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My stomach growled, the one organ in my body that actually didn’t ache. My appetite had grown since we’d been on the road. Food seemed to taste better when it was cooked by campfire. And for the most part, I enjoyed eating outside, although the further we traveled, the colder it got, and by the time I was finished eating, my toes and fingers were numb with biting cold. I had never done well in cold temperatures, could never get warm.
I stood, stretched lamely, and retrieved the steaming bowl from my watcher, then gingerly lowered myself onto the ground in front of the fire, where the rest of the envoy sat eating. With a sigh of relief, I closed my eyes and savored a spoonful of stew. No more coach, thank the gods.
When I opened my eyes again, I looked around the camp. Darkness had set by the time the fire had been built, and now its flames licked the air like a ravenous animal. The faces of the Ongahri took on a grotesque hue, their naked chests gleaming, their expressions empty of any society I was used to seeing, even those at boring dinner parties—not that I was in the mood for any conversation.
To me, these men were still truly other, as if the past few days and nights of traveling among them had never happened.
I had quickly learned their names by the second day: Yorkus and his twin, Darius. Young Mallis, who was, in fact, younger than them all, the twins being the oldest and the only ones with silver-threaded hair. Varia, the one who teased his fellow warriors but grew shy when I was close by. Timins, Clay, Hargo, and Archon. Together, with Jon and their captain, Fadon, these were the men who had been delegated to deliver me to my betrothed, to protect me like one of their own.
Everyone had been friendly, polite. But unlike Jon, they didn’t seem that interested in getting to know me. Whenever I tried to start a conversation, they simply looked at my choker, smiled politely, and demurred, cutting off all attempts at conversing.
Fadon kept to himself, giving short orders here and there to his men when necessary. Except for that day of the ceremony, we rarely spoke.
Jon sang songs and told stories that had the men laughing but which had Lucinda lowering her head in mortification and me hanging on to every word. Stories were like sweet treats to me: with one, I wanted another and another. He told tales of heroism, Ongahri wars, his childhood. Even a few anecdotes about the Trajan family, Fadon’s brother and sister, and their father the late king.
As for Demos, the warriors ignored him. At first, I had felt bad for the Servant, seeing how he was singled out, but it didn’t take long to see that Demos just simply didn’t care. Mostly he would go for long walks when we camped for the night and not return until most of us had settled in our sleeping rolls for the night.
Not knowing a thing about cooking, I had watched on as Lucinda made my nightly meals of stew or whatever the Ongahri contributed, game or fish they had caught. Lucinda tried offering them some food from our rations, which we had in abundance thanks to Father’s kitchens, but the men always declined.
As I ate, I thought of those last few hours before we’d left Providence. All of it was a blur of tears, hugs, goodbyes, of harried servants flitting back and forth, stablemen checking tack and coach wheels. Lucinda fretting and clenching her hands over and over, and Mother’s instructions to me about my health, practically heaving herself into the coach to pass me a small case filled with those “glorious wonder tonics” that Demos had kindly made more of for my benefit. “In case, you know, you over-do it again!” she all but sang, tears leaving tracks on her cheeks.
Thankfully, the further away we were from Providence, the more I felt like my old self. As the scenery changed and the sun rose and fell, day leading to another day, the heart-wrenching homesickness had abated. The grief I had felt at leaving my parents had been replaced with the present distractions of travel fatigue, fresh air, the smell of cooked meat, and the sound of late autumn crickets in the woods.
“May I join you?”
I glanced up and smiled. “Of course.”
Jon took a seat beside me, a crude, wooden dinner plate in his hand. One of Fadon’s men, Timins, had caught enough hare for a feast. Lucinda had added some to my stew, and the fatty meat was delicious.
“Glad to be out of the coach?” Job asked with a wink, then picked up a large succulent piece of meat and chewed heartily.
I groaned. “You have no idea. If only I could ride horseback like you all do.”
Grease from the meat painted his lips, highlighting them in the firelight. A strange sensation swirled around in my pelvis as I watched his mouth, creating a warmth I’d never experienced before. I caught his eye and quickly turned toward the fire once more, feeling my cheeks infuse with inner heat.
“Well, why didn’t you say so days ago? Of course you can ride. Not all day, mind. Take some breaks throughout the day from that dastardly box on wheels. You can ride with me.”
“She will not be riding with you, Jon.” Fadon threw in, joining us.
“Why not?” Jon asked.
“You know why.” Fadon took a bite of his own food, then turned to Yorkus beside him and started up a conversation about spears.
I leaned closer to Jon. “Do you know why?”
Jon eyed my choker, then his hazel eyes met mine. He chuckled. “You’re a cheeky woman, you know that?” He licked his fingers, finished with his meal, and stood, patting his stomach in satisfaction.
I frowned up at him, disappointed. “Well? Are you going to tell me the answer?”
“Oh? Ah. Yes, I do know why.” And then he walked over to wash off his plate in the creek behind our campsite.
How infuriating these men were. Worse than Demos!
After a few moments, me sitting there lost in thought, Lucinda joined me.
“Once I’m finished with this, miss, let’s get you settled for the night. You’re about to fall over.” She grabbed my empty bowl and set it beside her, then picked up her own and began to eat.
“Sounds fine with me. I’m going to find a bush,” I said with no dignity whatsoever.
