Page 6 of Legacy of Thorns (Kingdoms of Legacy #3)

Daphne

D aphne lay on the grass, her eyes closed and her breathing even.

She had slept for a few minutes and woken again—but without giving any indication of having done so.

It was an art she had mastered years ago.

A lot of interesting things could be learned—and tiresome situations avoided—by appearing to be asleep.

And now that she was—for the first time in her life—traveling without someone she knew and trusted, the skill had become vital. She needed to know what these people said and did when they thought her vulnerable and unable to hear them.

Only a second’s mental catalog told her that she hadn’t been harmed or even moved. She turned her attention outward.

“Everything’s clean, and I’ve repacked,” a woman’s voice said. Nisha. “Should we wake her?”

“But she looks so peaceful,” Morrow protested.

“Isn’t that a bit odd, though?” Nisha again. “Is there something wrong with her?”

“She’s been out of Oakden for years,” Finley said more quietly. “I guess now we know what price she’s had to pay for leaving. It must have been hard for her to live like that all this time.”

Tears pricked at Daphne’s eyes, and she struggled to keep her breathing in the correct cadence.

It made sense that Lorne’s grandson would understand her struggles—he must have watched his grandfather suffer every time Lorne left the kingdom.

But she hadn’t expected her own response to such immediate understanding and sympathy.

She stretched and yawned, finally opening her eyes. “Is it time for us to go?” She rose slowly to her feet.

“Yes, the washing up is just finished.” Finley grinned. “Very convenient timing.”

“I do my best,” Daphne said calmly.

She hadn’t been able to help falling asleep on that occasion, but there was no use protesting her innocence when she had done exactly what he suspected on more than one occasion. She didn’t even feel bad for using her frustrating circumstances to her best advantage where possible.

They all shouldered their packs and took to the road, Morrow in the lead. Finley and Daphne walked side by side behind him, with Nisha behind them.

Daphne glanced back at the other woman, concerned she might be unhappy with being relegated to the rear. But Nisha walked in a state of alertness, her eyes busy scanning the forest on either side of them. Daphne followed her gaze but noticed nothing out of place.

Most Oakdenians lived life at a slower pace than in other kingdoms—their Legacy had a tendency to slow everything down before you even realized it was happening.

But Nisha—who Daphne guessed at about thirty—seemed to have her own supply of coiled energy.

She wore her dark hair in a practical bob and the muscles in her arms and legs proclaimed she wasn’t used to a life of indolence.

In front of Daphne, Morrow moved comfortably despite his size, his fair hair ruffling in the spring breeze.

Daphne had never seen such a mountain of a man.

And yet, his good nature seemed equally oversized.

She placed him as mid-forties—still with plenty of strength in his frame—and she easily could have felt intimidated by his mere presence.

But despite his appearance, she didn’t. And Daphne generally had good instincts about people.

She threw a sideways glance at Finley. So why did she feel so wary of Lorne’s grandson?

He had been nothing but friendly so far—even charming.

But her usual assessment was thrown off by how disturbingly attractive he was.

She couldn’t tell if she felt uneasy because he was hiding something or because she mistrusted her response to her own feelings of attraction.

All together, the three of them were an oddly matched group and equally unexpected as associates of Lorne. But perhaps it wasn’t so surprising after all. Daphne had firsthand experience that Lorne welcomed everyone with open arms.

The spring air was pleasant, and she enjoyed looking for the spring blooms that poked through the forest litter on the ground wherever possible.

Despite her concern for Lorne’s son and her worry over her own continuing sleepiness, Daphne felt light.

It was the perfect day for a walk through the forest.

Morrow broke into sudden song, his voice infectious and joyful. Nisha immediately joined him, the rich notes of her low alto merging seamlessly with his unexpectedly smooth tenor.

They sang a traditional Oakdenian song that Daphne remembered from her childhood. As they reached the chorus, she couldn’t stop herself from joining in. Her voice merged with the rich melody they were making, soaring over the road as they sang together.

When the song wound to a close, Morrow began another one, and both women joined him immediately.

Daphne’s heart swelled, her earlier pleasure in the day growing with the simple joy of making music.

She’d almost forgotten this part of life in Oakden.

So many people had beautiful singing voices, and the people loved to sing.

You never knew when someone would break into song, the people around them joining in.

Morrow embarked on a third song, and Daphne regretfully fell silent. It was one she didn’t recognize, and she was too out of practice to join a song she didn’t know.

She glanced across at Finley, whose lips had remained stubbornly shut throughout the impromptu choir performance.

“How can you not get caught up in the song?” she asked quietly beneath the singing of the others.

“Is it a crime not to enjoy singing?” Finley protested. “You’re looking at me as if I just kicked a puppy!”

“A crime?” Daphne’s eyebrow rose. “Of course not. But it does make me question your character.”

Finley winced, but Morrow broke off his song mid-word to give a low chuckle.

“Don’t blame Finley. You should thank him instead. He’s refraining for all our sakes.”

“People assume every Oakdenian can sing well,” Finley said ruefully.

“But some of us had godparents who didn’t give that particular gift.

Of course, some are naturally gifted anyway, but then there are some of us who…

aren’t.” He shook his head. “Living in Oakden, having a poor singing voice is practically a curse. I could demonstrate for you, but?—”

“No, don’t!” Nisha and Morrow cried, almost in unison.

Daphne rolled her lips together, trying not to laugh.

“I thank you for your sacrifice,” she said gravely.

