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Demos helped me mount Argenis, and I swung my leg over, only then realizing my skirts would be an inconvenience. I rucked them up and adjusted my seat and looked down at my legs. My calves showed, but I had put on thick stockings earlier, so at least my skin wasn’t showing. Lucinda would still disapprove, of course, but it couldn’t be helped.
The Servant mounted behind me, warm and substantial against my lower back and thighs. His arms went around me briefly so he could grab the reins, and I was reminded of my father, who used to let me ride with him in the early morning, around the estate, years before I was old enough to ride skillfully on my own.
The horse cantered forward as the envoy mounted as well. The coach rode in the middle, driven by Yorkus. One of Father’s horses and the Ongahri’s pulled the load. The cart that held all my belongings was rigged to a harness attached to Young Mallis’ mount.
Demos led Argenis toward the side of the coach. Lucinda poked her head out of the carriage window and greeted us. I watched as her eyes narrowed on my exposed, stockinged leg.
“Good morning, Watcher,” Demos said. “She’s in good hands, I promise.”
I snorted in a very unladylike manner.
“Thank you for the reassurance, Servant,” she said. “Enjoy your ride, my lady.” She gave me a meaningful look, one that said to mind my station, and I waved goodbye to her as Demos slowed to let the coach and cart pass.
“I see you got your wish, Princess Sierra,” said a deep voice with a trace of resigned humor.
Captain Fadon pulled up beside us, his horse shaking its massive head in what looked like impatience at the delay.
“I did,” I answered with a mischievous smile. “Servant Demos was kind enough to indulge me,” I answered.
Fadon looked to the Servant, his expression looking nothing like approval. His jaw clenched, lips pressed, but he only nodded at the holy man. “If it rains, she is to return to the coach, Servant. I don’t want her falling ill.”
“Of course,” Demos replied, his voice reverberating against my back.
Fadon squeezed his thighs against his mount’s girth, and with a snap of the reins, he galloped away.
I thought again about how the Ongahri seemed to treat Demos as if he carried a horrible disease. No one spoke to him unless necessary, and when they did, just like Fadon had, it was curt and bordering on rude.
As we fell to the back of the envoy, I searched my mind for any information that would explain that hostility between the Owl and the Ongahri. Was it just Demos they had an issue with? I decided to just ask my riding companion flat-out.
“Servant Demos,” I said, angling my head so he could hear me better. “Why do the Ongahri despise you so much?”
Demos was silent. I knew he had heard me, but perhaps he simply chose not to answer. But finally, after we had passed a copse of trees mixed in with blossoming maroon lanaberry bushes—I almost asked if we could stop so I could collect some of those rare, autumn flowers—he spoke.
“Although we mediate between the Ongahri and the higher-ups of Titus, the Owl and the Ongahri have a rather ambiguous relationship. Our history is stained with conflict, distrust, and even greed. On both sides.”
I frowned. “Okay. But shouldn’t they be more, I don’t know, respectful? You are the one who chose me as their Fealty Bride. Well, not you personally, but the Owl.”
Thunder boomed in a low rumble somewhere in the distance. The sky looked bruised as it continued to fill with dark, heavy clouds. Gods, please don’t rain now! I’d only been riding for twenty minutes.
“Respect goes both ways, does it not?” Demos said.
“So, you don’t respect them either, you’re saying.”
“I respect all life, my lady. The Owl just doesn’t feed into the more common perception that the Ongahri warriors are to be treated any differently than anyone else on Titus.”
I had a hard time buying that explanation and said so.
“Well, I think,” I said, “the Ongahri would say much the same about the Owl. Your Order isn’t well known for putting people at ease, expecting us to prostrate before you. So pious and intimidating, as if you’ve never used the privy or had indigestion or been caught with food in your teeth.”
Demos laughed. I was so shocked, I instantly turned in the saddle to look up at him. His blue crystalline eyes danced as he met mine.
“Lady Sierra, you are one of a kind.” Then his eyes faced forward once more, back on the road, his customary expression of nonchalance back in place.
“Well. Thank you. I think,” I said, eyeing the sky again as I continued. “I believe both sides are at fault. But still. It is odd to witness.”
He made no comment, simply kept foraging on.
A strong wind blew, bringing the sweet smell of rain in its wake, causing me to shiver as it cooled my skin. Any moment now the drops would start.
