Several miles to the north, they found the burned-out remnants of a small village. Little more than a farmstead, Thea thought, though the number of buildings and their shapes made it obvious there had been several houses.
“What happened here?” Rilion asked no one in particular as he slid from his horse and dropped its reins. It shifted in place, but did not wander.
Thea was not sure she could dismount on her own. Before she could try, Gil appeared at her side. She slid down into his arms, grateful for the assistance.
He released her as soon as her feet were on the ground. “The buildings are too far apart for the fire to be accidental.”
“So it’s arson, but…” Rilion trailed off. He scanned the smoldering remnants of buildings for a time, then trudged toward the ruins. He found a farmer’s hoe along the way, miraculously unburned, and used it to scrape through the ashes and glowing coals. “That doesn’t seem right.”
“What doesn’t?” It looked like the site of any other fire to Thea. There was little left of the houses, only fallen stone and charred wood.
Gil stalked toward the ashes. “No remains.”
“Not even animals.” Rilion tossed the hoe into a pile of ashes. Gray motes swirled into the sky. “How old do you think it is?”
“Hours. It burned some time this morning, I’d think.” Gil turned to search the nearby hills, but if he saw anything, he did not say. “We would have passed them on the road from Danesse.”
“Unless they didn’t go that way.” The prince glanced to the north.
Thea tried to follow his line of sight, but a flutter of something caught her attention. She walked that way, instead.
At the corner of a mostly-fallen shed, a scrap of deep red fabric fluttered. She cocked her head. “That’s a Kentorian weave.”
Rilion headed her way. “We’re rather far north for Kentorian riffraff, aren’t we?”
“Consider who you’re traveling with,” Gil said.
The prince snorted. “Fair enough.”
Thea reached for the fabric. The moment her fingers brushed it, a jolt of something lanced up her fingers. She jerked her hand back with a yelp.
Gil tensed. “What is it?”
“Magic.” She shook her hand. It still prickled. “I don’t know what sort. It could be from someone with a talent for weaving, or another Threadmancer.”
Rilion perked at the statement and reached past her to take it. “You can feel that?”
“Because I’m a Threadmancer, too. I can feel some things. Sometimes. A good Threadmancer can hide the magic, so it won’t stand out to anyone but an artificer, but…”
“Let me see.” The cloth stuck fast where it was snagged. Rilion pulled until it tore loose, then flexed the fabric between his hands. A puzzled frown worked its way over his face as he brushed his thumbs across its surface. “There’s… hmm. I’m not sure what to make of that.”
Thea’s brow furrowed. “You sense something?”
“I have a bit of a talent for it,” the prince admitted. “I’ve not had the training of a full artificer, of course, but it’s a good skill for anyone with historical interests to have.”
Gil crossed his arms. “And do you plan to tell us what you feel, or are you just going to stand there and fondle that like it’s a lover’s handkerchief?”
Flustered, Rilion pushed the bit of cloth into Thea’s hands. “It’s resistance magic. The fabric is made so it can… hmm, how to explain it? It repels flame.”
“Then you’d explain it by saying it repels flame.” Gil reached out and for a moment, Thea thought he meant to take it from her hands. He drew his fingertips across its surface. She already knew he couldn’t feel it, but perhaps he’d notice something they hadn’t. “You said this is Kentorian cloth?”
She nodded. “I’m positive of it.”
His fingers tensed against the scrap. “Is there any way you could tell who made this, or when?”
Thea wished she could. “That’s beyond my ability. If there were fewer Threadmancers in Kentoria, then maybe I’d know something about their power signatures, but there are at least a dozen.” Just one fewer, now that she was gone.
Gil exhaled softly, but she heard his frustration.
“So we have an arsonist swathed in enchanted clothing from Kentoria, a bordering country Ranor doesn’t quite get along with.” Rilion scrubbed a hand through his dark hair. “Yet there are no corpses, no bones. Not even those of animals. Any ideas what that could mean?”
Thea looked to Gil as if to ask his thoughts. His eyes narrowed with thought and instead of replying, he stalked toward the northern side of the village. At first, she thought he studied the nearby hills nestled at the foot of the mountain. It wasn’t until she went to join him that she saw he was examining the ground. She hung back, staying out of the way.
“When they departed, it was in an organized group, but they went fast.” Whatever marks told him that, she couldn’t see them. “Farmers should be settling for winter, not abandoning everything and venturing into the mountains.”
Unless they hadn’t a choice. Thea stuffed the scrap of fabric into her pocket and then nibbled on her thumbnail. “Where does this road lead?”
“Angroth,” Rilion said. “Not much between here and there.”
Gil grunted softly and turned to go back to his horse. “Then perhaps we’ll see them on the road and find answers along the way.”
A sliver of doubt twisted Rilion’s expression, but he said nothing and returned to his mount.
The road yielded no further clues before nightfall. Thea did not understand how as many people as the farmhold must have housed could disappear from the road so swiftly, especially with animals in tow, but the men offered no suggestions.
