Only the Destined. Морган Райс
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sorry,” she said.
“What do you have to be sorry for?” Anne asked her.
“Well, for just turning up like this,” Genevieve said. “And just wandering into your home, probably putting you in danger if anyone finds out I was here. And… well, all the things that happened while Altfor was in charge.”
“You’re not the one who needs to be sorry for that,” Anne insisted. “Do you think I don’t know how things are with nobles carrying girls away? Do you think I was always old?”
“You…” Genevieve began.
Anne nodded. “Things were better under the old king, but they weren’t perfect. There were always those nobles who thought they could take what they wanted. It’s part of what drove a wedge between them and him, from what I hear.”
“I’m sorry,” Genevieve said, realizing what the old woman was saying.
“Stop saying that,” Anne replied. “You’ve nothing to be sorry for. I’m just telling you so you understand that you’re safe here.”
“Thank you,” Genevieve said, because right then safety seemed like a commodity so precious that almost nobody could offer it to her. She looked around. “Where’s your husband?”
“Oh, Thom’s out tending the sheep. Not that sheep need much tending. Give them a place to graze and a place to sleep and they’re happy. People are harder, always wanting more.”
Genevieve could believe that. How much trouble had come because there were always some people in the world who thought they had a right to take everything, and then still wanted more?
“Have you thought about what you’re going to do next?” Anne asked her.
“I thought… my sister is safe away in Fallsport,” Genevieve said. “I thought I might go to her.”
“That’s quite a trip,” Anne said. “Out across the sea, and I guess you don’t have much coin to pay for a ship, either.”
Genevieve shook her head. The more she thought about the idea, the less it seemed to make sense. Going to Sheila was the obvious reaction, but also a foolish one. It just meant both of them trying to live out their days on the run, always wondering when there would be a knife in the dark coming for them.
“Well, we’ve no money to help with that,” Anne said. “But you could stay here for a while if you wanted. We could do with the extra help around the farm, and no one would find you out here.”
The generosity of that was almost too much for Genevieve. She could even feel tears starting to prick at the corners of her eyes at the thought of it. What would it be like, just to stay there, just to let this end?
Thoughts of Olivia’s ring came to her then. She’d thought there would be some happiness to find with Royce, and look how badly that had turned out. She wasn’t made for some peaceful resolution to all of this.
And the truth was that she already had a plan. She’d made a plan with Sheila, except that in the rush of emotion, fleeing from the town, she’d forgotten all about it. Now that she’d had a chance to recover, and sleep, and even start to think, that plan was coming back to her again. It had been the best idea then, and it was the best one now.
“I can’t stay,” Genevieve said.
“Where will you go then?” Anne asked her. “What will you do? Are you so set on finding this sister of yours?”
Genevieve shook her head at that, because she knew it wouldn’t work. No, she couldn’t go looking for her sister. She had to go looking for her husband. She had to find him, and if she could stomach it, she had to play the part that fate had given her, as his wife. If she could bear to do that until her child was born and recognized, then she could be rid of Altfor and rule as mother of the heir to the dukedom, for the good of everyone involved.
It was a desperate plan, but right then, it was the only one she had. Making it work would be the hard part. She didn’t know where Altfor was. She knew where he would be going, though: he had lost, and so he would be seeking help, heading to the king. Genevieve knew then where she had to go.
“I need to get to the royal court,” she said.
CHAPTER THREE
Royce clung to the railing of the ship, willing it to move faster, his attention stretched out over the waves through Ember’s eyes. Above him, the hawk wheeled and shrieked, calling out above the waves and occasionally plunging down toward them to take some small seabird that had become too tempting a target.
But Royce’s attention was on more than that. He reached out as deep as he could into Ember’s consciousness, searching for any sign of Lori, any chance to talk to the witch who had sent them this way and find out more about his father. There was nothing though, just the rolling of the sea and the glimmer of the sun.
“You’ve been standing up here for hours,” Mark said, coming to join him.
“It hasn’t been hours,” Royce insisted.
“Since sunup,” Mark said, looking a little concerned. “You and the wolf.”
Gwylim huffed beside Royce, the bhargir clearly not liking being referred to as just a wolf. Royce found himself wondering just how much the creature understood as they traveled. Several times, Ember had landed beside him, and Royce had the impression of some silent communication going on.
“Gwylim isn’t a wolf,” Royce said. “And I was hoping that Lori would have another message for me.”
“I know,” Mark said.
“Has it caused problems?” Royce asked.
“It’s meant that I’ve been the one mediating all the arguments between the others.”
“There are enough of those,” Royce guessed.
“More than enough,” Mark said. “Neave and Matilde seem to have decided on arguing as the best way to declare their love. Bolis is so stuck up, and the presence of one of the Picti here is enough to rile him.”
“And you, Mark?” Royce asked. “What do you make of the others?”
“I think they’re good to have beside us,” Mark said. “The Picti girl seems fierce, and it’s obvious Matilde is a survivor. Bolis might be a knight, but at least that means he knows how to use that sword of his. But they only work so long as you’re there to lead, Royce, and you’ve been up here all day.”
He had. He’d been hoping to catch some glimpse of his father, or at least find a way to connect with the witch who had sent him this way in search of him. To do that, he’d been keeping his focus out in front of the ship, and not paying much attention to anything that had been going on aboard it. At least things seemed to be going well, because they were heading in the right direction.
“How do you think things are going back home?” Royce asked Mark.
“You’re worried about your brothers?” Mark asked.
Royce nodded. Lofen, Raymond, and Garet were brave, and they would do everything they could to help the fight, but they could only do so much, and they’d already been captured once.
“Them, and Olivia,” he said. He didn’t mention that thoughts of his fiancée kept blending with thoughts of Genevieve, not even to Mark, because those thoughts felt like a betrayal of someone who was good, and pure, and whose father had given them so much for someone who had already pushed him away.
“We’ll get back to her soon,” Mark said, clapping Royce on the shoulder, and for a moment Royce couldn’t remember which “her” he meant.
“I hope so,” he said. He sent his awareness back up into Ember’s eyes, and because of that, he saw the Seven Isles in the distance before anyone else.
They sat shrouded in banks of mist that shifted along with the seas. Jagged rocks punched up from the waters around them like the teeth of great beasts. There were