“Stop it!” said Anna. “Does it matter that you’re jealous of each other? What will happen to us? Did you think of that? Will we abandon Blessing, or will we ask to stay with her?”
Stay with her. Out in this God-forsaken place, separated, perhaps forever, from their homeland.
She burst into tears. Matto and Thiemo shied away from her as she brushed past them, returning to the empty tent. Blessing had lain in the wagon all morning; no one wanted to disturb her, except for the healer who at intervals squeezed a bit of liquid down her throat through the reed.
What did it matter? Blessing was to be handed over to the centaurs, and the rest of them would journey back across the interminable steppe. It didn’t bear thinking of. She began rolling up the traveling pallets, the last thing to go.
“I will not abandon her. But I don’t want to stay here. I don’t want to stay.”
So it went with those who served. Yet she hadn’t fared any better before the Eika invaded Gent, when she had lived under her uncle’s harsh care. The Eika invasion had freed her from her uncle’s house, but hiding in Gent had not made her and Matthias more comfortable. Quite the contrary. Matthias had been eager to apprentice himself out as soon as he was given the opportunity; he saw the worth of an orderly existence, with the promise of a meal every day and shelter over his head at night. War and plague and famine might afflict him—there was no defense against acts of God—but being a member of Mistress Suzanne’s household gave him a measure of security.
Hadn’t God wanted her to go with Blessing? Why else would she have got her voice back just then? Whatever power earthly nobles held over her, it was but a feather on the wind compared to God’s power.
“Anna?”
“Go away, Matto.”
“Nay, Anna, we’ll not go. We’ve talked it over.” Thiemo pushed in next to him, and they both knelt beside her where she was rolling up the last pallet. Everyone else had left the tent; after this tent came down, they would march.
“We’ve talked it over, Anna. We’ll stay with you, both of us. No matter what. We won’t leave Princess Blessing. Or you.”
She couldn’t speak because of the lump choking her throat. She tied up the pallet and picked up another, while Thiemo and Matto did the same. In silence they carried everything out to the wagon while soldiers dismantled the tent.
They traveled all afternoon, first overland to the river and then upstream through tall grass. That night she slept restlessly under the wagon while Thiemo and Matto kept watch. She woke to hear footfalls rustling in grass as they paced; the wagon creaked as the healer sat the unconscious girl up and forced a precious bit of fluid into her, enough to keep her alive one day more.
That was all they could hope for.
She rolled over but could not go back to sleep. The constant irritation of breathing grass all day made her throat raw and painful. The wind had turned cold, and she shivered in her blankets, wishing she had a warm body to share them with. But whatever she did, whichever man she chose, the other would be angry and jealous. How could she balance one with the other? What if they lived for years out here, alone together among a foreign people? How was it possible that Matto and Thiemo would not, in the end, come to blows? Or worse? What if they decided that neither of them wanted her?
She waited until they converged on the opposite side of the wagon and wriggled out, got to her feet, and dashed into the grass, bent over so they would not see her. Although she met no sentries, she didn’t go too far; she could not get the iron stink of the griffin out of her head. The hooded griffin paced along at the head of the procession, obedient to its master, and the big female flew overhead but circled down at night to curl up beside its mate.
She heard them before she saw them, their muted voices whispering, and she stopped at the verge of a stand of stunted poplars growing just beyond the river’s edge. Through furled leaves budding on the trees she saw an amorphous beast perched on a rock overlooking the river. She froze, heart racing, knowing how foolish she had been to leave the safety of camp. If she did not move, perhaps the beast would lumber off without noticing her.
Its murmured laugh made her shudder until, too late, she realized that she watched no beast at all but the prince romancing his wife, huddled close against her with a cloak thrown over their shoulders. How would it feel to sit with his arm tight around her, to feel his lips pressed close, to hear the murmuring of his voice as soft as the caress of the wind?
She sidled closer.
“Why didn’t you speak to me before? Why wait until the council, if you planned it all along?”