At the crack of dawn, Ina arrived at Thea’s door, bearing a tray of porridge, sliced fruit, and steaming tea.
Thea ate while the maid laid her clean travel garments across the foot of the bed. The two halves of her dress were there, too, but she’d already decided to leave those behind. Speed was necessary for the coming trip. Anything she could do to lessen Gil’s burden would help.
Her thoughts rolled around that man like waves tumbled about the rocks at the shore. Reconciling that he was Gaius, the king, with her knowledge of Gil the assassin and his charming ways seemed an insurmountable task. But it had only been one night, and merging the two identities in her head would take time.
“You knew, didn’t you?” she asked as she sipped her tea.
Ina lifted her head. “Knew what, milady?”
“Who he was. Gaius.”
The maid offered a coy smile. “Oh, we get so many guests. I couldn’t possibly keep them all straight, milady. Even if I have been working for the royal family since I was thirteen.”
Thea snorted and cradled her tea close. “You’re as bad as he is, bending the truth like that.” She should have been mad at him for it, too. In the heat of the moment, realizing all he’d hidden, she’d been angry. But the feeling had been fast to fade, and she wasn’t sure if it was because his reasons made sense, or because he’d kissed the sense right out of her.
Ina chuckled softly to herself and finished tidying the room. All that was left for Thea to do was get dressed and take the things she couldn’t leave behind. Anything she left would be set aside for later, just in case they stopped by Danesse on a return journey, which made it easier to decide.
Of course, that assumed there would be a return journey. Every time she thought of the risks, she grew convinced that accompanying him would slow him down and increase the likelihood of Gil coming to harm. Yet he’d been pleased when she asked to go with him; relieved, even. He’d said he could not ask her to go, but he’d been fast to grant permission when she asked.
Risky or otherwise, he wanted her there, and that would have to be good enough.
By the time Thea dressed and descended the stairs, the men were outside. Rilion had gotten a third horse from somewhere, and all three were saddled and ready for the trip. Each horse bore a bedroll on the back of the saddle and bags of provisions to either side. Thea had left most of her things in her room, packed into the sewing basket so they would be easy to store until she came back. If she came back. In a strange way, that offered comfort. If she didn’t survive, it wasn’t as if she’d miss the books she’d brought along and hadn’t gotten to read.
“Have you any riding experience?” Gil asked as she approached. It would be hard to think of him as anything but Gil today; he wore his illusory clothes, giving him the face she’d crafted to go with the name. That face would likely always be Gil in her head, no matter what she knew of his identity.
“I’m afraid not.” Thea liked the idea of horses, but her family had always resided in Samara. There was no room for anyone within the city to keep them. The king had his own pastures just beyond the city’s walls, space for the animals to graze. Not the king, she corrected herself. Him. Gil. Gaius. Except he was the king. By the Light, she was going to have a headache in no time.
Rilion hummed thoughtfully under his breath. “We’ll give her the bay. She’s more sweet-tempered than the others.”
Thea did not know what bay meant, and she looked between the horses in hopes one would be identified.
Gil stepped toward the pretty brown mare with the black mane, tail, and legs. “Bring your bags. I’ll show you how to fasten them.”
She only carried one bag now. She slid it from her shoulder and held it in her hands as she approached. “Do they have names?”
“That one’s Molasses.” Rilion busied himself with preparing his own horse, a dappled gray gelding with sleepy eyes. “This is Nib, and the red one is, ah, Socks.”
Thea observed the white markings at the reddish horse’s hooves. “Yes, I see.”
“People who name horses tend not to be creative,” Gil said.
“No worse than what people name cats. Or dogs.” Thea’s family had never owned dogs. Just the old gray cat, whose flat face made him appear perpetually grumpy. He’d been sweet. “My mother’s cat was named Toddles, but we mostly called him Tod, for short.”
“Toddles?” Rilion repeated with a small laugh.
“His legs were shorter than the rest of his litter. He wobbled when he walked.” She grinned, an expression the prince returned. He seemed warmer this morning, despite his claims the night before that he wouldn’t accompany them on the journey.
Gil’s fingers were deft when he tied her bag to the saddle, his speed too hard for her to follow. He undid the knots and showed her again. “People aren’t often much better with names. We’re both examples of that, aren’t we?” He raised his brows at Rilion, who gave a snort.
Thea tried tying the bag on her own. It held. “Because Rilion is a common name?”
“As is Gilgarion,” the prince said. “There are some scholars who speculate they’re the same person, you know.”
“And others who say they are rivals.” A competitive spark lit Gil’s face.
Rilion rolled his eyes. “Two interpretations of the same story is a far more likely explanation, and you know it. Just like you know the One whom the Ranorsh revere and the Kentorian deity of Light are likely the same. They’re just offshoots of the same faith.”
Gil raised a finger in warning. “I am not having that argument again.”
Their back-and-forth was charming. Thea giggled to herself. “Again? Do the two of you talk at all outside of debating?”
“As a matter of fact, the similarities between the legendary hero Rilion and the hero Gilgarion were the reason we first spoke,” Rilion said.
“Don’t think I didn’t notice you referred to only Rilion as legendary,” Gil said.
“I don’t know that I’ve heard of either one. Beyond the names being common, that is.” Although Thea couldn’t recall any other Gilgarions, and it was only Gil’s middle name, not his first.
Rilion brightened. “Is that so? I happen to have recently read a new perspective on the likely origins of the heroic legend. If you’d like, perhaps I could—”
“Save it for the road,” Gil said, slapping his friend’s shoulder.