There were no established campsites like there had been along the road between Kentoria and Ranor, so they stopped only when they were too weary to go any farther. At least, Thea and Rilion were weary; Gil roved up and down the road while they set up camp, searching for signs or indications they may have missed. He still maintained the group had gone north along the same trail they followed, but the road was narrow and unkempt, and it was a marvel Gil saw any tracks at all.
Eventually, he returned. Thea had already spread her bedroll, and she sat cross-legged on the cushion and gnawed dry rations while Rilion started a fire. It was too cold to go without it, but seeing the flames spring to life in the night made her think of the ashes of the settlement they’d left behind. She couldn’t imagine a group of travelers stopping without a camp, but there had been no signs they had even stopped for rest. She chewed absently while she watched the fire. The paper-wrapped bars in the supply bags tasted all right, a blend of grains and nuts held together with fruit paste, but the cold weather made them hard. Maybe next time, she’d wait for the fire and warm one up, first.
“Find anything interesting?” Rilion asked as Gil removed a bar of his own from his bags.
He didn’t remove his bedroll from his horse yet, just sat on the ground near the campfire. “Have the number of raids and robberies near the borders increased of late?”
Rilion blinked slowly, as if he didn’t understand the point of the question. “They’ve increased in recent days, but I wouldn’t say there was any noticeable change in the past few weeks. Come to think of it, the increase started months ago.”
Gil gave a slight frown. “In the spring?”
“Yes. Why? Does that relate to something?”
Thea understood. “Your coronation.” She paused to wipe a crumb from her lip. “Or, the other you’s coronation. Your decoy.”
“Lucan’s death.” Gil nodded. “What of the neighboring countries? Have you heard anything from them?”
“No. Or, not that I’m aware.” Rilion stared at their provisions as if unable to decide whether he wanted any. “It’s possible my father has kept such discussions to himself, but as far as I know, nothing has been out of the ordinary. Angroth and Lyrangroth have reported nothing out of the ordinary, but ordinary for them is to simply not report things. They’re very insular that way.”
“And Vahar?” Gil asked.
“Nothing. But their southern edge has the benefit of not being up against the mountains, where it’s easy for ruffians to hide. There was…” The prince’s eyes narrowed as he turned his gaze to the fire. “There was something from Nylmeres. Just something in passing that our quarriers picked up from their miners. Something about having to lock up tools in the mines. Theft had been bad. But theirs is such a sliver of border up against ours. Most of their range is shared with—”
“With Kentoria,” Thea finished. She thought of the scrap of fabric in her pocket. Red was an unlucky color, but it also reflected the nature of fire, making it an ideal choice for such a garment. “Are most of Ranor’s raiders Kentorian?”
Rilion nodded. “We are on good terms with Vahar, and as I said, Angroth and Lyrangroth tend to keep to themselves.”
Thea looked to Gil for confirmation she understood what he wanted to know.
He licked sticky remnants of his nut-and-fruit bar from his teeth. “It is safe to say however my opponent infiltrated my kingdom and swayed my decoy to his side, he has used that weak point to try and destabilize Kentoria’s alliances, as well.”
“But we aren’t your allies,” Rilion said.
“Ranor isn’t, but you are. And neither your brothers nor your father hate me. I am arrogant enough to believe they would be willing to negotiate a formal treaty with me, regardless of the difficulties they had with my father.”
Thea suspected he was right. She’d found him charming from the very beginning. As a king, that charisma would serve him well. But alliances had nothing to do with the puzzle piece that still sat in her pocket. “So whoever arranged the deaths of your father and brother is pushing the worst Kentoria has to offer to cause trouble. That doesn’t explain why the people they attack would go north, into the mountains, instead of toward Danesse. That smoke was visible from just a few miles outside the city. Shelter wasn’t far off.”
“It does not, but I have my suspicions.” Gil slapped his thighs and rose to his feet, abruptly changing the subject. “Rilion, fetch your weapon. It’s been too long since we sparred.”
“What, now?” Rilion asked, though the question was pointless. Gil had already drawn his daggers.
Thea stood instead. “I’ll fight.” They hadn’t practiced for days, and while it wasn’t so much time that she thought she’d lose what little skill she’d gained, there was a sense of urgency she couldn’t shake—something that warned her of the need for a blade.
“Very well.” Gil beckoned her to the empty space that hardly justified the title of road.
She stepped over tall grasses to join him, dagger in her hand.
She’d hardly set her footing before he came at her.
Though he’d drawn two, Gil fought with only one blade, the other held behind his back. Every strike was calculated, measured, designed to make her think. Real combatants wouldn’t fight that way, he’d warned her during their first match. They’d strike hard and fast, aiming to debilitate.
The first five swipes and stabs, she dodged or parried. The sixth slipped past her reach and his dagger came in for her ribs.
At the last second, he twisted his hand and jabbed her side with his index finger.
Dead.