“Clearly you’re one of those who were gifted with song, like Morrow and Nisha,” Finley said. “How many godparents do you have?”

“Four,” Daphne said with a small wince. “And I know that’s considered tempting the Legacy by most locals. But my parents were overeager at the prospect of an Oakdenian baby.”

Almost all children born in Oakden had godparents chosen by their parents.

The main role of these individuals was to speak a blessing over the baby in their first weeks of life—a gift chosen from the list given to Oakden’s famous sleeping princess.

No one risked having actual christenings, of course, or making any formal occasion out of it.

They already had enough trouble with the Legacy when it came to party invitations.

No matter how carefully hosts prepared, someone important was always left off every party invitation list made within the kingdom’s borders.

But parents were eager to make the most of the Oakden Legacy’s history of gifts for newborn babies, so they had developed their own traditions that didn’t require a formal event.

The chosen godparents would visit individually and speak their gift over the baby’s cradle.

No one had all six of the gifts given to Oakden’s historical princess, as that was considered too great a risk.

In most parts of Oakden, two was considered standard, three greedy, and four or more foolhardy.

Of course, the value of the gifts was debatable. Some argued they did little beyond make the parents feel good. But most people agreed they had some effect on the child—the strength of that effect depending on the general power of the Legacy in the area at the time of the blessing.

“Let me guess…” Finley said slowly, a smile in his eyes. “You were given song, grace, beauty…and wit.”

“Should I be offended by that hesitation?” Daphne asked, hiding a smile of her own.

Morrow glanced over his shoulder. “Ignore Finley. Clearly the power of the Legacy was strong in Ethelson at the time of your birth.”

“Thank you, Morrow,” Daphne said gravely. “From the sound of your voice, it must have been overflowing at the time of yours.”

Morrow laughed. “That’s what my parents claim, anyway. Although my mother always complained that she’d told her sister to give me wit, not song.”

“She certainly didn’t give you beauty,” Finley remarked, earning a narrow-eyed look from Daphne.

But Morrow just laughed again. “You’re just jealous your godmother gave you beauty instead of song, my friend. Unlike beauty, the gift of song is a gift to oneself as well as others. That’s what my aunt always said.”

Daphne gave a snort of laughter. “Finley got beauty?”

Despite her teasing, she wasn’t actually surprised. If anyone represented masculine beauty, it was Finley, with his sharp lines and strong brow.

“I didn’t only get beauty!” he protested, but the combined volume of three people’s chuckles drowned him out.

The moment of friendly teasing filled Daphne with more joy than the variety of flowers beside the road.

But the happiness unsettled her even as it brought a smile to her lips.

Just as when she had first seen Ethelson, the unexpected moment brought a rush of conflicting emotions.

She had resented the Legacy for forcing her to leave her true home in Glandore to return to Oakden—she still did—but it had been years since she had laughed with friends over their respective birth gifts.

It was something no Glandorian would understand.

Glandore might have become home, but a part of her would always be Oakdenian.

The afternoon’s walking passed with stretches of silence, stretches of song, and stretches of light conversation. Twice they stopped to rest, and both times Daphne napped—although she no longer felt the need to pretend extended sleep in order to test her companions.

“How much longer until we reach Lorne?” she asked as dusk began to fall.

“We won’t reach him tonight,” Finley said. “Possibly not even tomorrow. His new nurse will arrive faster in the coach, but I’m afraid we’re stuck at the slow pace.”

Daphne considered the information, comparing it to a map of Oakden in her mind.

Their destination must be inside the forest, which meant Lorne and his son must be in one of the forest hamlets that nestled among the trees.

Had Gordon been traveling between the capital and Ethelson when the accident occurred?

As they all worked to set up a camp for the night in a small clearing near the road, she asked Finley about her assumption.

“Does your uncle live in the capital now?”

Finley paused in unrolling his bedroll and frowned at her, his eyes confused.

Daphne’s brows drew together. “Your Uncle Gordon? Given our direction, it seems like he must have been traveling through the forest from the direction of the capital, not Klympton.”

“Oh, right.” Finley resumed arranging his bedroll, hiding his face from her. “Yes, he was coming from the capital.”

Daphne finished laying out her own bedroll—putting it with Nisha’s on the opposite side of the fire to Finley and Morrow. As she worked, she threw covert glances at Finley. He hadn’t actually answered her question. And he’d seemed confused by it as well.

Despite the dedication he was showing in traveling to his uncle’s sick bed, Finley didn’t seem very concerned about the man. Was Gordon unlikable in some way? Was it only Lorne Finley cared about?

As they worked together to build a campfire and prepare an evening meal, Daphne continued to watch Finley from the corner of her eye. As far as she could see, he behaved normally, but she couldn’t shake the certainty that something was off. What was he hiding from her?

Or was her certainty that he was hiding something merely an excuse—a reason to watch him constantly? It was certainly no hardship to look at him. He moved with a lithe grace that was mesmerizing, and she didn’t doubt he was a skilled fighter. One of his birth gifts had clearly been grace.

She tore her eyes away from him when she realized the direction of her thoughts. She was alone in a kingdom that was no longer familiar—alone if she didn’t count her new friends, and she wasn’t completely sure she should count them yet—and she couldn’t afford to be distracted by an attractive face.

But what if it wasn’t a distraction but a genuine instinct for trouble? The question kept her awake for some time after they had said goodnight and climbed into their bedrolls. And she noticed that while Nisha and Morrow were both snoring quickly, there were no sounds of sleep from Finley either.