A Grace of Crowns | ☑ Queenkiller, Kingmaker #1

[01.2] The Girl Across the Sea

'Well enough. Still infirm from the voyage. A girl of her stature, travelling alone for so long ...  she was delighted when we told her you agreed to hosting her.'

Before long, the steward returned with something thin and gangly hiding behind the breadth of his figure. The Eling half of her was unmistakable. She was not so fair and speckled, but a more bronzed tone after a few days of hard labour under the sun.

She sat, the candlelight waving over her face, accentuating every bone jutting from her cheeks and the shadows beneath her eyes.

What a wasted little thing. Isla failed to find any semblance of Sir Edric in the girl. She was too gaunt to look like anything other than a starving waif.

Sir Edric pulled his chair closer towards his daughter. 'It's been difficult for her to keep much down. Nor is she accustomed to Eling food.'

'Oh, that is easily remedied,' said Noi, before switching to Srikh. 'I will have for you something more familiar when we are home.'

The girl smiled. A laborious effort that did not reach her eyes. Sir Edric served her a drink and reverted the conversation back to his own tongue. 'Her medicines are packed.'

'We will nurse her to health. Of that you have my word, sir.'

'And you my gratitude. Both of you. I could not entrust my daughter into finer hands.'

Noi flushed, spared from further embarrassment when the servants came bearing a line of dishes.

Aldir talked as they ate, for Haana was silent and Sir Edric pensive throughout their meal. It was a strange sight for Isla, who would have risked the wrath of every crown prince of every realm for the chance to be seated with her family once again. But Sir Edric had spent only a turn of the month with his daughter; already now he was sending her away. Haana, too, looked as though she could not care less.

Isla distracted herself with another slice of quail. It was different for Haana, of course, who had never known her father. Sir Edric was just a stranger to her. It could not be compared.

Even their farewells, when it came to it the following morning, were awkward and as cold as the wind howling from the vineyards. Haana was even less accustomed to the cold than was Noi. Having bade her father a stilted goodbye, she was lifted into their wagon and buried under several inches of fur.

'I wish we could escort you ourselves, but Whitebill will have to see you home,' said Aldir. His bondmate was much more docile that morning, perched atop Noi's wagon – though her donkeys shifted uncomfortably under the erne's gaze. 'I'll visit the very second Prince Dariel steps foot outside our door. Kick him out myself if I must.'

'We'll take care of her.' Isla gave his arm a reassuring squeeze. She clambered into the wagon, waved goodbye, and settled beside Haana. It was a tight fit, and between their twelve barrels of beans and the preservation runes hanging off the bonnet, Isla had to fight to find both leg room and head space.

'It is a day's hard ride to Beltaer.' Noi mustered the donkeys to a start. 'Two, with these mules. I hope you pay no mind to spending a night in there.'

Haana responded only with a shiver. Isla was torn between sympathy and amusement. It had been difficult for her, too, when they first arrived. They had prepared to the best of their ability, but not all the clothes in their coffers could withstand the brunt of an Eling winter. Again, Sir Edric had come to their rescue, introducing them to thick furs and heavy coats and his nephew Aldir to guide them through it all.

Isla secured the flaps, darkness descending into the wagon. It's high time we started repaying their kindness. Now—where has that little critter gone off to?