The Cornish Princess by Tanya Anne Crosby

ChapterNineteen

Just in case her father might object to the true reason Gwendolyn wished to travel to Chysauster, she didn’t bring up Bryok’s widow at all. As a concerned father, he would have told her to avoid Bryok’s affairs, and leave the investigations to Yestin.

Fortunately, he didn’t question her motive, and before she left, he handed her a missive to deliver to her uncle, which Gwendolyn accepted with a thank-you and a smile.

Thereafter, reconsidering the position she’d placed Ely in, Gwendolyn left her sweet friend behind, realizing only belatedly that before Ely could leave the city, she would feel compelled to tell Lady Ruan, and if she should do this, Queen Eseld might discover Gwendolyn’s intentions and thwart her. Nay. Ely could remain—particularly since her dear, sweet friend had never been away from home a day in her life.

Immediately after quitting the hall, Gwendolyn searched for and found Elowyn, knowing her well enough to know she would deliberate too long before telling her mother—fortunately.

Instead, Gwendolyn gave her a list of chores to complete whilst she was gone, and when Gwendolyn gave her the list, Ely held the hastily written note in her hand, and asked, both brows slanted in dismay, “You intend to go without me?”

“I must,” said Gwendolyn. “But do not fret, and please do not speak a word of this to my mother—nor yours.”

Ely placed the list into her pocket without sparing it a glance, although Gwendolyn knew she would pore over it once Gwendolyn was gone. Despite that the dawnsio was an oral tradition, Gwendolyn made good and certain both Bryn and Ely learned to decipher their letters and numbers—an education well received, because everyone knew that without it, there was no way to hold a profession like Yestin’s.

“Yes, Highness,” she said, using Gwendolyn’s title for the first time in recent memory. Doubtless, she was angry, though Elowyn’s displeasure could not be avoided—not today.

Alas, she knew her friend well enough to know she would get over it, and no matter whether she did or did not, this was for everyone’s benefit.

Then came Málik.

Of course, she must reveal her intentions, but because he served her, Gwendolyn didn’t request for him to accompany her. Rather she demanded it. She gave him half a bell to prepare for their journey, and meant to be in the saddle, with or without him.

Fortunately, though it took her longer to do what she needed to do, he was waiting for her by the stables, accompanied by two more guards of his choosing—men presumably trained by him, perhaps loyal to him as well. But to his credit, at least he didn’t go tattle to her mother, as he did last time. Although perhaps Gwendolyn should have wondered why he was suddenly so compliant, she daren’t stop to consider it.

She didn’t enjoy being so deceitful with her mother, but if her father didn’t disapprove of the sojourn, she didn’t wish to linger to give Queen Eseld an opportunity to deny her. Gwendolyn had never been more confused by her mother’s motives. Sometimes it appeared she might be warming to Gwendolyn; then other times, it seemed she was never more contentious. And regardless, Málik was Gwendolyn’s Shadow now, assigned to her by her father and king. Gwendolyn had every right to employ him howsoever she pleased. Whether Málik liked it or nay, he was hers to command—not the other way around.

So if he wondered why, after stressing the importance of leaving so promptly, she arrived so late to meet him, she wasn’t inclined to report that she’d paid another visit to the blacksmith. She didn’t know why it was important, only that it seemed pertinent to do so—now, before the man’s story could change. However, having found nothing amiss with the blacksmith’s story, she quickly checked the alley where Bryok’s body was discovered. And then made a swift detour to inspect Bryok’s home, finding and seizing an entire bowl full of those delicious prunes to carry with her in her saddlebag. No one was going to eat them anyway, and they were so good. Indeed, she wondered how they had escaped Yestin’s notice for the feast. Hereabouts, plums were never ripe until August, and therefore, prunes were never available until later in the year. They must have come to Trevena by one of the southern merchants, and she must remember to tell Yestin about them and have him ferret out the source.

Three hours later, she was in her saddle, eating another prune, taking great pleasure in every small nibble, when Málik crushed her joy, merely by speaking. “Straight ahead, there’s a good spot to make camp,” he said.

“We’ve scarcely left the city,” Gwendolyn answered impatiently.

