اوووه! هذه الصورة لا تتبع إرشادات المحتوى الخاصة بنا. لمتابعة النشر، يرجى إزالتها أو تحميل صورة أخرى.
loc. the kingsroad, the crownlands. 118AC
SHE DID NOT remember the ride to the capital.
Rather, it passed in a horrified blur, awash with tears and grief, and fear of Lord Reyne who kept casting flat, cold looks at her from his horseback. Even his stallion looked cruel, twice her height and corded with muscle as it lead their party along the Roseroad. The journey was long and arduous, but all Belphoebe could think of was her family. Or what remained.
Aelius and Avel. Her sweet brothers. She had admired them so. Now she could only think of the dull glint of their eyes under the harsh dawn sunlight, the blood that seeped through their clothing and armour. They were so much older, had always looked like men to her. Curled up on the lawn, they were only boys. They seemed, for a moment, smaller even than her. She had felt an urge she never had in her seven years of life, the want to coddle another person. She had wanted to sweep them into her arms and pat their heads and tell them everything was to be alright. It was all some terrible dream, and they would all wake up summarily.
Yes, Belphoebe would soon wake up. If she closed her eyes hard enough the light disappeared and she could pretend it was still night. She could ignore the horse beneath her legs and picture she was at home, in Sunbloom, in her featherbed. Aelius was tucking her in, calling her his little raven. Aven would scoff and roll his eyes but he would crawl under the covers, pretending to the one of the wolves that lived in the woods, growling and acting at chomping at her leg until she squealed. Their golden laughter began to soothe the ache in her heart. She could almost taste the smell of metallurgy and seasalt—
"Wytherhall!"
Belphoebe's eyes snapped open just as her horse almost careened into a tree. She gasped, hands jerking on her reins in a panic, snapping far too harshly for her horse. It whinnied and bucked, sending her slipping off the saddle onto the ground with a scream of fear.
"By the Gods," Lord Reyne growled, climbing smoothly off his own horse. Belphoebe trembled as he stormed over to her; she wanted so badly not to be afraid, to stick her chin up like Avel—but she could not move, even as he reached down and pulled her to her feet by the collar of her dress. Mud ran all up one side, soiling the pink muslin, and Belphoebe bit back childish tears. "Are you going to be as difficult as your father, girl?"
