Page 90 of The Witch in the Dead of Night

I shrugged. “It wasn’t at first. I used to have terrible insomnia when most people were dead asleep in the early morning. It’s been three years, though. I’m used to it.”

He frowned. “Three years?”

“That’s when I came to Valnar.”

“I’m surprised it took my brother so long to notice you.”

I winced at the mention of Mordric, still riddled with guilt after the events of last night. I glanced sideways at Enhart, wondering if he’d ever been in love. I didn’t think it was love that I had seen between him and Genevieve, but I supposed love took many forms. “What do we need to be kept safe from, exactly?” I asked, deliberately changing the subject.

“Weren’t you attacked by a madman a few months ago? Remember, you made a big show of finding out exactly what happened and dragged me with you? Not that your efforts were successful by any means.”

“That seems like an exaggeration,” I said.

He remained silent, his face pulled into a scowl. “So you are angry about that,” I guessed.

“I don’t particularly enjoy risking my life to defy the King of Valen. He had a point, you know. You shouldn’t have been there.”

“I’m sorry,” I sighed. “I shouldn’t have asked you to come with me. Will you forgive me?”

“We’ll see.”

“Anyway,” I continued, “I don’t know about you, but I’ve never run into any repeat murderers in the Valenian countryside.”

“You’d be surprised,” he muttered darkly.

I opened my mouth to argue, but he held up a hand, cutting me off before I began. “Traveling during the day will give us a healthy measure of anonymity,” he said. “I am the Crown Prince, after all. If you don’t like it, feel free to register your complaints with the King.”

I slumped in my seat, flexing my fingers around the reins to keep the damp from seeping into my joints. The last time I had crossed Valen, I had done most of the walking on my own two feet. The five coppers that had been in my pocket when I fled had run out alarmingly quickly, and so I enchanted objects to resemble coin. Pebbles from the side of the road, acorns that had fallen from the oak trees above, even buttons I plucked from my own dress. I spent them only on food and fare paid to ferrymen and the rare traveling merchant who was kind enough to allow me to ride in the back of their wagon. It had kept me alive.

As the hours passed, soreness pooled in the backs of my thighs. The pain I had felt back then was an entirely different kind—the sharp sting of being cast out by my people. Letting my thoughts drift, I recalled the way my boots had frayed until the soles were practically ground to dust, the blisters that sprouted where my skin rubbed against the leather until they burst and leaked blood over my socks. I still bore the scars from that journey on my feet.

As we traveled beyond the capital, the villages began to shrink, the empty stretches of land between them expanding. I relished the scent of the country air, unsullied by the smoke of thousands of chimneys. I inhaled deeply.

The pastures that lined the roads were filled with all manner of the livestock for which this region was known—stocky cows with thick tresses that obscured their eyes, woolly goats, and snow-white sheep. Remarkably, the roads weren’t in terrible condition like they were in the Outlands, the main routes lined with stone or sometimes cobbled to allow the heavy snowmelt to drain without flooding.

The muddled light had given way to darkness by the time Enhart pulled his horse off the main road. My eyes tracked the path ahead as we wound through a copse of towering oak trees. When we emerged from beneath their cover, I spied the manor that was to be our shelter for the evening. The house was built of stone, with a spindly tower that looked like it might topple over at any moment. A column of smoke unfurled from its chimney, carrying with it the promise of a hot meal. My stomach growled menacingly.

“The lord and lady of the house are in Valnar for the season,” Enhart informed me as he pulled Grim to a stop. He swung out of the saddle, landing quietly on the damp earth.

Relief washed over me. I was in no mood to socialize with the nobility after a long, muddy day. The manor door swung open, revealing a stout old woman with her hands on her hips. She raked her eyes over us: the Crown Prince of Valen, and his disheveled human—to her eyes, at least—companion. She appeared outwardly unimpressed, but her inner curiosity tickled like a feather dragging across my skin. I slid to the ground somewhat clumsily and ran my hands over my hair.

The housekeeper shuffled into the rain before tipping over into a bow. “Welcome, Your Royal Highness,” she said, revealing her fangs. “Lady Bryon regrets that she was unable to be here to greet you.”

Enhart waved a hand. “Not at all, Miss …?”

“Please, call me Katerina,” she said.

A young boy scampered out of the house, reaching for the horses’ reins. I relinquished them without hesitation. The horses whinnied as he led them toward the stables. They’d certainly earned their rest.

“I have a warm meal waiting for you inside,” she said. “I hope you like shepherd’s pie.”

My stomach growled again.

“I thank you, Katerina,” said Enhart, “although I’m afraid we have some matters to attend to before supper.”

I narrowed my eyes. “What matters?”

“Training,” he replied without missing a beat. “You didn’t think I would relent just because we’re no longer in Valnar, did you?”