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N iam stood by while Rufe and Vihaan inspected all the mules after yesterday's sabotage. The stableboy who’d delivered Princess was nowhere in sight.

They mounted up once Rufe pronounced everything safe.

“Thank you for your hospitality.” Niam nodded to Yarif and Draylon from atop his mount. “I hope to return the favor soon.”

“We look forward to it.” Draylon smiled, but his eyes remained wary.

Yarif stepped forward and tucked something into Niam’s pack. “This necklace belonged to my mother. I want Aunt Nera to have it.”

As little as Yarif possessed from his mother, any of her belongings were priceless. Mother would cherish the memento from her sister. “My thanks, Your Majesties.”

Draylon stared out into the predawn light, pink rising above the distant mountains. “I’ve received word this morning that fourteen of the soldiers who returned to Dellamar without you are missing, a scouting group led by a captain.”

“Missing? It’s my hope they’re merely delayed and will arrive shortly.” What had happened to them? Bad weather, other natural threats, or brigands? Niam would dispatch a search as soon as he could.

Rufe darted a glance toward Draylon from atop Princess, some silent communication that brought on a brief tinge of jealousy.

Niam waited until half the guards passed, then took his place in the middle, riding behind Vihaan and Casseign. Zanial, a Delletinian advisor who’d joined Niam in Renvalle, didn’t look nearly as comfortable mounting the placid mule chosen for him.

Niam left Zanial to his fifth attempt to mount and watched Rufe say his goodbyes.

Rufe exchanged a few words with the royal couple, turning Princess this way and that to show her off, then urged her into a trot. It seemed he liked his present after all. Niam couldn’t hide a smile—or a little preening.

Zanial finally climbed into the saddle, and the remaining soldiers fell in behind the procession.

Niam settled into the rhythm of his mule’s footsteps, focusing on the surrounding conversations. Twenty-four soldiers, plus Rufe, Niam, Zanial, Casseign, and Vihaan.

“I never been to the mountains,” someone said in Cormiran, though his accent proclaimed him of Glendor.

“I hope we see snow,” the woman riding behind Niam replied.

Two women spoke in Glendoran, sizing up their fellow soldiers and shooting some coy glances.

Would they have spoken so freely about the Delletinian soldiers’ assets if they knew Niam spoke their language?

Fortunately, how they passed the time worked for him as long as they respected their fellows and performed their duties on the way home.

Home. Niam was going home to his family, his responsibilities, and the problems he’d faced would still be waiting for him.

If only he could keep on riding through the kingdom and out the other side, leaving the political mess behind him.

Given his reluctance to face his old life, Niam still felt relief at crossing the Renvallian border into Delletina, the road angling upward toward the mountains he loved.

Tall peaks bore crowns of snow that would last until early summer, though the road beneath him remained mercifully clear.

Relief, and then pain hit as they passed through landscapes decimated by prolonged battles with Craice.

He’d been in a hurry coming to Draylon’s aid, but now, at a more leisurely pace, Niam saw the devastation his country had suffered, the once well-traveled road falling into disuse.

Although they’d go through Telaga Pass, they entered Delletina by another road, once an official trade route between Renvalle and Delletina, now overgrown with disuse. The remains of a former trade hub now lay abandoned, along with the nearby village.

They camped near the former town center, taking refuge from snow flurries in the few houses with solid roofs. He’d love to have Rufe near him, but the best he could do with people watching was to have his trusted Casseign watch over Rufe .

Rufe, for his part, sent Vihaan to Niam.

Sleeping rough couldn’t be doing Rufe’s injuries any favors. The trampled leg and the cuts he’d earned defending Niam’s keep, doubtlessly, still ached.

The few Delletinian guards who’d remained with Niam in Renvalle kept close, not letting Renvallian soldiers too near their king. One might have even growled. Niam had felt safe in Renvalle until someone had tampered with Rufe's saddle—a brand new saddle, a gift from Niam.

Zanial brushed past the guards, arms laden with gear. “I don’t trust these foreign soldiers, Your Majesty,” he said, disdainfully eyeing Vihaan.

Vihaan merely watched from his place by the door, an amused smirk on his lips. Maybe he understood some Delletinian, but Zanial’s sneer needed no interpretation.

Vihaan gave a lazy grin and winked.

Zanial flushed. “Well, I never!” He flounced to the other side of the room and laid out his bedroll.

