Page 21 of Warrior Princess (Blood Weaver Trilogy #3)

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A s we left behind the familiar landscapes of the Grasslands, anticipation and unease knotted in my stomach. The sun had already begun its slow arc across the sky, with long shadows that danced playfully across the ground as our horses galloped over the soft earth.

Ronan rode beside me, his presence a constant comfort. He seemed at ease as he scanned the horizon, ever vigilant. I tried to mirror his calm by focusing on the rhythmic thud of our horses’ hooves against the ground, but my thoughts kept drifting to what awaited us in Keldara. The last time I was there, I was assaulted and a war broke out. I shook my head and tried to push it out of my mind. I didn’t have the best memories in the Grasslands either, but with Ronan, I could look past it. I had to do the same in Keldara.

The scenery shifted as we neared the border. Gentle plains gave way to rugged terrain, with rocky outcrops and steep hills that hinted at Keldara’s harsh beauty. The brisk air forced me to pull my cloak tighter around me, grateful for its warmth.

We slowed our horses as we approached a narrow pass that served as one of the few entries into Keldara. My heart pounded with both excitement and dread. This land, with its stark landscapes and complex politics, was daunting and strangely compelling in equal measure.

When we rounded a bend, a figure emerged from the early evening shadows. It was Mykal, waiting for us just as we hoped he’d be. He was on horseback, his posture relaxed yet authoritative.

“Leila; Ronan,” Mykal called out, his voice carrying over the wind. He rode toward us, his horse moving with an elegant, practiced gait.

“Good to see you, Mykal.” Ronan’s tone was warm but reserved. I could tell he was assessing Mykal, trying to gauge if the man before us was an ally or another complication in our already tangled affairs. He still didn’t fully trust him, and I couldn’t blame him.

Mykal nodded, his eyes flashing with sharp intelligence. “I'm glad you made it. From your message, it sounds like we have much to discuss.” His piercing gaze flicked to me, as if he could see right through to my apprehensions.

“Indeed, we do.” I forced my voice to sound more confident than I felt. “But let’s not linger here. Lead the way.”

Mykal turned his horse and led us into Keldara, past the border that seemed like a threshold between worlds. Many challenges awaited, filled with dark secrets and potential alliances.

As we followed Mykal through the rugged landscape, shadows deepened around us and the last light of day retreated from the sky. Ronan finally broke the silence that had fallen over us. “How have things been since we were here last?”

Mykal sighed, a sound that carried the weight of unspoken struggles. “It's been challenging,” he admitted. “The loyalists are more entrenched than I anticipated. Rooting them out has proven difficult.”

“Do you need help?” Ronan offered tentatively.

A brief chuckle escaped Mykal. “I appreciate the sentiment, Ronan, but I know you'd prefer to keep your distance from Keldara's internal strife.” He gave Ronan a knowing look. “If things become dire, I'll let you know.”

Ronan nodded. “Understood. How much farther to the camp?”

“Not much farther.” Mykal gestured toward a break in the trees ahead. “I thought it best to meet away from the capital, given the current tensions.”

The path grew steeper as we approached the base of the mountains. A few minutes later, we broke through the underbrush and entered a clearing where a small, tidy camp had been established. Soldiers appeared as ghostly figures in the twilight. We dismounted and our horses were swiftly led away to be fed and watered.

The commander guided us to a large tent situated at the heart of his camp. The door flap rustled gently in the evening breeze as we entered, a reminder of the fragile peace that hung over Keldara like a thinly veiled promise.

Inside the tent, the atmosphere shifted from the rugged wilderness to a semblance of military orderliness and strategic comfort. The tent was surprisingly spacious and much larger than it appeared from the outside, with enough room to comfortably accommodate several people. Plush rugs covered the ground, muting our footsteps and adding a layer of insulation against the cool earth. The fabric walls were reinforced with a lining that helped shield against the chilliness that descended with night, lending the interior a warm and inviting atmosphere.

At the center, a low wooden table stood, scattered with maps and various documents that spoke of ongoing strategic discussions and communications. Small stones held the corners of the maps in place, preventing them from curling up. Lanterns hung from the tent's support poles, radiating a warm, steady glow that illuminated the space with soft light and made the detailed topography on the maps easier to discern.

Against one side of the tent, a small field desk held a portable writing set complete with ink, quills, and a stack of parchment, suggesting that this space doubled as a mobile command center. Nearby, two sturdy wooden chairs were positioned, offering a place for more formal discussions or planning sessions.

In the back, a modest sleeping area was arranged with a narrow cot and a heavy blanket folded at its foot, indicating where Mykal rested when he wasn’t engaged in leadership duties. A small personal chest secured with a heavy padlock stood beside the cot, likely containing his belongings.