Two bells gone, and still too close to her mother.

“It would be a good place to watch the road,” he argued.

There was nothing to watch. “The road” was nothing more than a poorly marked trail that barely anyone used anymore. Gwendolyn had traveled this route more times than she could count. No doubt he was speaking of the promontory where she and Bryn used to spy on cavalcades when they were more apt to travel to and from Land’s End.

“It would have been wiser to wait to travel in the morning,” he suggested—an entirely useless observation that would do them no good right now. The fact was that they didn’t wait, and here they were. Nor did Gwendolyn appreciate his tone.

“Art afraid of the dark, fae?”

His lips lifted at one corner. “What do you think?” He bared a sharp, pointy tooth, licking it suggestively. What did Gwendolyn think indeed—what did she really think?

She thought him a wretch and a contemptuous beast. But since he didn’t bother acknowledging the question behind her barb, she refrained from answering, and thereafter said nothing more. All the while, he sat chewing on a short whip of reed.

Gwendolyn wondered if he was hungry, and for an instant, considered sharing her prunes, but decided he didn’t deserve any. She pointed to the reed between his lips and asked with no small measure of disdain, “So, is this how you sharpen your teeth?”

Her question only seemed to amuse him, and he responded with a chuckle, the sound dark and rich. But then he said, “Indeed.” And again, grinned, once again baring his teeth, and chomping loudly. “Better to defend you, Princess.”

Again with that tone.

Gwendolyn shuddered. Considering he could rip out a man’s throat with those teeth, it wasn’t a jest. There was something about him—something primeval—that Gwendolyn persistently ignored, even despite sensing she shouldn’t.

“I am not your princess,” she reminded him.

“Ah, but you are… for the time being.”

Gwendolyn lifted a brow. “For the time being?”

Málik shrugged. “Till the gods determine else wise.”

“Gods!” Gwendolyn scoffed. “More like, till you’ve found a better appointment, and a bigger purse?” She slid him a withering glance. “I should make it easy for you. You are not needed here, Málik Danann!”

“Am I not?”

His tone was glib, though Gwendolyn had a sudden sense that, for once, her words had cut him. He averted his gaze, continuing to chew his reed.

Why should she care whether he was wounded?

Málik was neither kin nor kith, and Gwendolyn still hadn’t been able to determine what had brought him to Trevena—and less so, why he should attach himself to someone who loathed him as much as he loathed her. To put it precisely, Gwendolyn didn’t trust him. But lacking the patience to spar with him, she, too, averted her gaze.

“We’ll continue,” she said. “There’ll be another ‘good place’ soon.”

“As you wish,” he said, without looking at her, and Gwendolyn endeavored to ignore him, keeping her eyes on the road.

These days, there were so few brigands along these parts. They were scarce as wolves. But, if there were any to be encountered, they would be found along this stretch of road, where merchants sometimes gathered to peddle their wares—though not in a long time.

No matter, Gwendolyn wasn’t overly concerned. As annoying as Málik was, she knew he could cut a man to bits as skillfully with his blade as he could with his words.

Or his teeth.

Resigning herself to a full night’s discomfort, she sighed.

Regrettably, because of her haste to leave the city, she hadn’t planned well enough for this journey, and despite knowing Málik would have, it galled her to have to depend on him perforce, yet this was what she got for keeping a head full of intrigue. But at least she had her prunes, and if she must, she could endure the entire journey with little more, especially knowing her uncle would greet them with plenty.

They traveled in silence, and only for an instant, she dared to look at Málik in profile. He had a generous mouth and an aquiline nose. He carried his head high, and the golden light gave his silvery mane a warm hue that it didn’t normally possess. His skin was pale, though not too pale, his lashes inky black, and it almost appeared as though he wore kohl about his eyes—eyes that were slitted now as he assessed their surroundings. But no matter that he didn’t look at Gwendolyn again, she felt his scrutiny regardless—enough so that she belatedly realized she was staring and was chagrined. At once she averted her gaze, and to her utter dismay, she heard him chuckle.

Blood and bones. It was going to be a long, insufferable night!