When Tregan arrived in Goldsriff, he thought the woman might not survive after the journey. She had not yet spoken or moved beyond the occasional twitch of her mouth or eyelids. He had done his best to patch her up by the river, but his knowledge of medicine was limited. He knew enough to preserve someone in King's Helm until they could get to a bigger town, but most of what he learned he had never used in practice. He'd had access to a hundred different kinds of healers in Villotta—yet another reason to stay off the rural estate. And there was little point in transporting peasants to and fro for better healing. There were always plenty more to make up for a loss.
In fact, Tregan felt a bit silly for spending the past weeks looking for one missing peasant. He realized now the outlandish tales of her skills as a farmer were likely exaggerated by the others, a ploy to diminish their own laziness. He imagined all those useless cretins laying around their huts, laughing over how they'd tricked Tregan into embarking on a pointless journey for a girl who was probably dead by now. Well, perhaps he'd fallen for it, but they wouldn't have much longer to laugh now that he understood the joke.
And he was better off for having gone to the border anyway. He'd gone looking for a peasant and come back with a Tevarian rider. He recognized her attire from his short time as a Guardsman. The Tevarian patrols he'd seen sported the same patch on the shoulder of their black riding shirts. This woman's patch was blue, but Tregan couldn't remember the specifics of rank. He thought blue was important, but maybe it was just the mark all subordinates had...or was it the elites who wore blue? The riders had a special unit, led by the warrior who ranked second after the chief commander.
If the woman he found was next in line to lead Tevar, Tregan would be hailed as a hero for capturing her, dead or alive. He just had to remember if that was what the blue patch meant.
It would be nice if she lived, too. She could be mined for information once Tregan brought her to Villotta. A dead rider couldn't offer much, but it would still look good for Tregan. He wouldn't haul an entire corpse to the capital, of course, but he could at least take the patch. Someone had already cut her braid, but that person had not finished the job, so Tregan could take credit for it.
Already the townspeople of Goldsriff treated him with more warmth and excitement than they had a mere two days ago. Though it was early in the morning, a small crowd gathered around the square where Tregan dismounted. When he asked for a healer, all hands pointed in the same direction, those gathered all too eager to help after the Tevarian raid devastated their town. A young woman said the healer's name was Zeffiren and offered to take Tregan to him.
She chattered beside Tregan as he led Valor and the unconscious Tevarian through the tangle of buildings. Tregan tuned her out. He appreciated the aid from the locals, but still he kept a close eye out. He didn't need some grubby Guardsman-hopeful stealing his trophy for their own chance at glory.
Zeffiren worked out of his house, a lopsided jumble of boards and clay that looked like it might collapse if Tregan breathed too hard. The interior appeared more jungle than household, plants Tregan had never seen draping from hanging baskets hooked over wayward ceiling beams. A fire wavered in the center of the room under an enormous tub of water. Judging by the sweltering moisture, which slapped Tregan in the face as he stepped inside, the fire and tub were a constant presence. Tregan stifled his distaste because he needed Zeffiren, a cheerful man about Tregan's age, to do everything possible to revive the Tevarian rider.
The healer beckoned him beyond the damp room with the plants to a small, better-ventilated room beyond. The room was cooler and dry, with only a small north-facing window to let in the light. He helped Tregan carry the woman and lay her on a high table.
"She's alive," Zeffiren said after holding the woman's wrist in his hand and listening for her heartbeat. "Though that might be a precarious diagnosis."
Tregan could see why: laying atop a white sheet on the wooden table, the Tevarian almost blended in, she was so pale. He asked the healer if he could keep her from dying long enough to get to Villotta.
"Sure," Zeffiren said. "She'd probably die on arrival, but I think I could keep her alive until then."
"Obviously that's not what I meant," Tregan said. "I mean, how long until she'll be well enough to travel to the capital and continue living after that?"
"Let's have a look first and figure out if she's going to survive at all."
Tregan grimaced to see his makeshift medical knowledge on trial. Zeffiren squinted and prodded, peeling back layers of cloth wrappings and raising his eyebrows until Tregan thought they would shoot off the top of his head. After a few minutes of examination, Zeffiren let out a long, swooping whistle.
"What? What is it?"
"You really made a mess here," Zeffiren said. "For the guy who's telling me to fix all this, you sure didn't make it easy."
"I didn't do anything," Tregan snapped. "I just found her by the river on the Tevarian border. Someone else did all this."
Zeffiren paused. "Someone else wrapped up muddy wounds without cleaning them? That is nefarious."
"Well, no, I did that part, clearly. And it wasn't supposed to make the damage worse, I just thought the mud would help clot—"
"Relax, I was just teasing!" Zeffiren said, slapping Tregan on the back. "You nobles are too funny. Always so uptight."
"Right," Tregan said, rigid as a metal rod. "So. Is she going to live or not?"
"Hmm." Zeffiren didn't respond right away, instead opting to prop the woman into a sitting position. He pointed to the gaping wound between her shoulder blades. "You see this?"
