"You've been rather quiet today." Her voice was melodic, lofty and proper. It sounded like the ocean, or so he imagined because she came from the southern palace near the sea.
"I only speak when I have cause to. I'm a simple man with simple thoughts, and not many of them on most days." He couldn't help his grin when he heard her tinkling laugh in front of him.
"Tell me—”
Anything. Mat would tell her anything.
"Your friend, Gareth. Tell me about him."
Mat's grip on the reins tightened, the leather creaking beneath the force of it. He took a deep breath and forced himself to sound calm, glad she was sitting in front of him, facing away from the dark expression in his eyes.
"He isn't my friend, but we've known each other since we were lads." Mat didn't want to lie to her. She was his sovereign, but more than that, she’d evaded capture by the Dragon’s army and almost fought her way free of him by the river. Begrudgingly, he respected her.
"So then is he... like you?" Her question appeared innocent enough, but the whole conversation irritated him. Every time he closed his eyes, he replayed them kissing over and over again. Now, her continued interest in the man unnerved him. What had Gareth been trying to accomplish by making a move on her last night?
"He's nothing like me," he snapped. Liz's back stiffened in response to his venomous tone. He sighed, running a hand through his hair and starting again. "What I mean is..."
What did he mean?
"Gareth isn't a bastard. He's the son of a lord and makes sure you don't forget it. His family sent him to Fangorn on his thirteenth winter to earn a respectable living if rumor can be trusted."
Liz turned then to look over her shoulder at Mat, her blue gaze wise and sullen.
"That's incredibly sad."
Sad? Mat rolled his eyes and clucked his tongue to encourage his horse to trot along faster, forcing her to face the front instead of peering so intensely into the very heart of him. Gareth had parents, a name, and should something terrible befall his family, a title.
What about his circumstances could be considered sad?
He glanced back at Gareth and Tia on the other horse behind them. Their pony wasn't as sturdy and at least a turn or two behind, far enough they wouldn't overhear the conversation.
"Why is that sad? About Gareth, I mean."
Liz sighed, pulling Mat's cloak tighter around her shoulders. He liked seeing her wrapped in it, knowing it kept her warm. That he kept her warm.
"Well, his parents chose to abandon him. I can't imagine how hard that is for a child to understand," she said patiently. With those simple words, she left Mat speechless. How did she do that?
"I guess I never thought of it that way," Mat admitted, feeling somewhat ashamed for not trying harder to put himself in Gareth's shoes. In a moment, Liz managed to humanize his worst enemy and dull the sting of his enmity towards Gareth. "I always thought him lucky. He knows where he came from, who his family is. I would give anything to know my father, if I could."
"You don't even know who he is?" she asked, her words smaller than he thought possible. Mat cleared his throat, having unintentionally revealed too much of himself to her.
"No. My mother would never give me his name."
"I lost my mother recently." Her voice low as she spoke. Sad. "My father was cold and distant. He was so terrified of losing us that he pushed us away before he could. My mother was one of the only people who cared about me." Something in her voice caused Mat to grip her tighter as she spoke. As if his arms could somehow hold together all her jagged edges. "I always thought she would outlive me. It came as a shock when she was just...gone."
Mat hadn’t thought about the fact that Liz was supposed to have died a couple of weeks ago. The blood moon ceremony and Liz dying somehow seemed separate in his mind. Now that he knew her, he couldn’t imagine her just being gone that way. Suddenly he felt guilty for how he’d been acting, cold and aloof since she and Gareth kissed. She’d asked him first, after all, and he remembered now what she'd said the night before. Her mother told her to live well.
So what if she and Gareth kissed? They hardly knew each other; she and Mat hardly knew each other. Though he seemed connected to her in some inexplicable way, he couldn't fathom what her life had been like. He didn't know how she and Tia met, or why she was roaming the countryside without a proper dress. Mat knew nothing of her privilege or her pain, and he didn’t want to know any more than he did now. He’d vowed to deliver her to Fangorn, and no matter his reasons, that needed to be his focus.
“Tell us one of your stories, Lisbet.” Tia’s voice was too sweet, like honey and secrets. Mat glanced over to see a calculating smile that didn’t reach her eyes stretched across her lips. Liz sighed, and he felt the gentle exhalation more than he heard it. This was normal, a routine they followed; Tia asked and without preamble she obliged the request.
“What kind of story would you like?” she asked, tone indifferent.
“Mmm...” Tia dragged the sound out of her mouth, a decadent purr. “Something about the gods. Something ethereal.”
“Once, in a time before men could remember, the gods walked amongst us,” she said, and a derisive snort sounded from Mat before he had a chance to quell it. She tensed but didn’t let his cynicism deter her. “The realms were all connected. The Halls of the gods as near to our mortal realm as passing through a doorway.”
“Rubbish,” Mat muttered, and Liz nearly unseated them both as she craned sharply to glower at him.
“It’s not rubbish! It’s true. I translated this story from a temple placard said to be the oldest living record of the gods.”
Mat bristled as a cold wind filtered through the tree branches, the leaves rattling like insect song.
“You mean to say, I could’ve bloody walked into the Halls of the gods like walking into a pub? It’s nonsense.” He breathed a chuckle, the scent of ash heavy in her hair.
“Haven’t you ever wondered why magick is fading from Aegis?” she asked with all the snobbish derision he’d expect from a Princess. The breeze that had been twisting between the trees began to bluster harder.
“I guess bastards like me just aren’t smart enough to.” His words were daggers, sarcasm slicing deep enough to force an angry laugh from her lips.
“I guess not.” Her blue eyes were cold. “Even children know about how Hak’ka split the realms with his staff and stole magick from the world. When he locked the door to the Halls, he locked away the magick we needed to keep the world working. Clearly you never paid attention at temple.”
“The only people I know that worship Hak’ka are his dirty half-blooded children who tried to truss you up in the woods. Perhaps they would be better company.” Mat snapped; his anger nearly made him reveal he knew her identity. He was an idiot.
Tia’s laughter pealed on the wind and Mat felt his face burn. He didn’t dare look over at Gareth’s expression.
“I haven’t seen anyone ruffle Liz’s feathers before. I quite like the sight,” Tia said. Liz’s whole body stiffened in front of him; her shoulders raised high by her ears.