The Cornish Princess by Tanya Anne Crosby
ChapterTwenty
Naturally, because it was the shortest route, they chose the Small Road along the high, sloping moors. At intervals, this road veered east to avoid the worst of the crags, intercepted here and there by patches of woodland. Yet no matter how far east one ventured, the sound of the ocean was a constant roar, and the sea remained a fixture upon the horizon, every now and again revealing a brightly sailed ship.
Positioned between the southern wheals and nestled along a hillside overlooking both land and sea, her uncle’s village lay beyond the Bay of Dunes, close to where the River Hayle rushed into the sea. These days, few people ventured so far south, and Duke Cunedda made certain not to give anyone a reason to do so by regularly exporting his copper and tin.
Until about three years ago, when the yields grew mean, twice every month, even during Winter, her father’s troops had ventured south, then north again, and these were the opportunities Gwendolyn seized to visit her cousins, sometimes accompanied by her father, sometimes not. However, over these past few years, because her father’s envoys were fewer and farther between, her uncle developed a series of fogous beneath his village—underground passages wherein he stored most of his yields until her father could send proper escorts for the journey north. Gwendolyn hadn’t been there since he’d begun construction of those and judging by the vanishing wheel ruts along the coastal road, it had been a long, long while since any of his yields were conveyed. Soon the path would be carpeted by rock sea-spurrey, sheep’s bit, and sea campion, the red, white, and blue of them brilliant against a carpet of green.
Gwendolyn hoped this didn’t mean the southern wheals were exhausted, and she made note to ask her uncle about them, although, no doubt this was the reason for the missive in her satchel—an inquiry over the state of the Crown Wheals. It was no wonder her father hadn’t balked over her request to travel. With the aldermen so distressed over the Treasury, she’d given him the perfect means to inquire over the southern wheals without raising alarms.
The journey would take maybe two days, but they made good time, and neither of the accompanying guards complained at all about spending the entire evening in a saddle.
With the cooler temperature, neither were their horses better left standing about, and the pace they kept was easy.
Up ahead, a small rabbit crossed the road, and Málik’s head swiveled before Gwendolyn even realized it was there. His sharp eyes followed the creature long after it vanished from her sight into the safety of a thicket, his eyes shining like a predator’s.
Intensely curious, Gwendolyn longed to ask if fae eyes were keener than most, but since she didn’t wish to believe he was anything more than a crude beast, she bit her tongue.
Gods. Who could have imagined her childhood dream of meeting a true-blood fae would go so terribly awry? All those nights she’d lain in bed, imagining another visitation from these elusive creatures, dreaming of all the questions she should ask—pah!
She was beginning not to believe in faekind at all.
No doubt Málik looked different from other men—his eyes a little brighter, his teeth a little sharper—but for all his oddities, it didn’t mean he was fae.
Trying to ignore him as best she could, Gwendolyn reached back into her saddlebag to grab a few more prunes, wondering if she’d given too much weight to her father’s trust in Málik Danann. Indeed, tonight she was shadowed by two men she didn’t know by name, and yet another, whose loyalties she questioned.
Willful and bold, she heard Demelza say, “Ye’ve more pride than caution. Someday it’ll lead you astray.”
Was today that day?