Garin reached for her again, but his head snapped up and locked on something just before there was a faint rustling behind their carriage.
“Salvete,” came a voice.
A man in traveler's robes limped toward them. He couldn’t have been more than thirty with dark brown hair, a thick mustache, and a trained smile despite his appearance. Burgundy soaked the side of his fine pant leg, and half of his face was blooming with bruises.
Nobility or a diplomat—or both—she could tell by his clothing and the Latin in which he greeted them suspiciously.
“Salve,” Lilac said. “Bona dies.”
Hepaused, his brows rising. “You speak Latin?”
“Were you not the one who greeted her first?” Garin said, in perfect Latin. “It is thelingua francain our region.”
Lilac reddened as Garin glared at him, immediately understanding the man’s questioning. Responding to him had been second nature, but in her kingdom, commoners only understood so much as was recited in the church. “He is my guard and a man of God,” Lilac reassured the man, blinking rapidly and making an effort to stop herself from swaying in the wind.
He raised his hand, and in it was a thin, leather-bound stack of papers. A large leather satchel hung from his shoulder.
“I was hoping you’d be able to point me in the direction to…Pem-pont.” He stopped when he reached the end of their unscathed carriage and turned to look at it, scratching his head as he surveyed the gruesome scene before him. As his gaze fell upon Adelaide, who had begun to drag the body of Emrys by the feet toward the back door of their carriage. The man swayed a bit too, pausing to steady himself. “Shit, what a mess. I was reading my map and all of the sudden, I toppled off my horse. I don’t know what hit me.”
“Who are you?” Lilac approached him, ignoring and walking away from Garin’s strangled warning. He looked important.
The man puffed his chest, evidently proud she’d asked. He pulled one of the loose scrolls from his satchel and unfurled it for her to see. Intrigue won out over annoyance that he couldn’t just tell her, and Lilac walked up to him to read from his parchment.
Order from the Holy Roman Empirewas all she was able to glean before he chuckled and tucked it away again, as if he weren’t supposed to show anyone but was proud of doing such a naughty thing.
“You’re an emissary.”
“Yes,” he said as she stepped back, reeling. He looked her over once and said, “Women don’t wear belts or blades where I’m from, but”—his eyes roved hungrily over her hips—“I certainly think they should start.”
“State your business.” Her voice and gaze instantly hardened into the suspicion she couldn’t hide, but he seemed to enjoy the attention.
He leaned in. “I would love to see you when I’ve concluded my errands,but it might take a couple of weeks.” He was the kind of man she might have thought mildly handsome if she’d never met Garin.
“She asked you what your business is,” Garin said, and she could sense him nearing behind her.
The man’s eyes darted beyond her right shoulder, and his smile fell. She didn’t bother turning to see what look Garin was giving him.
“I—I really shouldn’t say.” He winked at her. “But maybe you could point me to the nearest inn. You and your troupe are welcome to join me. Maybe after you’ve taken care of this…” He trailed off, perhaps for the first time realizing he stared at what might be the bodies of two men, marks in the road, and the debris of a crash site. “Was there another carriage here?”
Lilac stepped closer, ignoring Garin’s low growl. “You seem like a fine diplomat. If you’re headed for the Chateau de Trécesson, I’m afraid you’re traveling in the opposite direction.”
“Well,” he said, blinking through his air of offense, “I know the emperor wanted me to depart in two days, but I insisted on giving myself extra time. I heard of a fine clothier in town, and I?—”
“Emperor?” Lilac, Garin, and Adelaide spoke in unison.
“I should not have spoken.” He turned on his heel but Lilac chased him down, quickly catching up with his brisk walk.
Behind their carriage, the dirt path was disturbed, hoof marks and splatters of blood everywhere—but no horse to be found.
Her mind raced, desperately grasping at an alibi—lest she snatch him and jostle the truth out of him. “I ask because I am the daughter of the royal cartographer, and we were headed in that direction.”
At this, the man slowed. “Youare the daughter of the queen’s cartographer?” He did not hide his excitement well at all. “What are you doing all the way out here?”
“My father sent us to town for more parchment,” she lied.
This simple answer seemed to suffice. The man looked this way and that. “You’ve heard the rumors, right? About France.”
Her brows knotted as the gravity of her situation—an emperor’s diplomat confirming his kingdom’s knowledge of it—sank in. She knew all too well of the reports of those smoke signals. But she had to pretend otherwise.