The tent was organized with a clear purpose, blending functionality with the necessary comforts of all a commanding officer needed in the field. It was evident that every item had been chosen for its utility and ease of transport, reflecting the transient and often urgent nature of military life. The space was pragmatically structured, reflecting the urgency of wartime leadership, yet it offered a semblance of temporary sanctuary.

“Make yourselves comfortable.” Mykal gestured to the chairs across from the desk laden with maps and documents as he settled into his own seat. “Now that we have more privacy, what’s going on? Your letter didn’t reveal much.”

Ronan and I exchanged a quick, uncertain glance before I took a deep breath to begin, feeling the burden of our precarious situation. “I need to get a letter to my brother, Marcellus.”

Mykal’s expression shifted to concern. “I assume the Grasslands has messengers of their own …?” he replied, a hint of confusion in his tone.

“It’s not that simple.” Ronan leaned forward. “Leila's last attempt to contact her father was intercepted by Caelan. We encountered him in the Central Plains under the guise of her father, but quickly learned it was a setup.”

Mykal exhaled sharply as the implications dawned on him. “Is Caelan…?” He trailed off without finishing the thought.

“We’re not sure of his current reach,” I filled in quickly, keen on diverting from speculation to action. “That’s why it’s crucial I speak directly with my brother and father. There are things only they should hear, and it must be kept confidential.”

Understanding flickered in Mykal’s eyes. He nodded slowly, then passed me a piece of parchment, a quill, and the ink bottle. “Write your letter,” he instructed. “I’ll ensure it’s dispatched tonight. You’re welcome to stay in the camp until we receive a reply. I’ll arrange your accommodations.”

“Thank you, Mykal.” Ronan acknowledged the commander with a nod. “There’s one more thing we need to ask of you.”

Mykal’s eyebrows lifted, inviting the question.

“We’re looking for a Valorian midwife named Abigail. We don’t know her surname, but we heard she’s hiding somewhere in Keldara,” Ronan stated. “She was involved in a sensitive matter in Valoria concerning Leila’s family many years ago.”

“A Valorian midwife here?” Mykal mulled it over. “We do have a small community of Valorian refugees. I’ll have my people look into it. Is there a reason you’re looking for this Abigail person?”

I looked at Ronan, wondering just how much we should divulge to Mykal. He nodded to my silent question. “She was a midwife for my mother… for her first-born child.”

Mykal’s eyes widened, and he looked between the two of us. “Pardon?”

“Supposedly that child was a stillborn, but everyone involved in the birth died mysteriously, leaving only the midwife Abigail, who somehow managed to escape to Keldara.” I shrugged one shoulder. “She might have some answers we’re looking for.”

“I see.” Mykal’s tone turned serious as the gravity of the situation sank in. “That puts things into a different perspective. I’ll start inquiries immediately. Write your letter and I’ll get your tent outfitted.” He excused himself with a respectful nod, leaving Ronan and me alone to craft the letter.

“Do you know what you want to say?” Ronan kept his voice low as he watched me uncap the ink bottle.

“Yes.” I dipped the quill into the ink. “I’m going to tell my brother about the poisoning, but I’ll ask him to keep it from Mother in case she has something to do with it.”

“And you think he’ll believe you?” Ronan’s concern was evident, his brow furrowed in the dim light of the tent.

“He has to,” I said with more hope than certainty. “I’m also going to ask him to meet us at the border with Father, away from the prying eyes of Caelan or anyone else who might be pulling strings in Valoria.”

“That’s a solid plan,” Ronan concluded. “Once we have their response, we’ll head to the border to meet them.”

We strode into our temporary abode within Mykal's camp, where the tent struck a balance between functionality and minimal comfort. Instead of the typical single bedding arrangement, two separate cots were meticulously placed, underscoring Mykal's consideration—or perhaps his sense of decorum, given our partnership.

Ronan gave a wry chuckle as he surveyed the room. “Mykal's not subtle, is he?” He dropped onto the nearer cot with a soft thud. “Thinks he's being clever with this setup.”

I smiled and dismissed the implication with a wave of my hand. “It’s just standard protocol, I think. No need to read too much into it.”

“Maybe.” His voice lowered, a playful yet serious undertone threading through his words. “But I notice the way he looks at you. It’s familiar because it’s how I look at you. Like you’re the only thing in the world worth seeing.”

A flush crept up my cheeks and I turned away to hide the rising warmth. “Mykal respects our relationship, Ronan. Let’s not start a fire where there’s no spark.”

“He’d better.” Ronan was half-jesting, but his tone held a protective firmness that made me glance back at him. He kicked off his boots and stretched out, making himself at home on the rugged cot.

