Shadow Weaver (Back on Wattpad 2020!)

Chapter 31

An hour later, the troop fords a river and we stop on the other side, allowing the horses and men to drink and rest.

"I did not realize you and Lord Strik were on good terms," the Duke says, dismounting beside his nephew.

Jakut accepts a loaf of bread from one of the soldiers while another takes charge of his horse. "I like the man no more than you do, Uncle. We will continue riding until we reach the Vales where we may set camp as agreed. The sooner we are away from these lands, the better."

The Duke hovers, on the verge of saying more, but then bows his head and returns to Commander Fror. Once he is back in the throes of the men, Tug, Brin, and I walk our horses to the river bank.

"What did Lord Strik want with you and Mirra?" Jakut asks, joining us.

"A lady travelling with soldiers is bound to raise interest," Brin says. "Even the Duke and his commander do not understand why Mirra is with us when we have no idea what kind of welcome awaits us in the Red City."

Jakut turns to me. "What did you make of this lord?"

"He seemed to know you," I say.

"I gathered that. What else?"

"There is something odd about his mind."

The Prince's eyes pinch together. "Odd?"

"It overwhelms and makes him hard to disobey."

"He seemed willing enough to comply with my orders."

"Yes," I say. "He also seemed to have been waiting for your return to the Red City."

The Prince swallows and pulls the collar of his tunic. Fine droplets of sweat moisten his hairline. "Could he have known you were Uru Ana?"

"I'm not sure," I say. "It was more as though he smothered other minds than travelled through them."

"Then we have nothing to worry about. We need only to get away from these lands before nightfall." His words do not match his unease. He strides back to his stallion, takes the reins and mounts. A soldier hurries over to him with a skin water flask. Jakut sips, splashes his face, then returns it. Seeing the Prince mounted, the men prepare to leave.

I kneel down by the river's edge to fill my flask with fresh water. Brin and Tug do the same, Tug catching my eye.

Ironic that Duke Roarhil should try to pass me off as the Duchess's niece, making me Beast-face's long-lost daughter. Though of course the Duke doesn't realize the man who once went by the name of Tye Keylore, and who they all believe dead, travels with our troop.

I wonder how Tug's father, Baron Keylore, convinced the world a stray three- or four-year-old girl was his daughter. How did they hide Elise until her eyes settled? And what did Tug do when Lord Strik stole the lands he should have inherited from his father?

My anxiety over our encounter with Lord Strik stays until we enter The Vales, rolling lands that will take us to the Red City. It is late evening, the sun low on the horizon, when we stop for supper. We have travelled over fifty miles today and both men and horses are exhausted.

I watch the men set camp. I would offer to help, but from experience I know not to bother—they will refuse. There has not been time to send out hunters, which means the cook prepares leftover grain mixed with a heavy dose of herbs. He will not accept my help either. Restless, I wander the valley collecting firewood. Tug and Brin's lasso eyes keep track of me as they hammer tent poles and drape canvases. I am returning with an armful of kindle when the Duke heads me off.

"You made a strong impression on my wife," he says. "I can see she is right. You are a resourceful girl. Are all the ladies of the Delladean court as willing to participate in the work of laborers?"