I listen carefully to the soldiers as we travel, and they banter and tease each other, clearly old friends. I’m not just curious to understand the people Leon surrounds himself with, I’m thinking about self-preservation too. I assume Alastor has filled them in while they were waiting for Leon and me to arrive from the mountain. These fae are now part of the handful of people who know what I really am. Which means I’m bound to them before I even know most of their names.
It’s a weird feeling, having to put my trust in strangers. But then most of the people I’ve been close to ended up keeping secrets from me, so maybe strangers actuallyarethe ones I can trust.
We arrive at the shelter they talked about—an abandoned farmstead with overgrown fields and a collection of boarded-up buildings.
“Why would someone leave all this land?” I ask as we dismount.
“This place is too close to Godom,” Alastor says, like that’s explanation enough. Godom is the Temple’s territory. Palquir gave them a city after the war, Qimorna, but they expanded beyond that over the years, into what the people once called “the gods’ domain,” or Godom now, for short. And while I, as a solari, certainly have good reason to avoid the area, I still don’t understand why a farmer would have any problem with it. Alastor sees my confusion.
“I suppose they wouldn’t have taught you about it,” he says. I hate the sympathy in his tone less than I hate my own ignorance. This is the country I’m supposed to be ruling, for gods’ sake, yet there’s so much about it I don’t know.
Leon overhears our conversation and offers an explanation in blunt tones.
“The Temple has its own farms and suppliers. They make it impossible around here to trade with anyone not in their pocket. Any business they don’t profit from is run into the ground. It’s affecting Filusian trade too, and yet no one with any power here seems to care.”
I can tell exactly who he’s blaming for that: my parents. He thinks they just let bad people run amok in Trova without a thought to the consequences. The rebels, the Temple—is there anyone he doesn’t think they gave in to? Maybe I shouldn’t want to defend them, given how little I know about all this, but the instinct is there, and his attitude doesn’t sit right with me.
But I’m soon distracted. The moment I’m down from my pony, a throbbing pain seizes my foot. I inhale sharply, unable to take another step without limping. The silver-haired fae is nearest me, and she notices my discomfort right away.
“You’re injured?” she asks.
“I got burned by some kind of aquari acid in the tunnels. It wasn’t really bothering me before, but now…”
She nods. “Your magic replenished on the mountain; that would have dulled the pain for a while, but now the effects of the sun have worn off, it’ll be worse.”
“You’re hurt?” Leon appears at her elbow. Obviously, he overheard and is now looking me over with a serious expression. Not wanting to talk to him right now, I downplay it.
“I’m fine,” I say, but I see the two fae exchange a look.
“It’s just a burn,” the woman says. “I’ll get her something for it.”
Clever. I notice she managed to stay on both our sides. She got Leon off my back but promised him she’d deal with it. She goes to the pack on her horse, returning with a small leather pouch, and guides me to one of the buildings’ porches where I can sit down.
“I’m Lady Phaia Callacal,” she says, kneeling in front of me. “But please just call me Phaia. Would you show me the wound, please?”
“I’m Ana,” I say, reintroducing myself, then wincing as I pull off my boot. I figure if I’m going to trust this woman with my skin, I can trust her with the name reserved for my friends. Looking down now, I can see where the acid has eaten straight through my stocking, leaving a gross patch of raw pink flesh, weeping clear liquid.
Phaia pulls some herbs from the pouch and hands them to me. “Chew these,” she says. “But don’t swallow.”
I hesitate. I’m more reluctant these days to just consume anything people give me without question. Phaia doesn’t seem upset by my suspicion, a small smile playing about her lips.
“I could chew them for you if you’d like, but seeing as they’ll be going onyourwound, I figured you’d rather do the job.”
“Ah,” I say with understanding and get to work. She nods after I’ve mushed the herbs to a pulp, gesturing for me to spit them out and spread them on my foot. The plant is unpleasant to taste, but instantly soothing on my skin. Phaia takes a bandage from her pocket and starts to bind it all up.
“I think I have most of your names,” I say, using this moment as an opportunity. “But who’s the dark-haired woman, and the man with red hair?”
Phaia glances over at where the rest of the group are carrying their things into the farmhouse.
“The man is Eryx Frinlail. The oldest of our group. You may remember him from his argument with your friend at the tavern.”
“I do,” I say, which is why I’ve already decided to steer clear of him.
“The woman is Damia Rhymis.”
“And are you all lords and ladies?” I ask.
“Most of us,” she answers. “But we don’t stand on ceremony out here in the field. Unless, of course, a foreign princess might ask us to,” she smiles that soft smile of hers. At first glance, this woman seems gentle. But there’s a wicked blade at her belt, and I can easily see how her musical voice could act as a trap, lulling the listener into a false sense of ease. I’m sure she’s as deadly as the rest of them.
