Although it was mercifully cooler than the day before, the pace was faster and more challenging. Finally, several hours after midday, they stopped on the bank of a small stream, where the horses gorged themselves on cool water and river grass. Royce and Hadrian grabbed packs and gathered wood. Exhausted, Arista as much fell as sat down. Her legs and backside ached. There were insects and twigs in her hair and a dusting of dirt covering her gown. Her eyes stared at nothing, losing their focus as her mind stalled, numb from fatigue.

What have I gotten myself into? Am I up to this?

They were below the Galewyr, in imperial territory. She had thrown herself into the fire, perhaps foolishly. Alric would be furious when he found her missing, and she could just imagine what Ecton would say. If they caught her—She stopped herself.

This is not helping.

She turned her attention to her escorts.

As during the hours on horseback, Royce and Hadrian remained quiet. Hadrian unsaddled the horses and gave them a light brushing while Royce set up a small cook fire. Watching the two of them was entertaining. Without a word, they would toss tools and bags back and forth. Hadrian blindly threw a hatchet over his shoulder and Royce caught it just in time to begin breaking up branches for the fire. Just as Royce finished the fire, Hadrian had a pot of water ready to place on it. For Arista, who had lived her life in public, among squabbling nobles and chattering castle staff, such silence was strange.

Hadrian chopped carrots and dropped them into the dented, blackened pot on the coals. “Are you ready to eat the best meal you’ve ever had, Highness?”

She wanted to laugh but did not have the strength. Instead, she said, “There are three chefs and eighteen cooks back at Essendon Castle that would take exception to that remark. They spend their whole lives perfecting elaborate dishes. You would be amazed at the feasts I’ve attended, filled with everything from exotic spices to ice sculptures. I highly doubt you’ll be able to surpass them.”

Hadrian smirked. “That might be,” he replied, struggling to cut chunks of dry brine-encrusted pork into bite-sized cubes, “but I guarantee this meal will put them all to shame.”

Arista removed the pearl-handled hairbrush from a pouch that hung at her side, and she tried in vain to untangle her hair. Eventually giving up, she sat and watched Hadrian drop wretched-looking meat into the bubbling pot. Ash and bits of twigs thrown up by the crackling fire landed in the mix.

“Master chef, debris is getting in your pot.”

Hadrian grinned. “Always happens. Can’t help it. Just be careful not to bite down too hard on anything or you might crack a tooth.”