“Lovers’ quarrel?” Mauvin asked, walking in with a smile. When neither replied, he dropped the expression. “Okay-never mind. I just forgot my gloves-but, ah… the horses are ready.” He picked the gloves up off a table and quickly slipped back out.
“Listen,” Arista said in a quieter tone. “I’m sorry, okay? I’ll try to be more of a lady if you want, and I’ll let you lead.” She gestured outside. “They would probably prefer taking orders from a man, anyway.”
There was a long pause and she said, “Still hate me?”
Alric wore a nasty look on his face, but the storm had passed. “Let’s go. People are waiting.”
He walked past her and Arista sighed and followed him.
By midmorning, they found the ancient road. Royce seemed better and rode with Hadrian at the head of the column, guiding them along narrow trails, paths, and even frozen rivers. Alric took his position right behind them. Arista stayed back. She rode with Myron once more, this time just behind the wagon. They left the farmlands and entered an unclaimed wilderness of fields and thickets. Not long after reaching the woods, they came upon a broad avenue. It did not look the same as when Arista had ridden on it with Etcher. The snow hid the paving stones and weeds. Arista stopped Princess broadside in the avenue and looked up and down its length. “Straight as a maypole,” she muttered.
The monk looked at her.
“This is it,” she told him. “The road to Percepliquis. Under this snow are stones laid thousands of years ago by order of Novron.”
Myron looked down. “It’s nice,” he replied politely.
They followed the tracks left by the sled ahead of them. There was silence as they rode through the trees. Here the snow was a soft powder and muffled everything, the sound of the horses and sled smothered to a whisper.
Once more, they traveled without much comment. Not long after they had started up the road, Magnus brought up the subject of lunch, and she was pleased to hear Alric say they would eat when they reached the Lee. The sun had passed overhead and shadows were forming on the other side of the trees when they began climbing a steep hill. As they cleared the gray fingers of the forest, Arista saw the snow-crowned summit ahead. On it were broken shapes of cut stone, ruins of a great city poking up through the surface. Ancient walls buried now in earth and snow caught the pale light of a late-winter afternoon.
It is a grave, she thought, and wondered how she could have missed this before. A sense of sadness and loss radiated from the mounds now that she understood what she was seeing. Pillars lay half buried in the hillside, mammoth headstones of a giant’s graveyard; broken steps of marble and walls of stone lay crumbled. Only one tree stood upon the hill-it appeared dead but, like the rest of the ruins, still stood long after its time. The strange shapes rose from the earth, casting blue shadows. The scene was beautiful-beautiful but sad, in the way a lake can still be beautiful even when frozen.
Royce raised a hand for them to stop when they reached the base of the open hillside. He dismounted and went ahead on foot. They all waited, listening to the jangle of the bridles as the horses shook their heads, unhappy with the interruption.
When he returned, he spoke briefly with Hadrian and Alric. Arista’s brother glanced back at her as if he might say something or call her up to ask advice. He looked away and the party moved on once more. Arista fought the urge to trot ahead and inquire about what was happening. It was frustrating to sit in the dark, sentenced to the corner like a naughty child, but it was important for Alric to hold the reins. She squeezed her hands into fists. She loved her brother, but she did not trust him to make the right decisions.
Hadrian is up there with him, she thought. He won’t let him do anything stupid. Thank Maribor she had Hadrian with her. He was the only one in the party she felt she could rely on, the only one she could lean on without fear of breaking or offending. Just looking at the back of him as he bounced on his horse was comforting.
They climbed to the summit and dismounted.
“We’ll have lunch,” Alric announced. “Myron, come up here, will you?”
Royce, Alric, and Myron spoke together for several minutes while Arista sat on some stone, absently eating strips of smoked beef and exhausting her jaws in the attempt. Ibis had sent full meals, but she was in no mood. The chewing gave her something to do besides walking over there.
She turned away to see Elden staring at her. He looked away bashfully, pretending to search in his pack for something.
“Don’t mind him, my lady,” Wyatt said. “Or should I address you as Your Highness?”
“You can call me Arista,” she said, and watched his eyes widen.
“Seriously?”
She nodded. “Of course.”
He shrugged. “Okay, then, Arista.” He spoke the word gingerly. “Elden here, he doesn’t get out much, and when he has, it’s been on board ships where there aren’t any women. I suspect you’re the first lady he’s seen up close in-well, as long as I’ve known him. And I’m sure you’re the only noblewoman he’s ever seen.”
She touched her matted hair and the robe that hung on her like a smock. “Not a very good example, I’m afraid. I’m not exactly Lady Lenare Pickering, am I? I’m not even the best-looking princess here. My horse takes that title. Her name is Princess.” She smiled.
Wyatt looked at her, puzzled. “You sure don’t speak like a noblewoman. I mean, you do-but you don’t.”
“That’s very coherent, Mr. Deminthal.”
“There, you see? Those are the words of a princess-putting me in my place with eloquence and grace.”
“As well she should,” Hadrian said, appearing beside her. “Do I need to keep an eye on you?” he asked Wyatt.
“I thought you were his bodyguard.” He pointed at Gaunt, who remained on the wagon with the dwarf, their lunches resting on the bench between them.
“You’d think that, wouldn’t you?”
“What did Royce find?” Arista asked.
“Tracks, but they’re old.”
“What kind of tracks?”
“Ghazel-probably a scouting party. Looks like King Fredrick was right about the flood. But we are still a ways from Vilan Hills. I’m surprised they are scouting out this far.”
She nodded thoughtfully. “And Alric has Myron and Royce trying to find the entrance?”
“Yep, they’re looking for a river. Hall’s book tells of a river flowing into a hole.”
“What about the tracks?”
“What about them?”
“Have you followed them?”
“They’re too old to be a threat. Royce guesses they were made more than a week ago.”
“Maybe they aren’t from Vilan Hills. The Patriarch said Ghazel were in Percepliquis. Follow the tracks… They might lead to the entrance. And get Magnus off the wagon. Isn’t he supposed to be an expert at finding underground passages?”
Hadrian stared at her stupidly. “You’re absolutely right.” He started to return to the others.
“Hadrian?” She stopped him.
“Yeah?”
“Don’t tell Alric I said anything. Say it was your idea.”
He looked confused for a second, then said, “Oh-right.” He nodded with sympathy. Hadrian started to climb the hill, then waved at Wyatt. “Com’on, sailor, you can help look too.”
“But I’m still-”
Hadrian gave him a smirk.
“Okay, okay. Excuse me, my lady-ah-Arista.”
The two climbed to the top of the hill and disappeared over the rise. Elden came over and sat beside her. He reached into his pocket and withdrew a small bit of wood, holding it out in his huge palm. It was a figurine, deftly carved in the shape of a woman. She took it and, upon closer inspection, realized it was her. The detail was perfect, right down to her messy hair and Esrahaddon’s robe.
“For you,” she heard him whisper.
“It’s beautiful, thank you.”
Elden nodded; then, standing up slowly, he moved off to sit by himself.
Arista held the statuette in her fingers, wondering when he had found time to make it. She tried to determine whether he had whittled in the saddle or carved it the night before while the rest of them were eating dinner.