"I've seen plenty of it, yes."
"Well, it seems our attacker missed about every vital organ," he said. "If this was some kind of assassination attempt, the killer was inexperienced, or in a real big hurry. Didn't check twice to make sure the target was dead."
"Or they wanted her to bleed out for as long as possible," Tregan said with a shrug.
Zeffiren looked sad. "I hope not," he said. "That's a terrible way to treat someone, even an enemy."
"For the love of..." Tregan couldn't keep his eyes from rolling to bare ceiling beams. He hadn't had proper rest in days or breakfast this morning, and could do without lectures in morality until those needs were met. "Look, is there any point to all of this? If she's just going to die, I have a warm bed and my own personal cook waiting for me back in Villotta."
Zeffiren put his hand on Tregan's shoulder, a gesture the noble brushed away as he would a pesky insect. The healer's grin did not falter for a second. "I'll do my very best, and by the queen herself, I hope it's enough. If she dies, well, at least we got to know each other in the meantime."
"Fantastic," Tregan muttered. "In that case, I'll need directions to the nearest tavern."
"You planning to shack up around here?" Zeffiren shook his head. "I wouldn't trust any of the public places. They'll steal your teeth right out of your mouth and try to sell them back to you as pearls." The healer brightened. "You could stay with me, if you're needing a place. My kids would gawk to see a real-life noble—"
"Thanks," Tregan said, dragging out the s, "but if that's the case, I have an estate not far from here."
***
Rinnet wanted to cross the border into Hatawa the second they reached the base of the northern mountains, but darkness was falling and Yurovin did not think a late arrival would be wise. He told Rinnet as delicately as possible that her appearance might frighten the Hatawans after all they had been through. Unflinching, Rinnet asked what had happened to them. The waver in her voice may have been fatigue, or naivete, but to Yurovin it sounded excited.
He told her that kind of talk was best saved for daylight and set off to gather firewood, alone.
The other two, Atzovar and Kyelva, kept to themselves as they set up the tent. Atzovar declined Rinnet's offer to help, leaving the Coretian to stand by herself near the horses. He couldn't find it in himself to try and befriend the girl, and Kyelva was a younger recruit who had only ever known Coretians to be the enemy; they took turns casting furtive glances at Rinnet as she milled about, then finally settled on a stump with a map of the territory.
Atzovar felt a little bad. She seemed harmless, armed with nothing but a couple of farming knives and small even for her people, but he had no interest in getting caught off guard. Kyelva remained suspicious all around and pointed things out to Atzovar as they traveled. She said she could hear the girl grinding her teeth at times when they rode or muttering under her breath late at night when Kyelva awoke. In truth, Atzovar noticed little of what Kyelva mentioned, but the Coretian did have an odd twitch in her hands—they would spasm off and on throughout the day. Kyelva was convinced the Coretian had some kind of disease of the mind or was possessed. Atzovar figured it to be less extreme and more of a nervous tic.
And while Yurovin might know the real reason, neither even thought to ask him, he'd been so deep in a trance. Kyelva joked that maybe Rinnet had been sent by Coreti to meddle with Yurovin's mind. Atzovar chuckled at the ridiculous idea, but felt sad as he did. He hadn't seen Yurovin since before Distya's death, and the obvious change in his leader and companion pained him. Yurovin's once-lively eyes now lurked in a haze of apathy and unease, his gaze distant and empty. He didn't start conversations and said little when provoked.
It made for a long, unsettling journey. The Coretian spoke less than Yurovin, so Atzovar and Kyelva had to whisper so as not to mar the heavy silence with ripples of speech. Even the weather mirrored the glum mood, the temperature dropping and clouds setting in as they moved north and gained elevation. Atzovar dreamt often of his family and warmer days at home.
Rinnet dreamt of warmer days as well. They all had heavy cloaks and wool clothing packed, but it never felt like enough. The dense fog in the mountains could swirl and weave its way into the smallest of gaps, leaving Rinnet feeling soaked and shivering almost nonstop. Coreti's highlands got cold in the winter, but it wasn't damp like this. Every time the thickening trees dropped dew on her head or the rain started up again, Rinnet gritted her teeth. The closer they got to Hatawa, the colder and wetter it became. It was no wonder Kozua had always looked so miserable and pale, if this was how he had to live.
When Yurovin returned and started a fire, albeit with some difficulty, the four were once again confined to close quarters. Rinnet thought she might not have made it much further traveling with a group. Luckily for her, and them, tomorrow she would cross into Hatawan territory and leave them behind to conduct minor patrols and wait for her return.
Despite her obligations to Irya and basic ground rules the chief commander had set, Rinnet was determined to spin the assignment in her favor. She was to report back to the others once a day, true, but she could limit what she said. Rinnet's plans could all change very quickly depending on what she learned while in Hatawan territory. Irya's orders, aside from collecting information, included not killing anyone without first being in danger and not drawing attention to herself. Rinnet wondered if those rules were vague because Irya wanted them that way, or if she didn't understand the possible loopholes. She didn't question it aloud.
