“If that’s what you think, then I wonder you could ever have fallen in love with Father.”
She takes my tone not as sarcasm but as a question. “I was young and na?ve. I mistook a handsome smile for something it wasn’t. No Saroese man can ever treat an Efean woman with the respect an Efean man will show her.”
“So is that what all this conniving with General Inarsis is about?” I lash back. “Are you going to marry him, since he’s a good Efean man?”
She actually laughs. I know I can never ask her to forgive Father, but this dismissiveness infuriates me.
“That’s what you want for me, isn’t it?” I go on. “A nice Efean life with a nice Efean boy like Ro, who, I should mention, seems to have a girlfriend in every tavern.”
“The honored poet Ro-emnu has behaved toward me as would a dutiful nephew over the last few months. He made my life easier during a difficult time.”
Her championing of Ro goads me over the edge.
“It’s like you want me to pretend I’m not half-Saroese. Like you want me to forget I have a Saroese father and to act like I’ve never been anything but Efean. Well, I won’t, because no matter what you wish, people will still throw names at me. I’m proud of who I am. I will make my own choices. And Kal and I will not end up with broken promises, not like you and Father!”
The instant I say those final words I’m horrified at how petty they are. I press a hand to my mouth but it’s too late. The memory of the day Father abandoned the life they had built together twists a shadow in her eyes.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper through my fingers as tears well up. “That was an awful thing to say.”
Yet my harsh words finally soften her. She never takes her solemn gaze from me, nor would I dare insult her by looking away.
“You’re right to scold me, Jessamy. You and your sisters are half-Saroese, and you shouldn’t be ashamed of it, and no one should ask you to repudiate any part of yourself, not even me. Especially not me. But please listen. For your father and me to fall in love and try to build a life together was unusual but not unheard of. No one really cares if a lowborn Patron man cohabits with a Commoner woman, even if they aren’t allowed to marry under the law. But Lord Kalliarkos has a claim to the throne. The moment you become his lover, you will be marked for death, not by Efeans, not by the ordinary Saroese who live and work in Efea, but by Garon Palace, his own noble household. Do you understand me, Jessamy? Do you?”
I can’t say no. I won’t say yes.
So I say nothing.
She wipes away a tear and then embraces me, her strength and affection the shelter I’ve known all my life. “Come back to me, my fierce Jessamy. Don’t get lost in a false dream.”
She can’t disguise the fear in her voice: She’s not sure if my loyalties lie with her or with Father. With Efea or with Efea’s Saroese rulers. The truth is, for all my bold words, I’m not sure either.
4
A wiry Efean man named Khamu guides us northeast, inland away from Mist Lake. We stride along farmers’ paths that wind past fields, ponds, and uncultivated land. It’s a hot day, the blue sky like polished lapis. Normally people do not travel long distances with the sun blasting overhead, but we have to warn my father and get Kal to the safety of the army.
For most of the weary, sweaty day, we circle wide around every village, avoiding people no matter who they are. We dare not speak, communicating by army hand signals. So when Khamu abruptly signals “down,” we drop right where we are on a path cutting through a palm grove interspersed with pomegranate trees. I’ve been given an iron-bladed hoeing stick so I can pretend to be a farmer if we run into soldiers, but it’s the knife General Inarsis gave me before we left that I grip tightly as we wait.
A hand grabs my sandaled foot. I look back. Mis tips her head in a question, and I shrug. Behind her, Ro has unsheathed the sword we took from the soldiers Kal killed.
Kal is crouched beside the trunk of a palm, sword held ready. It’s so hot he’s stripped off his vest, wearing only his keldi and a bundle slung over his back. I’m briefly distracted by shoulders honed by all the climbing he used to do when he still ran the Fives, but then he raises a hand to cup his ear in the signal for “listen” and all my senses focus on the threat.
A splash sounds from a nearby pond. Footsteps pat a rhythm on the ground. Someone is coming up behind us.
We scramble to get out of sight, shielded by leaves. I peer through a gap as three barefoot Efean youths amble into sight, carrying baskets heaped with dates and pomegranates. Khamu calls in the manner of a dove, three times, and the youths halt.
“If you are honorable travelers, you are welcome to ask for hospitality from our dame council,” says one in a high, light voice. They giggle nervously and race away, vanishing around a bend in the path.
Khamu stands. “I think we’re far enough that we can safely enter a village now. We’ll see if we can get mounts here.”
Mis takes the lead, with Ro falling into step behind her and Khamu taking up the rear guard.
I fall back to walk beside Kal.
“I like the dress the dames gave you to wear. It looks good on you.” His intimate grin makes me smile. “But you and Mis can’t ride in dresses.”
“I have my Fives gear.”
“Fives trousers are too lightweight and they’re seamed for agility, not for riding. You’ll be chafed and blistered in half a morning. If we really can get horses here, I have a spare pair of reinforced cavalry trousers. They’ll fit you.”
He pats the strap of the bag he’s carrying. The thought of wearing his clothes makes me blush a little.
“No Patron trousers for me to change into instead of this keldi?” Ro asks over his shoulder.
“They didn’t invite you into the conversation, Honored Poet,” says Mis. “Keep your thoughts on the words you’re going to have to say to persuade the dame council to help us.”
Either Kal has gotten too much sun today or he’s blushing too. I take his hand, astonished by how easy it is, how I could never have imagined that one day this would be an ordinary act. Not that it feels ordinary.
He murmurs, “We have no parents or relatives looking over our shoulders, Jes.”
“I know. Not until we reach the Royal Army.”
“You two! Give me silence,” Mis calls back as if Kal is not a Saroese prince who could have her executed for disrespect. “There’s a specific protocol we need to follow when we enter a village as strangers.”
A post supporting a lantern marks the edge of the village. As strangers, we aren’t invited up onto the boardwalks linking the houses, so we walk on the main wagon track into the central square.
Villagers have gathered, alerted by the youths. Children jiggle in excitement at the sight of newcomers, but the adults stare with skeptical expressions. About half of them carry weapons. No one says a word. I’m nervous and Kal keeps his head bowed, but Ro looks around with an easy smile although of course he doesn’t speak.