She didn’t have an answer. They were stopped twice more before pausing to eat a noon meal of stale bread and cheese. At a stream crossing, Brice rode into the water and took the reins of a reluctant mule pulling a wagon that didn’t want to enter the water. He led it across. The farmer thanked them and said, “If’n you’re going up the King’s Road, it’s goin’ to take you all day.”
“More patrols?” Brice asked.
“About every hundred steps and they’re searching harder. Asking more questions.”
“Our uncle lives near the King’s Palace and needs our help on his farm.”
The farmer said, “You helped me, askin’ nothing in return. I’ll offer the same.”
“How’s that?” Brice asked.
“Ain’t no farmers anywhere who talk as nice as you two, none have the pretty hands you do. Not a blister, scar, or broken nail. Now, I don’t look forward to Princess Elenore raising my taxes so her and that fancy husband of hers can build another new castle, but I don’t know nothing about that missing princess, either.”
Quite a speech. Hannah glanced at her own hands. They were thin and graceful, a woman’s hands. She said, “We have to go north, army patrols or no.”
He pulled a clump of grass and fed it to the mule, then said, “That isn’t the only road, you know.”
Brice flashed him a puzzled look, then said, “There’s another?”
“If a body was to follow this stream up about a half day, and follow the little trail, he’d find himself on another road. Follow that one north a half day, and he’d be at the Earl’s Castle. From there the road goes right to the King’s Palace.”
Hannah stiffened at his words. The Earl’s Castle. The place where she had been a fire starter. Instead of being pleased, she dreaded the thought of going back. Why, the road there was the one where she and her father, the Old Mage, had ridden when they left the castle, and where he died at the hands of Elenore’s assassins.
The farmer started to climb into his wagon and paused as he touched her arm with his fingertips. “Don’t raise my taxes, Princess.”
Another step and he was in the wagon, the mule pulling him steadily away. Hannah watched, and he never turned back. My hands. He knew they were a woman’s hands.
Brice said, “What do you think?”
“I’m so scared.”
“It’s your choice.”
“You remember, that’s my old home?”
Brice said, “With as many patrols as he says there are, we’ll be slowed and take extra days to get there if we remain on this road, and if they have that many patrols already, how many will there be tomorrow?”
“We have no choice. I think I see the path he mentioned.” Hannah rode directly for the right bank of the stream. The farmer was right. The path was seldom used, but obvious when looking. They moved at a sedate speed, allowing the horses to choose the pace.
Farms and villages had lined the King’s Road so thickly that you could see two or three smoking chimneys from anywhere. Travelers had moved in both directions, and they had hidden in the middle of hundreds of people moving about their business.
Now they were alone, surrounded by a forest so thick the horses often had trouble moving through it. Hannah watched for signs of other people who’d passed this way, and she was pleased when she spotted the flat stump left when someone had sawn down a tree. In another place, blackened rocks in a circle revealed where someone had built a fire, but the center had green grass and even a small bush growing. No fire had been there for a year or more.
As promised by the farmer, late in the day they reached the road. Brice suggested they double back where they knew it was safe and spend the night. She agreed.
Hannah spread her blankets on the ground, but she refused to eat and couldn’t sleep. Her mind couldn’t shake the idea that she would be in the place where her mother had taught her to read, curtsy, bow, and smile when she didn’t want to. She’d learned to sew colorful shapes, make her letters, and even discussed politics.
That was all before the fever took her mother. She didn’t know how she’d been shunted aside and made a fire starter in the morning kitchens, but there was a story she’d like to learn. Someone had either known or suspected her lineage and instead of killing her, had made her a servant. Politics again.
“You’re going to be tired tomorrow.”
“I can’t sleep.”
“We can leave now,” Brice suggested.
“Anyone seeing us on the road would wonder and talk about it. Better to only travel during the day.”
“We can ride right past the castle, you know. Stay on the road.”
“I’ll still see it.”
“Was it so bad?”
“I didn’t think so, not when my mother was alive. And not when I worked in the kitchens, really. Oh, I knew there were things I didn’t know or understand, but all kids have those feelings. What I don’t like, is that someone in that castle knew who I was and put me out like throwing scraps to pigs.”
“Any idea who?”
“Not yet. But I will.”
Brice rolled over and went back to sleep while she reviewed everything she could recall. When dawn broke, she was up and ready to ride. Brice looked sore, tired, and still sleepy, but he washed his face, ate a handful of nuts and declared he was ready.
They mounted and rode to the road again, which was less than half as wide as the King’s Road. She remembered her first venture outside the castle and the enormity of the forest and road, and now it was little more than a wide pathway. Yet, it was wide enough to ride beside each other, even if the uneven cadence of the horses occasionally crushed their legs together.
They pulled to a stop as they reached the crest of a hill and could see roofs appearing in the distance over the tallest trees. She hadn’t seen the outside of the castle but once, briefly, yet as she observed, her mind placed each room she knew with the building. The one on the far left was the servant’s quarters, gray brick with narrow passageways and tiny, bare, rooms. The home she remembered.
The memory caught in her throat. Breathing became hard, and her heart pounded wildly.
“You alright?”
She ignored Brice’s voice, as memories flooded back. Finally, she mumbled, “I’m fine.”
Brice fell back and allowed her to take the lead at her own pace. The roofs quickly disappeared, but they came upon a farmer with a wagon filled with green and tan melons. He probably sold his crops to the castle, and perhaps at the small market inside the protective walls.
“Mornin,” Brice called, using the country-sounding greeting the farmer with the mule had warned him about.
No matter what, Brice was a quick learner. The farmer in the wagon turned, surprised they’d managed to sneak up on him.
He nodded, none too friendly, so they passed by. Around the next bend the road split. One leg went straight into the gates of the castle, the other circled around. It was the same gate she’d used to go pick mushrooms.
Inside the walls, there was an open area, and beyond it the stables. She pulled the horse to a halt. She’d been prepared to see the kitchens and had been ready for them. But the stables? They were where she’d last seen her one friend, Cleanup.
“Hey, you’re blocking the road,” the farmer called from behind.
They moved aside, but Hannah held up her hand to stop the wagon. “Do you come here often?”
“Most days when I harvest. You going to let me pass?”
“There’s a young man that works in the stables named Cleanup. Do you know him?”
“Sure. He’s a trainer. Silly sort, if you ask me. Always smiling.”
“Thanks.” She moved the rest of the way to allow the wagon past.