“He bested my father in a game of chance.” Her forehead pinches as she traces her fingers along the rim of her glass. “And I was the one Kheldar chose.”
How terribly unromantic.
“Did you like him?”
Long strands of dark hair fall over her shoulders as she shakes her head. “I loathed him. And then…” she spreads her hands wide and shrugs, “…I didn’t.”
“But you have magic. Couldn’t you have just used it against him?” Inwardly, I smile at the image of Wrenley trying to use magic on the tall, well-muscled barbarian.
Mirth skips in her eyes as she nods. “Trust me, I did. But Kheldar is quite stubborn.”
I know a man like that.
My chair creaks as I shift to look at Hector. He’s the epitome of stubbornness. He probably had to be to survive with Roland as his father.
I push those thoughts aside as I appreciate the feast in front of me.
ChapterTwenty-Nine
On my second morning in Karra, I wake after Hector and find my way to the barracks, where the Bloodstone warriors gather when they’re not on patrol.
When I return to the palace later, I will steal a set of Leah’s armor. My throat clenches when I think of wearingtheircoat of arms.
It’s necessary, though. Without it, I could never blend in as I make my escape.
First, I intend to visit Praxis. My fingers tighten around the basket of pastries and freshly baked bread, I brought for him. I long to see him, to know he’s well.
I stare down at my basket and shake my head. It’s not enough. Nothing is enough to heal the ache of losing someone you love. Over time, the pain lessens some, but it never leaves. It’s a wound on your heart that never heals.
In the distance, a bird caws as it circles in the damp morning air. Two men come out of an alehouse across the street and head toward the large, imposing barracks.
I look up at the tall building. The bricks bulge out in some places, and the iron door creaks as I push it open.
The inside is dimly lit, with a few torches mounted on the stone walls. Men sharpen their weapons, play cards, and sleep.
Nobody questions me as I search for Praxis. Maybe because they have heard of who I am.
I imagine them whispering,“That’s Hector’s wife.”
It makes me smile.
On my third sweep over the room, I find Praxis sitting at a table all by himself. The hem of my surcoat trails the dusty ground as I make my way toward him.
He waves the moment he spots me. “Hello, Sol.”
A smile blooms across my face as I raise my basket. “I come bearing gifts.”
“Nobody ever brings me anything.” He leans closer and drops his voice a fraction. “Well, other than Luc, and usually that’s just stale bread. My cousin cannot cook.”
“I brought you bread and pastries. Do you like sugary tarts?”
Torchlight skims Praxis’ face as he nods.
I take a chair opposite of him and push the basket closer to him. “How have you been?”
“Well enough.” He pulls off the linen covering the basket, grabs a pastry, and takes a bite. “It’s delicious. Thank you, Sol.”
“Of course. How is Edvard?”
