Jate's cheeks stung in the wind, his muscles ached from exertion, and his lungs burnt with the cold, but he paid them no heed as he rode along the track. The present was nothing but a blur; none of it mattered until he found Veanna.
Images flashed through his mind of the terrible things she could be going through. Veanna being relentlessly interrogated by a faceless, robed figure. Veanna tied up and beaten, screaming for him to help her. Veanna motionless on the ground, her honey hair spilling across glassy grey eyes, her skin pale and her lips turning blue. He hadn't been able to keep her safe, and now he wouldn't be there to save her.
His horse slowed beneath him, and he blinked focus back through tears. He kicked Farilyth on, but she ignored the prompting. "Come on," he snapped, digging his heels into her flanks as she dropped to a walk.
The mare huffed and tossed her head. Jate almost kicked her again, but froze when he noticed her laboured breathing and the sweat on her neck despite the day's chill. He cursed himself for pushing her so hard and loosened her reins. She stretched her neck in relief, hanging her head as she trudged on. "I'm sorry, girl," he murmured, rubbing her shoulder.
"Let's stop for a while, shall we?" Jate nudged her off the track towards the parallel stream, swinging a leg over her and dropping down as she stopped. He scanned both directions down the track before turning back to his mare.
"Good girl," he soothed, stroking her neck and moving to rub her muscles. His shoulders ached and his legs seemed to be stuck with a horse-sized gap between them, but she was the one doing the hard work.
Once Farilyth was relaxed and content, dipping her head to drink from the stream, Jate eased his own muscles. His sore legs protested more than his horse as he stretched them, but it felt good to be on solid ground for the first time in hours.
Jate sighed, his breath curling in the air like pale flames, and ran a hand over his head. His hair tangled in his fingers rather than grazing his fingertips as normal, and a dark scruff shadowed his jaw. He certainly didn't look like a refined soldier anymore. His eyes were drawn inexorably to his saddlebag, where he had stowed his uniform and any sign of rank.
In the border towns he approached, the uniform was more likely to bring him violence than answers - soldiers were few and far between in these parts. The danger of losing good fighters to unruly malcontents and bar fights that got out of hand outweighed the modicum of order they could bring. The scarce army outposts tended to be more focused on the border itself than the pockets of civilisation clinging to this side of the boundary, and the lowlives that skulked down here preferred it this way.
Still, it had been surprisingly painful to remove his uniform, and strange to wear cheap clothes again. He missed his uniform, the authority that came with it, the security it gave him in his own identity.
Jate shook his head and cast another glance at the clear sky, wan in the weak sunlight. It was no wonder he and Farilyth were both worn out; he had set off around dawn. His stomach rumbled as if to prove the point, and Farilyth's ears twitched.
"Yes, I'll get you something," he murmured. He opened a bag hanging from her saddle, pulling out a pair of apples and a hunk of bread.
Jate held one of the apples out to Farilyth, which she eagerly took from his hand. "I'll get you some more substantial food in the next town, don't worry, my lady."
He eased his legs as he ate his lunch, the morning mist that clutched at the hollow of valleys slowly burning off as the pale sun climbed. The trees on the other side of the road were a tangle of brown, any trace of summer long since gone. A smile pulled at his lips, bittersweet and melancholy. He was sure they would look beautiful when they were covered with leaves, especially if they flowered - he knew Veanna loved it when the trees blossomed.
The best blossoms were in the palace gardens when springtime built towards summer, when pale cream and pink petals fluttered to the ground like snow, when he and Veanna could walk alone for a time and pretend there was nothing more to the world than the plants around them. He could almost smell the fresh scents on the breeze, the fragrance of the flowers mingling with the floral hints of Veanna's perfume.
Jate blinked from the reverie, his heart tumbling in his chest at the mixture of joy and despair. He refused to dwell on his pain when Veanna was out there somewhere, lost and alone. He would not let her down by wasting his time grieving for what he could soon have again.
Unable to remain idle for long, he guided Farilyth back to the road and pushed her on to the next town, which had grown like mould at the foot of the hills. He was getting sick of seedy towns and crumbling taverns. The wealth of northern Levea was far behind him, and that became more apparent with each step he and Farilyth trod. And through it all, Veanna's fate hung like a stormcloud above him.
He dismounted again and kept his eyes down as he led Farilyth towards the next inn - the border towns did not look kindly on strangers, and he wanted to draw as little attention as possible. It was going to be hard work getting answers if he went much farther south, but what other option did he have? He was relying on nothing but blind luck to find another lead, but he had to keep trying.
Wanted posters proclaiming Veanna's disappearance caught his eye on several streets. They were less prominent than they had been in previous towns, and there were no worried gossips huddled before them, but the considerable sum of money on offer would surely attract favourable attention here.
Jate couldn't help but wish that the people in the Southlands stayed away from the issue, away from Veanna. He did not like the idea of her being held captive by the shadowy Order of Kysuk, but the thought of her falling into the hands of thieves and vagabonds wasn't much better. In some ways, the posters should have made his task easier, but the problems it brought up were more numerous.
Why had the King spread the proclamation? He expressly ordered any questioning to be covert to avert panic, and yet now he had told the whole kingdom - and no doubt the continent - that his heir had vanished without a trace. Did he have some new piece of information that suggested making the announcement would keep Veanna safer? Was that good or bad?
Jate rubbed his temple, a headache brewing behind his eyes. Why hadn't the King recalled him, even subtly? Why leave Jate running around in the dark while giving everyone else incentive to copy and muddy his mission?
There was yet another puzzle in the bounty: how did the Outlander fit into all of this? They were rarely found in the Lands, apparently content to keep to their own territory and their own ways. Was this Outlander part of a plot against the Lands, or somehow connected to the Order? Or did some third party have yet another inexplicable interest in Levea's Princess?
Jate stabled his horse and proceeded into the tavern, slinking to the dingy bar with heavy familiarity. He consciously held himself like a farmer's son rather than an officer, reminded himself to speak like an equal rather than an authority figure. All of the change he had gone through in the last few years was put behind him in these moments as a bid to safeguard his life.
He sank onto a barstool as he cast a glance around the quiet tavern. A few dregs hunched over tables and the bar was staffed by a sallow woman, her dirty blonde hair drawn into a tight bun and her lips pursed with either boredom or distaste. He ordered a drink, taking slight sips as he struck up casual conversation - he was accustomed to this routine now.
On another day, he might have been relieved by the softness that appeared in the bartender's face he assumed would not break out of a scowl, surprised by the warmth in the conversation he thought would be standoffish, appreciative of the open answers he believed would be violent refusals to talk.
Yet this was just another useless questioning that led nowhere, told him nothing. He nodded as the bartender aired her grievances against the levy on the last summer's harvest, only half paying attention to her grumbles about the King redistributing crops to areas with poorer yields. Everybody had some complaint about something, and it was now part of his job to listen to their gripes as he sifted for the matter he truly cared about.
He still could not shake the creeping discomfort that gripped him upon entering a place no soldier would dare walk alone. Captain Aeron could not have been here, but Jate would go to the ends of the world. Jate would find Veanna and bring her home, no matter what it took.
Jate would do his duty.
BẠN ĐANG ĐỌC
Midnight Moon (The Bleeding Crown Book 1)
Viễn tưởng"I'm going to fight the Order, not cower from them." She sounded steadfast, like abandoning her resolve would bring her closer to death than Faltis had: like a Queen. "Stay away if you like, but I'm doing this, and if you want to stop me, you'll hav...
