Page 59 of Foundling

What was the point? Attalus had to wonder. Leita was already long gone.

His sigh ruffled Slinky’s fur as he surveyed their lonely camp. Leita had left him all the provisions procured from town, so he wouldn’t go hungry immediately. Fresh firewood had been stacked on the far wall, the new cauldron suspended from a spit over the cold fire.

She’d thought of everything, it seemed, in preparation to leave him.

The dejection sat hard in his chest, his inner fires and bitterness giving him heartburn.

Finally, he sat up in the blankets, casting his listless gaze about the cave. There wasn’t anything that needed doing, really. Nothing to entice him from the small comfort of his nest.

So Attalus slumped back down.

At least the blankets still held a trace of her scent.

If he closed his eyes, he could still taste her on his tongue. Yet, he used that same tongue to curse her.

“She really did it, Slinky. She left.”

The marten stretched, contorting herself into impossible shapes before clambering up his side to sit on his chest.

Attalus carefully scratched her chin with the tip of a claw.

“You won’t leave me, will you, friend?”

In response, Slinky nudged his hand, turned in a circle, and laid herself down in a perfect, furry O. He laid his hand over her, grateful one woman at least wouldn’t hurt him.

Eyes sliding closed, Attalus decided life might look a little rosier after a nap.

He was tired, perhaps from the night before, perhaps from sleeping on hard ground. His body ached, but not as fiercely as his hearts.

If he truly was going to have to wait out his mulish mate, perhaps the best thing to do would be to sleep through as much of it as he could.

15

Six days later, Leita rode into Fallorian. A sprawling city of spires, towers, and basilicas all gleaming white in the sun, Fallorian sat in a coastal valley between two hills, one gentle and one steep. The palace stood atop the steeper hill, its towers spearing the sky like a crown over the city below. Between the valley and gentler hill, thousands of buildings—homes, shops, markets, warehouses, and more—as well as dozens of city squares, pavilions, arched colonnades, and tree-lined parks made up the pattern and fabric of the city.

Suburbs started over a league away from the city center, grand estates set back into the countryside with the tallest spires of the palace just visible on the horizon. More fae lived here, on the outskirts, than did inside the city proper. So many had been driven away during Amaranthe’s reign for fear of her wretched gaze turning upon them.

The main road that led right to Fallorian, through the city, and up to the palace, had been carefully paved, Thalia’s hooves clattering on the cobblestones.

Leita and Thalia drew plenty of attention on their sojourn, but they didn’t stop until making the palace. Marcades met her at the gate.

“Welcome home, my Queen,” he said in his formal way, bowing his head.

Leita couldn’t offer pleasantries. This wasn’t her home, she wasn’t happy to be back, and she was damn tired. Thalia had borne the brunt of their journey, galloping through the countryside to bring them back several days faster than if Leita had flown. Yet, Leita felt every league, every hour that separated her from Attalus.

Marcades, thankfully, had never proven the chatty sort. He fell into step behind her as she climbed up into the palace.

Go and rest, Thalia. I’m grateful for your fleetness.

Take your rest, too. You’re no good to anyone dead on your feet.

Leita agreed, although she wasn’t certain what awaited her.

She’d managed a few hours of rest on Thalia’s back, but it wasn’t the true long sleep she needed. Leita’s stinging eyes yearned to close in the comfort of her needlessly large bed. Or, even better, within the warmth of scaled arms.

If her chancellor Charis and her attendants Carenza and Ondra noticed her bad mood, they were too well trained to show it. All three bowed to her, and Leita had to bite her tongue to keep from barking at them to get on with it. She wore a good part of the road and hadn’t slept in days—no one needed to be bowing to her.

“It’s good to see you returned, my Queen,” said Charis. “Fallorian has missed you.”