Mostly it was important to get away from the others. Yurovin's suspicion seemed to ramp up the longer he spent with her, and though the other two tried to hide their glances at her, they weren't very good at it. If they thought they knew something about her, they were wrong. Rinnet kept herself a blank slate, made it impossible for either of those clueless pack mules to gauge her intentions.
Irya had only told them Rinnet was earning her right to protection by crossing into Hatawa and gathering insight to help Tevar defeat Coreti. Rinnet imagined any more elaboration would have made the journey north ugly, or more likely nonexistent. Any one of Rinnet's traveling companions had to suspect she killed Distya. If the others knew of her goal to take power in a newly annexed Coreti, she doubted they would have agreed to any of it.
So she was right back to playing the innocent victim, and the act burned her. Humiliated and furious, she had ended each of the last few days the same way she did now, poring over a map of the Three Kingdoms with hungry anticipation. Long ago, she might have dreamed of ousting Tregan and taking control of King's Helm, but now she grimaced at the idea. King's Helm constituted a speck the size of an ant's foot on the map, a smear that blended in with the grains of the heavy paper. Goldsriff, a proper town and not just a row of shacks on an estate, earned itself an unimpressive dot which still dwarfed that of King's Helm.
Rinnet now knew Coreti was the largest of the kingdoms, though much of it lacked dots of any size, and she knew this area to be high, arid plains. Peasant land. Palsa trees and grains grew there— sometimes—and not much else. It took up a swath of Coreti touching the east, west, and north borders and stretching far into the south. But what really mattered were the true cities, mostly Villotta. A few others existed as tiny stars on the map, but none neared the size of the capital. None of Tevar's cities were so large, though there were far more of them, and Hatawa was empty land prime for the taking as far as she could tell. She liked the idea of owning all the space Coreti offered, even if it was a barren wasteland, but yearned more to control the important people.
Rinnet wanted Villotta. And, for Irya's sake as well as her own, she hoped she got it the way she wanted.
***
The next morning Rinnet awoke before the others and got up, stretching and pacing in the small clearing where they camped. A light rain pattered atop the leaves overhead and ran down the slick ferns to collect in rivulets on the ground. When she had shaken out some of her restlessness, Rinnet leaned against a damp pine at the edge of the forest near the stump where she had admired the map last night. She took her three remaining knives out of her belt, polishing them and leveling, one per blade, the reflections of her sleeping journeymen. They looked like hazy silver ghosts haunting the world inside each weapon. She thought briefly about adding the three Tevarians to her collection, but the idea surfaced as a passing urge she dismissed with just the slightest longing. As the dense fog collected on the metal and smeared away the images, Rinnet wiped down the blades and returned them to her side, her eyes lingering at the row of leather hilts.
"I hope you don't think you're going to need those."
Rinnet glanced up without moving her head to watch Yurovin sit on the stump. The dark circles under his eyes seemed to drip like ink splotches in the mist. His short black hair clung to his jaw like the kind of cannibalistic vines that cling to a stronger plant and suck the life out of it.
"I'm just keeping them from rusting," Rinnet said, pulling her cloak tighter around herself and concealing the blades. "What in the Three Kingdoms would I use them on anyway?"
Distya's name floated just above Yurovin's tongue. It was unwise to throw around accusations without proof, he knew, but he swore Rinnet's ruby eyes glittered despite the absence of sunlight. Maybe he'd been eavesdropping on Atzovar and Kyelva too much. Their less-than-subtle gossip didn't escape him; neither did the accuracy of their observations.
In the silence, Rinnet appeared to shrink. "Besides, I'm just nervous," she said, huddling against the pine's trunk to stay out of the increasing rain. "I've never been this far north, or this far in any direction, really. And what if I'm found out by the Guardsmen?"
"Coretian commoners have been occupying Hatawa since the day it was conquered," Yurovin said. "I'm sure you'll blend in just fine."
He looked down, but Rinnet saw as much disdain on his face as she heard in his voice. Her knuckles whitened around the hem of her cloak, but she twisted the tightness in her throat into the semblance of a sob. "You think we're all terrible, don't you?"
"You didn't see what the Coretians did to these people," Yurovin said. "Hatawans lived in tribes, pacifist hermits. Do you think they stood a chance?"
"They must have tried to fight back," Rinnet said. She knew they hadn't, if Kozua had been any proof. Even with his Strength, he'd been useless. "Why wouldn't they?"
"Some Guardsmen said they'd been attacked in Coreti near the border and used that as an excuse to invade and kill thousands of peaceful villagers who wouldn't even defend themselves if it meant hurting someone else."
The air shifted around Rinnet, and she shivered. "But...I wasn't there. You know I'm not one of them, right?"
No, Yurovin thought, watching Rinnet's hair rippling but not feeling any breeze himself. You're something else.