That was certainly what they were; friends. Seeing the playful camaraderie between the two of them warmed Thea’s heart.
In a strange way, it brought her comfort, too. They’d dealt so little with other people along their journey. Seeing Gil banter good-naturedly with someone other than herself reassured her that was simply the way he was, not only a front he’d put on while they traveled. The way a man behaved around his friends was telling, sometimes.
Gil boosted Thea to the saddle and helped her settle, then climbed onto his own mount. Rilion did, too, and once he was settled on the gray horse’s back, he drew up the hood of his cloak.
“Just a moment, now!” Ina called from the kitchen’s back door. The maid hurried across the cobbles with a bundle in her arms. “If you’re going north, the lot of you can’t go like that. Not with cloaks alone.” She spread her arms to present three coats in the Ranorsh style.
Thea beamed. “I was just wondering if I should have made a cloak for myself. Thank you, Ina.” She leaned down to accept the gift from the maid, who moved from horse to horse to distribute the coats.
Gil ran his hand across the red collar of his.
“Your favorite,” Thea remarked.
He cracked a smile.
“Thank you,” Rilion said sheepishly as he draped the coat across the front of his saddle. That was a good place for it, too; it would keep his legs warm while the weather was pleasant enough that wearing it would have been uncomfortable. Thea spread hers across her legs, too.
“Yes, thank you.” Gil reined his horse toward the gate. “Now we should go. We’ve tarried long enough.”
Ina waved them off without so much as a word of farewell before she retreated into the kitchen.
Once she was gone, Gil’s face grew stony. “Is she trustworthy?”
“Few are,” Rilion answered simply.
They rode from Danesse in silence. Gil led, but they rode in a casual formation so the two men in cloaks wouldn’t draw attention. Thea had no doubt Rilion was not supposed to be joining them. Whether or not he’d befriended Gaius, and Gaius was now king of Kentoria, everyone knew the cordiality between Ranor and Kentoria was strained. It made their friendship all that much stranger.
“How did the two of you become friends?” Thea asked once they were clear of the city. The sky overhead was clear blue, but pale with the hint of coming winter. Before long, there would be snow on the ground.
“Our fathers once tried to strike an alliance,” Gil said. “Others had tried before, but while Ranor is not outright antagonistic, it’s safe to say there’s no love between our two countries.”
“King Garren brought the princes in hopes one would strike it off with my sister,” Rilion added. “With the exception of Calem, that was. Calem was already betrothed to the princess of Nylmeres at that point.”
Gil nodded. “Calem stayed behind to oversee things in Kentoria while we were away. Being the youngest, it was unlikely the Ranorsh princess would care to see me at all. I tried to convince my father to leave me behind. He refused.”
“To be honest, my younger sister fancied him a good deal,” Rilion said. “But she was nine, and my father was not looking for an early betrothal. She is still coddled as the baby of the family. On the other end of things, my elder sister is seven years my senior, and I believe we are the same age.” He motioned between Gil and himself.
“I am eleven months older than you,” Gil corrected.
“The same age,” Rilion repeated soberly.
Thea grinned to encourage them to go on.
Gil fixed his eyes on the horizon as they worked their way north. “The princess was content to entertain Aleron and Lucan, but she didn’t care to entertain a child as well. I was twelve at the time, I believe, and I had recently acquired new… skills… in my training.”
The emphasis he put on that word made her lean forward in the saddle. “Do I dare ask what sort of skills those were?”
“He picked every lock in the palace he could find,” Rilion said.
A logical skill for an assassin, and one she could see a boy using irresponsibly, too.
“Specifically, I picked the lock to a library.” Gil smirked at the memory. “The king’s private library, filled with all manner of political secrets. The last place I should have been, and yet, I wasn’t alone.”
Rilion scratched the bridge of his nose. “I, ah, wasn’t supposed to be there, either. When the door opened, I thought I was about to lose my head.”
Thea’s amusement drained. She knew little about the sort of training Gil had endured, but she’d seen him fight. She could guess.
“He attacked me first,” Gil said, confirming her fear it had ended with violence.
“I thought he was a spy.” Rilion chuckled at the memory. “I’d been in the library all morning and hadn’t seen our guests arrive.”
“So you fought,” Thea said slowly. It pained her to think of the outcome, but it couldn’t have been that bad. Both of them rode alongside her. “Who won?”
The prince grinned at her. “Both of us, I’d say.”
“We stopped as soon as we realized we’d be better allies than rivals,” Gil said. “We stole fourteen books from his father’s library and hid in the attic to read them.”
Thea couldn’t help but laugh. “And let me guess, you’ve been friends ever since.”
“Well, sort of. He doesn’t enjoy books anymore.” Rilion sniffed. “I suppose I have to forgive him for that.”
“I still appreciate literary pursuits, although I admit I’ve come to find historical documents and regional legends less than engaging.”
Rilion gave a shrug. “He does not share my ebullience for research.”
“Few probably do,” Thea said. “I appreciate your passion for it, though. It’s quite evident.” It was something she understood, too; not because she shared the same field of interest, but because her family had often rolled their eyes at her enthusiasm over textiles and fashion.
“Passion is often admirable,” Gil said in a murmur, “but I suspect now is not the time or place. Look. There may be trouble.”
Both Thea and Rilion shifted in their saddles to look farther north, where the hard-packed dirt road wound into the mountains.
Somewhere ahead, still a few miles off, smoke rose from the hills.
