Illuminated: Book One of the White Road Chronicles

Chapter 9

Not here. Not in Yarholm. But how far and in what direction lay the next town?

Princess flopped back onto the lumpy cot. "This is hopeless."

A realization of just how ignorant she'd appear going around asking stupid questions normal people should know hit her and left her wanting to do nothing more than to crawl under the bed and never come out.

Her throat burned so hot, her vision blurred. She swallowed, trying to tamper down her reservations. Sitting up, she searched the pile of gear for that water bag. Caution rose up and she sniffed the contents before taking a small sip. Sweetness filled her mouth. She gulped down more. The water went down her parched throat like soothing honey and washed away the weighty doubts stabbing her resolve.

If only Dean hadn't sacrificed himself. She closed her eyes, not wanting to think about Dean, or Tarek who floated in and out of her conscious thoughts like a specter. He'd most likely been captured and killed by Darnel for helping her. Just like Dean was killed trying to help.

If only her pounding heart believed her brevity. She took another drink. Her trembling ceased and her breathing eased. Well, no more. Nobody else was getting hurt because of her. She would figure out how to do whatever it took to get across Alburnium. Somehow.

Across the room in the corner sat a wobbly table, topped with a washbasin and mirror. She stood, shaking off all the trepidation threatening to paralyze her resolve to continue on her journey. A hot bath to wash off her Racah stench might be wonderful, but such niceties had to wait until she found a more hospitable place. Her torn dress would need to suffice as well.

She poured the cold water into the basin and splashed some on her face. The chilliness revived her some until she peered into the cracked mirror. A startled gasp escaped her cracked lips at the sight staring back with tangled red hair, dark circles beneath honey-brown eyes, and scrapes across reddened cheeks. Too bad the amazing pack didn't contain a brush. Dragging her fingers through her locks, she hoped for the best, but finally gave up. Who cared anyway?

Returning to the bed, she picked up the small leather book. Inside the cover was written: Sir Dean, the King's Messenger. May the King's letters always bring comfort on the rough roads you'll travel. Your friend, Ethan.

A lump formed in her throat. He had a friend named Ethan. Probably a family, too. Dean had told her King Shaydon would make sure his medallion would be taken care of. She had to make sure they both reached Aloblase. And she would. She gave a determined no. Yes, she would. Somehow.

She held up the Messenger's medallion and pulled hers out from inside her bodice. Slipping the chain through her disk, she let them both rest together around her neck. Every time she sought comfort from hers, she'd be reminded of what he'd done for her. She couldn't stop until she reached her destination. No more thinking about giving up, or even settling down. Somehow, she'd get to Aloblase.

After packing Dean's belongings back into the pack, except the book, Princess wrapped herself in his soft cover, wishing she could change out of the rough, tattered dress. Best to remain prepared to leave at a moment's notice. She didn't even bother to removed her boots, despite how much they ached her feet. She leaned against the headboard and flipped through a few silver edged pages before her eyes grew too heavy to make out the words. Her head rested against the wall and she started to doze off when a knock sounded at the door.

Princess' eyes flew open. Please don't be DezPierre. She wanted no more to do with that horrid creature. Maybe if she remained quiet, whoever it was would go away.

"Miss?" called the barmaid from the bar. "Please open up. We need to speak with you."

We?