I finally woke Kye after the sound of a horse and cart clomped through the valley below us. He leapt up in an instant, hand wrapped around the hilt of his sword, darting into a low squat so fast he almost caught my temple with his elbow, and I realized he’d shaved his face while I slept the night before, his jaw smooth and bright.
I pointed down to what had been an empty field the evening before, where a line of horses rode in one after the other, drawing into a large circle. Music chased away the stillness of the hills the way sunlight preys on darkness, and before we were able to make a plan to leave or stay, more of them carved in.
As dawn broke, they became clear, one side of their face painted in white and streaked with black.
Tucked into the side of our ledge, Kye noticed along with me. He inhaled a sharp note of sudden understanding. “It’s the first day ofScorreo. The Reaping of Lost Souls.Zbierka Stratených Duší.”
I raised a brow. “And that means?”
“It’s a Rivean tradition. The men dress in black. Their wives paint skulls on half their faces to trick the Guardians of the Sky at the Gates of Perpetuum into thinking they’re dead. Once they’re past the Guardians, they’re free to cross the Sea of Stars and find loved ones who have died to bring them home. They leave half their face clean so the lost soul they search for can recognize them.”
My brows tightened. “You can’t bring souls back from Perpetuum.”
Kye smirked. “It’s like any other Rivean festival—an excuse to get slobbering drunk.” He pushed to his feet, offering me a hand. “Let’s leave while they’re still setting up.”
I took his proffered palm, and he hoisted me up as easily as a ragdoll thrown at the sky. A warm shiver threaded down my spine at the ease in which he’d vaulted me upright, and I held on as he began to let go. “They’ll have food?”
“Yes.”
“And spices?”
Kye considered me side-long, reading my thoughts.
Hand scratching the side of his neck, he squinted an eye. “And crowds.”
“Crowds of commoners, though, right? This is a festival in the woods. Would there be guards here?”
He sighed, propping one foot on a rock and crossing his arms. “Leihani, I’d love nothing more to take you to a festival in the hills and dance you around a fire from dawn to dusk. But we’re quickly approaching the mountains that border this kingdom with ours. You don’t speak Rivean, and my accent is just obvious enough to put a fucking target on our backs.”
I grinned at him, though I was ready and willing to take defeat. He’d amused enough of my requests already, and we weren’t in dire need of supplies. Just a bit of flavor.
Tongue sweeping along the edge of his white teeth, he ran a rough hand over his chin. The tight line of his shoulders deflated.
“Alright,” he said slowly. “If we go now, while they’re still preparing.”
My smile widened. I stepped around him, sinking low to pack up my bed, but Kye caught my arm, gently holding me in place. His warmth burned through the sleeve of my homespun dress, and I felt myself tilt towards him, hungry for the heat I’d steal if I pressed my body into his.
He made to tuck a lock of hair behind my ear but changed his mind, withdrawing both hands away. “We’ll get what we need and leave. In and out.”
I cleared my throat. “I wasn’t suggesting we hang around all day.”
He shook his head. “We’re on the verge of war with Rivea, and you want to go shopping a mere seven-days’ ride from the enemy camp.”
I stepped away, shuddering from the cool breath of wind. “We’re a week from Calder?”
“A week from the mountains. It will take a few days to cross the pass.”
Crouching to roll my blankets, I frowned. “Why do Calder and Rivea even want war?”
He sank onto one knee, tugging the edges of his own bedding toward himself. “Calder doesn’t.”
“So, why, then?”
He paused, fixing a fist to his hip as he counted his things. “The Sylus Mountains belonged to Rivea until about forty years ago, when Rivean farms suffered from a wave of diseased crops followed by a drought.”
I lifted my bedroll. “And?”
He did the same, escorting me to the horses. “Rivea is known for their high populace; they have twice as many mouths to feed as we do. So, the Calderian King, Aendras—Emilius’s father—stepped in and sent what Calder could spare up North to aid them.” His mouth quirked. “It wasn’t enough. And Rivea’s coffers were empty after fighting the years of dead harvests, so their king offered to sell us the mountains.”