He’d recited the word often enough in the early rounds of their lessons that he no longer had to. She drew back to readjust her stance.
He didn’t give her time. The next round of blows came faster, but she was primed for them; he didn’t make contact until the tenth attempt.
“Good.” He gave a firm nod and stepped back to let her breathe.
She relished those few seconds of respite and the sound of his approval, too. No matter how many times they sparred, he always offered reassurance when she’d done something right. Most people she fought, he’d told her, wouldn’t be experienced soldiers. They’d be rough-around-the-edges sorts who’d grown up brawling without training. Practice made them effective, but it would do the same for her.
This time, she sprang first.
He wasn’t surprised. He deflected her blade and spun to tap her back.
“Am I allowed to make suggestions?” Rilion called.
“For Thea, or me?” Gil gave her three seconds to recover, then came at her again. He moved like water, ebbing and flowing, always in motion.
Thea knocked his blade aside and darted into the gap. Her knife drove toward his chest and something jabbed her side. His other hand, dagger turned so she wouldn’t be cut.
“Watch both hands,” he murmured. “I am not the only person who can fight with both at once.”
Rilion cleared his throat as he approached. They stepped apart, pausing their practice. “You’re mirroring some of his movements. You’re a good bit shorter than he is, so you don’t have the same strength behind some of these lunges or swings, and they won’t land on him the same way.” He grasped the back of her dagger hand and repositioned her arm. “Focus on going in low and you’ll pass under his arms more often. His height is a weakness for him. His stomach is right at stabbing height.”
She studied the way he stood her, then extended her arm to full length. The tip of her dagger was level with the hollow where Gil’s rib cage would split. A little higher and bone would halt a strike. Lower, and almost anything would be fatal.
Rilion nodded his approval. “You’ll have more strength going in like that, with the full force of a stab. You’re standing too upright, trying to match his height, and that takes strength from your arm.”
Thea lunged forward in an experimental attack. It didn’t land, but she came closer.
From the way Gil looked at her, he approved, too. “I have difficulty seeing her as a knife fighter. She’d be better with a sword. She’s graceful.”
It was the first compliment of the sort he’d given her. Thea felt her cheeks warm and was grateful the flickering campfire hid the color.
“I could teach her,” Rilion suggested. “I have more experience with a regular sword than you do.”
Gil held his hands to the side, daggers balanced on his palms, and shrugged. “I’m certain you could, but you’re overlooking one problem. We haven’t brought any swords.”
His hands closed on his daggers again and he swept forward, but not toward Thea. This time, he went for the prince.
Rilion stifled a shout and leaped backwards. His knife was out by the time his feet hit the ground. “That’s unfair!”
“Have you ever known me to be fair?” Gil drove him back toward the fire, but after a few steps, Rilion found his rhythm and held his own. The prince snarled something under his breath, not quite words, but agitated enough that the sentiment was clear.
They were well-matched; Rilion wasn’t as nimble or practiced, but it grew clear he was familiar with the way Gil moved, and he anticipated almost every blow. Thea considered letting them fight on their own. But fighting in a group was something they hadn’t had an opportunity to practice, and she wasn’t going to let it pass. How many more practice sessions would they have before they hit trouble?
She leaped forward to engage Gil from the side.
He hadn’t expected her to join. Surprise flashed on his face and vanished a moment later, replaced by concentration. Her stab did not reach him, nor did Rilion’s. The three of them shifted, rotating toward the fire and then around it, a flurry of stabs and slices, swings and jabs.
Fighting alongside Rilion gave her confidence, but Thea couldn’t deny that Gil was good. His footing never faltered and his defense never failed, even as they both hammered against it. At the same time, he forced them sideways and spun them toward the fire. It limited their movements and forced them to split their attention between the campfire and their target. With how well Rilion had matched him on his own, the message was clear. Skill alone would not overcome strategy.
She bounded forward and kicked the campfire. A shower of embers burst around the toe of her boot and a flaming log flipped end over end to crash into Gil’s legs.
He hissed and leaped back. His black boots spared him the burn, but the movement left him open.
Thea surged forward, curling her hand.
Her finger jabbed between the ridges of muscle in his stomach.
“Dead,” she announced.
Gil raised his hands in acknowledgment of her success.
Rilion pumped a fist in victory.
“A good effort, and an unexpected action.” Gil flashed her a grin. “But next time, you’ll have to do it alone.”
She smiled back.
“Ah, come on. That’s all the more reward you give her?” Rilion jammed his knife into place and went after the burning log. It had rolled a short distance and he used a stray stick to herd it back to the campfire.
“Certainly not,” Gil said as he slid his daggers into their sheaths and stepped forward. “I have something much better to offer.” There was a sparkle in his eyes, dull beneath the illusion, but something not even magic could hide. Approval. Pride. And just a hint of anticipation.
Her heart fluttered in response. She’d done well, met his expectations, and for the first time, she felt she might have something beyond sewing to offer.
She tilted her head back and welcomed her victory kiss.