“And it shows!” Vihaan snapped in Delletinian. Ah, so the old soldier knew the language. Niam best remember that.

He would’ve insisted on Zanial sleeping elsewhere if he’d known how badly the man snored.

For his part, Niam slept fitfully on the floor of the abandoned cottage Casseign deigned in good enough condition to house his king.

What had the people who’d lived here been like?

Where were they now? Could he have done something to prevent them from abandoning their homes ?

Niam had been a young ruler when Renvalle cut trade, allowing the nobles to convince him they should stay neutral. But the Craician threat grew, as did Niam’s understanding of what Delletina needed. He’d grown as a person and a king during that time.

Owls hooted outside the window, and a wolf howled in the distance. A mule snorted. Murmured conversations drifted through the window, but Niam couldn’t pick out Rufe’s voice.

Rufe should be here now, wrapped in this blanket. Never had Niam felt so alone in his life.

Captain Casseign distributed Delletinian winter clothing to those who didn’t possess their own. Niam had guessed right about Rufe’s sizes, and he appeared vastly different in a woolen tunic, trousers, and the fur-lined hat and gloves specially made for him.

Niam's heart lurched. Rufe almost appeared Delletinian-born, dressed as one of them. However, his dark hair, eyes, and complexion belied the illusion, a reminder of his Cormiran ancestry and that Niam couldn’t keep him.

Plate armor wasn’t conducive to distance riding, so all the soldiers in the contingent wore chain mail beneath their cloaks. With any luck, they wouldn't need the protection.

They plodded through softly falling snow; the drifts masking the mules’ footfalls. Zanial shivered, remarking for the hundredth time, “It’s so cold!” And he called himself a northerner.

Invigorating, more like. So much freedom to be had away from the castle, so much beauty to behold.

The air was crisp, cold, and clean. Steam formed from Niam’s breath, eerie wraiths dissipating into the gloom.

Ice coated the tree branches, and red birds sought berries in the shrubs.

Rufe smiled his way every so often, warming Niam down to his soul.

Two days later, they came to a ghostly nothingness of burned trees and home after home destroyed, new evergreens pushing through the carnage from a past fire. They would likely find people on other roads, but this route gave Niam the best chance of anonymity.

The company grew silent as their mules trudged by the carnage. Late summer lightning strike? Untended hearth fire? Enemy incursion? He pulled his mount closer to his advisor’s. “Zanial, did we receive any word of what happened here?”

Zanial glanced around, jerking as though just now seeing the destruction. “There was a fire.”

Niam fought the urge to roll his eyes. “Yes, but what caused the fire? How many victims? How many people did the fire displace? Where are they? Do they need the crown’s help?”

Zanial flushed an unflattering shade of purple. “They were burning off fields for planting last spring. The wind swept the burn out of control.” The words came out practiced.

“And? ”

The confusion on Zanial’s face appeared genuine. “And?”

“What happened to the people? Do they need help to rebuild?”

“The treasury sent funds,” Zanial mumbled.

Well, if they had, the money hadn’t gone toward rebuilding. “I want to see the records as soon as we arrive home.”

“Y… yes, Your Majesty.”

How odd, and something Niam needed to look into. He relied on his advisors and secretaries for so much, trusting them implicitly. Perhaps they needed more oversight.

The fifth day found the party climbing higher into the mountains, slowing down as lowlanders dealt with headaches and other highlands-related maladies.

They encountered their first sinkhole. Half the road appeared to have simply collapsed, leaving a gaping, ragged hole and a steep drop down the side of the mountain.

They rode single file on the undamaged part.

There’d be no repairing this route, which might have been a deciding factor in the abandoned villages they’d found thus far. A new road must be built.

Rufe pulled his mule next to Niam’s when the road widened again. “Did it collapse all at once?”

Niam nodded. “This small one probably did. I’ve seen others much worse.

One moment a village, the next the earth swallowed most of the buildings and the road.

” He urged his mule off the path, cutting through the woods behind the guards.

“Casseign’s family came from this area, which is why he knows the way so well.

” He wouldn’t mention how some of Casseign’s family vanished into such a hole.

“Between fires, sinkholes, flash floods, and other calamities, many villages had to be abandoned.” A crumbling manor stood in the distance.

“Once-grand places like yonder manor are now home to bandits. We’ll steer clear.

They wouldn’t dare attack a party of this size. ”