Rinnet of King's Helm (COMPLETED)

Chapter Twenty

She should just be grateful to be alive, but the constant pain and uncertain future made it hard. She had a mission now, but once that was over, then what? Go back to her home on the coast, perhaps.

Distya felt guilty for ever dreaming of that. When she had looked west and longed for cool, salty air, this wasn't what she had wanted. She wanted to pursue her purpose, do her service with the riders and resign, with respect, on her own terms. She wanted one last long, leisurely ride across the Tevarian countryside, arriving at the sea at peace and fulfilled.

Now she had just outlived her usefulness.

***

It would take another day's travel to reach the border.

They camped out of sight of the road the first night since neither wanted to risk somebody seeing a Tevarian in Coretian territory. Distya thought Tregan might take precautions to keep her from disappearing in the night, but he barely made it through setting up a makeshift tent before mumbling something incoherent and falling asleep.

Distya did think briefly of leaving. Tregan had left everything intact—Valor still wore his saddle, and they were close to the border. She would only be in danger through the night, when few people were out.

But even that presented a risk she could not take. She had seen just enough traffic during the day to discourage the thought of traveling alone. Tregan had the wits to clothe Distya in some of his riding clothes, and Zeffiren had lent her a scarf from his wife to wear over her hair and part of her face.

She still stuck out—somewhat literally, since Tregan's clothes were too short. They had to take a circuitous route out of Goldsriff, since the people there knew Tregan had meant to take Distya to the capital. Then, outside of town, the noble was quick to point out that Coretian fashion dictated scarves be worn around the neck. Hiding the face was a sign of weakness or ill-intent.

Distya hadn't paused in tightening the scarf. "People know who I am," she said simply.

She'd watched his face go red and expressions flick past like debris on a stormy day before he'd sputtered, "People know who I am, too, and they know not to mess with me," and fumbled to open his flask.

Distya wondered, listening to Tregan snoring, if perhaps people didn't know him as well as he would have liked. It kept her mind preoccupied as she laid out a bedroll and fell asleep under the clear night sky.

The next morning, Tregan awoke well past sunrise and announced his conscious state with a long groan. Distya had been awake for a while but hadn't bothered rousing the Coretian. Zeffiren had been right—Tregan toted a nasty temper, something she doubted improved with a hangover. At least the few hours of quiet had been nice.

"By the queen herself," Tregan said hoarsely, dragging himself out from under the lean-to and squinting against the clouded sun, "did you sleep at all?"

"I did," Distya answered. "Out under the stars, mind you. I thought it best not to share spaces with..." She paused. "A noble."

"Spend all night planning to kill me, did you?"

"No," Distya said. "I have no interest in that."

"Be better if you did. Then I wouldn't have to stand this insufferable hangover." He patted across his clothes, searching for his flask, then gave up and ground his face into his hands. "The hangover? What am I saying? That's hardly the worst of it."

"I promise you'll be safe with me in Tevarian territory. My people will extend me the same courtesy yours have to you during our travels."

"Mine...?" Tregan trailed off, incredulous. "You're mocking me. Courtesy? Did you even see how people were looking at us on the road yesterday? I'm surprised you're not dead, and myself on trial for treason!"