“Immensely.”
He nods and moves along, leaving me alone with the fading warmth of the fire.
I run a thumb over the piece of false gold in my pocket, and with one last glance in the direction Kythara went, I turn and make my way toward my tent.
Chapter Forty-One
Annora
The sun dipslow in the sky as we make camp near a House of Crimson village on our tenth day of travel. In the distance, the mountains rise up like stone giants, their craggy peaks cutting jagged lines across the horizon.
I sit on a log until a warrior approaches me and informs me that my tent is ready. I nod my thanks and make my way over, ducking inside the spacious interior.
As I undress and wash away the grime of travel, I think about my younger sisters back in Bakva. Emerin should be working on her poem about the founding of House of Silver right now. She always writes at sunset, claiming the changing colors inspire her best verses. And Tahira, she’s probably sneaking extra desserts from the kitchen.
The moment I settle on the bed, the tent flap rustles, and Kythara enters, balancing a tray laden with a jar of wine, a basket of dried dates, and a loaf of wheat bread.
“I thought you could use some refreshment,” she says as she sets the tray down on the table. Then, she pours wine into two goblets and hands me one before taking a seat near me.
“Thank you. I’m famished.” I tear off a hunk of the soft bread and chew it slowly.
“How are you doing?” she asks. “I know these long days of travel can be difficult.”
“It helps to have a friendly face around. Tell me, what do you like to do when you’re not traveling? Do you have any favorite hobbies?”
Her eyes dance as she speaks. “I love sculpting.”
“That sounds lovely. I enjoy sketching.”
“You’ll have to show me your drawings sometime. I’d love to see them.”
“I’d be happy to share my sketches,” I say as I eat a date, chewing it slowly before continuing. “Though, I’m afraid I haven’t drawn much lately.”
“I haven’t had time to sculpt either.”
We talk a while longer, swapping stories about our artistic endeavors and laughing over shared experiences of sculpting mishaps and failed sketches.
Eventually, Kythara rises from her chair, gathering the empty tray and dirty dishes. “I should let you get some rest. It’s been a long day of travel.”
“Thank you again for the food and the company,” I say, truly appreciative of her kindness.
Warmth glints in her eyes as she smiles down at me. “Anytime, Annora.”
With that, she ducks out of the tent, and I sit on the edge of the bed, but I barely have time to gather myself before the tent flap snaps open, and Aleksander fills the entrance.
“Come with me,” he says in a flat voice.
It takesall my strength to follow Aleksander through the camp to the corral, where my horse is saddled and at least fifty Watchers are assembled.
My gaze meets Brathen’s, and a chill runs down my spine at the hardness behind his eyes—eyes that remind me of my grandfather.
He wore that same look of ruthlessness and determination. Nothing stood in his way. Not family, not friends, not even those he claimed to love.
“Get on your horse,” Aleksander says.
I stiffen, not appreciating the way he’s speaking to me. “Why?”
“Just do it, Annora.”
