulped down my breakfast . . . or maybe it was dinner? My stomach growled in protest regardless, being stretched full after days on lean rations. Malou reached for the pot in the center of the table and ladled another helping into my bowl.
I studied Ora from across the table—their maroon scarf, their high-waisted trousers that ballooned out in colorful brocade, the fabric-covered buttons that trailed down their billowy shirt . . . Everything about them seemed so free, so unencumbered by the rules with which I’d lived my entire life. I didn’t even know someone was allowed to be this way—not that humans needed to seek permission to be all the things they felt inside. I continued shoveling more jara into my mouth but kept peeking at Ora, feeling like a key was being placed in a lock that I was too afraid to turn.
The wagon rattled along the road. Ribbons hanging from the bronzed chandelier swayed above us like prairie grass. I reached up and touched a finger to one ribbon, each one stitched with a trail of little badges in various shapes: suns, swords, animals, food . . .
“What are these?” I traced a finger over the embroidered badge in the shape of a candle.
“There’s one for each of the people who have called Galen den’ Mora home,” Ora said, rubbing their thumb over the nearest ribbon. “You should think about what you want your badge to look like. A songbird perhaps?”
“You’d have to pick a new color.” Malou huffed, dipping a piece of flatbread into her stew. “We’ve already had a red, green, yellow, and blue songbird. What colors do you like?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know what colors you like?” Malou’s eyebrows shot up, and Ora gave her a look.
“Besides.” I grinned. “You haven’t heard me sing yet.”
“Ten gritas says she’s good,” Malou said, giving me a wink. Mina signed to her sister with a mischievous smile. “Deal.”
“What happened to all of them?” I asked, admiring the hundreds of little badges trailing above the dining table.
“Most of them moved on to other lives,” Ora said, eyes softening. “Some passed away. Galen den’ Mora has been traveling for longer than I’ve been alive. I was born in this very wagon.” They waved around them. “This place was my grandmother’s dying wish. A home for any traveler with a song in their heart. The wheels never break and the oxen never tire. Galen den’ Mora rolls on forever. Life and death, a whole world, within this rolling home.”
“That’s beautiful,” I murmured.