The night had grown more sinister, perhaps an effect of the murderous moon looking down on them from the realm of the gods. Mat hadn't thought about his mother in a long while, longer than it should have been. It must have been four winters now since he had last seen her. That last day his words spilled out hot and ugly, words that could never be taken back. He’d been such an angry lad when he made the decision to leave home and come here, refusing to lead the life of a scribe as his mother wished.
He'd been too young and impulsive to spend his life mired in texts beyond his station. Too angry to sit still for long. He came here to make something of himself in the only way that made sense to him at the time. His once all-consuming obsession with finding his father had been snuffed out with his mother's flat out refusal to reveal the man's identity. A thistle stamped in gold and a few furtive glances fanned the flames of that old obsession until it nearly consumed him.
As he strolled down the cobblestone street to find himself beneath Mara's window, Mat wondered if his mother had been protecting him by hiding his identity, or herself. How different would his life have been if she’d been honest with him? He felt shaken inside, as if his thoughts were swirling together and breaking apart again. Mat leaned against the wall opposite Mara's window and saw her candle flickering in the pane. A sign that she was awake and wanted to see him.
She would let him in, and if he showed her the depth of his suffering tonight, she would not let the petty rules of propriety stop her from comforting him. If he went to her window tonight, he would bed her. Mat was many things, but he wasn’t a man who could bed a woman out of wedlock. How would that make him any different than the man who fathered him? Even if he wanted to give Mara more, he had nothing to offer. Not yet. Maybe not ever, if his trip to the Mylean Valley was unsuccessful.
Though being in her arms would comfort him, he turned around and began the long, winding trek back to his straw mattress on the dirty floor of the forge. In the morning he would pack his things and ride out with his friends and Gareth. He would have plenty of time to think as he rode, plenty of time to talk himself out of the impulse he had to track down this tenuous lead.
He wouldn't say goodbye to Mara. He owed her that kindness. Even if by some miracle he earned a commission, she deserved better than a broken bastard like him.
Looking up at the blood moon hanging low and wide in the sky, he said goodbye to her in his mind. He could have loved her. Maybe one day he would be man enough to love someone the way they deserved—with the entirety of his bitter, broken heart. Until then, he would remember tonight. He would remember the girl that he spent a wild summer with, and he would always remember that she wanted him even without a last name.
Chapter Five
"You have to eat, your highness." Tia offered Liz the last of their bread, but she shook her head, scoffing at the use of her title. There were no princesses here.
In truth, her appetite had disappeared in the fortnight since fleeing the palace. She needed to eat, as evidenced by the shakiness in her hands and the bone deep weariness setting in from the journey thus far.
In the chaos after the King's murder, Tia led her through the dark underbelly of the palace, and together they’d raced from the city. From there, they’d fled into the Neither Wood, a dense temperate forest inhabited by nomadic half-bloods and rumored to be a place of magick and death. No one would dare follow them there. Their fear of the nomads leeched away over the last weeks, beaten down by hunger and eclipsed by the threat of the Dragon’s army scouring the surrounding lands for them.
She remembered ripping the pearls and crown from her curls. Shaking as Tia helped peel the blood-stained gown over her shoulders. Tia attempted to pick up the jewels and flowing silk but Liz screamed at her to leave them. The soiled garment remained discarded somewhere in the wood. If only the memories of her father’s blood drying rapidly on her cheek could have been so easily cast away.
She couldn't blend in on the road in her under dress. Even her undergarments were too expensive to pass for a common traveler. They, at least, were less conspicuous than the lace and silk reminder of the life she fled. Even more pressing than wandering the countryside in her corset was the striking shade of her hair. The first morning, when the small fire had burned out, Liz poured precious drinking water onto the ashes and used the paste to stain her brilliant hair dark. The first week, Liz barely thought past the next mile, the next meal; she certainly didn’t linger on thoughts of her cowardice or the consequences of it.
Tia hadn't spoken much. Mostly she gave gentle orders, and when they stopped at night, she held Liz when she awoke screaming. They didn't dare draw too near to any village or settlement, regardless of the cold and hunger they suffered. Liz would stay on the edge of the woods, hiding in the dark, as Tia stole or begged for whatever food she managed to scrounge up. If there were too many questions, the girls went hungry. No need to draw attention with the Dragon's own private army combing the nearby settlements searching for her.
The blood moon passed and would not rise again for two winters. If caught, the Dragon would make her pay for her impertinence.
Two days ago, they’d nearly been caught by a band of the Dragon’s men, their black armor seeming to swallow the sunlight. Their only choice had been to disappear deep into the trees, far enough that the searching party couldn’t find them. With no trails and no discernable landmarks, finding their way back to the edge of civilization had been impossible.
They were lost now, somewhere in the wood. Tia had dark rings beneath her eyes. Liz couldn't bring herself to eat the last of the food when her friend looked so scared. She’d taken so much for granted when she lived at the palace. Footwear, for one. Tia stole a too-large pair of leather boots for her after her impractical sandal succumbed to the snap of a strap and dangled uselessly from her leg for the better part of five miles. The resulting blisters lost them almost half a day.
"No." Liz shook her head, gifting Tia with a shadow of her former smile. "You take the bread. You have greater need than I do."
Tia sighed; relief evident in her expression. She ate slowly enough to savor the simple joy of having a full belly.
"How long until we come to the mountain passes your mother spoke of? We've seen the silhouette of mountains for a while now." Tia’s voice was just strained enough to let the hint of her Island accent slip through the vowels and lengthen them. Liz hadn’t heard the hint of Tia’s past in a long time. It wasn’t a good sign. Her Island tongue usually preceded great fits of anger or days of deep exhaustion. Liz worried about the toll the travel had taken on her friend.
"They're still too far away; we'll be in the shadow of those mountains for weeks before we're close enough to be safe." Liz shivered, rubbing her bare arms as goose-flesh rose on her skin, again. "It's getting colder. Do you think winter is already coming?" Liz failed to swallow the lump lodged in her throat. The consequences of running from her destiny were already catching up with her.
"No, that's ridiculous." Tia chided; her words rounded by her mouth full of the last bit of bread. Another cold breeze cut through the thin layers of silk and chiffon of Liz's under dress. At least her breasts were still bound by her corset; she wouldn't be able to stand the travel if she were so exposed, though one more chilly breeze and she’d gladly give it up for some sleeves.