Shaking my head at his mock jealousy, I approached the small basin situated at the foot of my cot and splashed cool water on my face. The chill was a welcome relief against the dusty warmth of Keldaran air.

Climbing onto my cot, I pulled the thin blanket up to my chin and nestled into the pillow. I stared up at the canvas ceiling bathed in the soft glow of a lantern hanging from the center pole. “How long do you think it’ll take to get a response back from Marcellus?”

Ronan turned on his side to face me, his features shadowed yet thoughtful. “Given the distance and the need for caution, I wouldn’t expect anything before late tomorrow, probably after lunch.”

I sighed, the weight of our tasks momentarily pressing down. “It’s going to be a long wait,” I murmured more to myself than to him.

Ronan reached out across the small gap between our cots and brushed his fingers against mine. “No matter how long, we’re in this together.” His assurance was a low rumble in the otherwise quiet tent.

Comforted, I gave his hand a gentle squeeze and settled back. The fatigue of the day quickly coaxed me toward sleep, the issues of tomorrow waiting just beyond the veil of dreams.

The next morning dawned clear and bright with the first rays of sunlight piercing the canvas of our tent, drawing thin lines of light across the floor. I stirred from a restless sleep, the anticipation of receiving a return message from my brother cluttering my mind. Ronan was already awake, sitting on the edge of his cot and lacing his boots.

“Morning.” My voice was thick with sleep as I sat up and rubbed the remnants of dreams from my eyes.

A soft smile touched his lips as he glanced over at me. “Good morning. Sleep well?”

“Not really.” I swung my legs off the cot and reached for my boots. “Too many thoughts swirling around.”

Ronan nodded in understanding, then stood to stretch his tall frame. “I know the feeling. Maybe breakfast will help clear your head.”

We stepped out of the tent to find the camp already buzzing with activity. Soldiers bustled about, performing their morning routines, and the smell of cooking fires reminded me how hungry I was. We found the communal eating area where Mykal was already sitting with a steaming mug in his hand.

“Morning, you two.” Mykal’s expression was serious yet welcoming. “I’ve sent your letter, Leila. Now it’s a waiting game.”

“Thank you, Mykal.” I gratefully accepted a mug of tea from one of his aides. The warmth from the cup seeped into my hands, lending comfort against the morning chill. We settled around a small table where a modest breakfast was placed before us. As we ate, the conversation naturally veered towards our plans.

“Once we hear back from Marcellus, we must be ready to move quickly.” Ronan’s tone was businesslike as he tore a piece of bread. “Whether it’s to meet him or to handle whatever response we get.”

Mykal nodded in agreement. “I’ve tapped a few scouts and they’re at your disposal. They can escort you to the border or wherever you need to go.”

I sipped my tea, the warmth soothing as I considered our next moves. “What about the midwife, Abigail? Any news on her whereabouts?”

“No word as of yet,” Mykal replied. “Keldara isn’t large, but she must be keeping a low profile, which is understandable if what you claim is true. It’s only a matter of time, though.”

The conversation paused as a messenger approached our table with a sealed letter in his hand. He handed it to Mykal, who quickly passed it to me. My heart raced as I recognized Marcellus’s seal. I carefully broke the wax and unfolded the letter, rapidly scanning the contents. Ronan watched me closely with a tense expression.

“It’s from Marcellus.” I finally looked up from the letter. “He’s safe, and he’s secured a meeting place for us at the border in two days. He’s bringing Father with him.”

Relief washed over Ronan’s face and he reached for my hand across the table. “That’s good news.”

“But there’s more.” My voice faltered as I read the next part of the letter out loud. “‘I suspect the royal court is being manipulated. Be cautious, Sister.’”

Ronan’s brow furrowed. “We need to be prepared for anything. This situation is more complex than we thought.”

Mykal leaned in, his gaze sharp. “I’ll double the escorts and send word to my contacts in Valoria to keep an eye out for any unusual movements.”

I frowned as I reread the letter, scrutinizing the scrawl of Marcellus’s handwriting. “How do I know for sure this is from my brother? Caelan has already fooled me once.” I looked over at Mykal.

“My operative was instructed to stay by Marcellus’s side until he wrote a response. All my operatives are trustworthy. If your letter had been intercepted, he never would have made it back,” Mykal said cryptically.

As we finished our breakfast and planned our next steps, our responsibilities felt ponderous. We weren’t simply fighting for my family’s safety, but for the stability of an entire nation.

“Didn’t you mention there's a small Valorian refugee community here in Keldara?” I asked Mykal. My curiosity was piqued by the thought of fellow countrymen so close yet choosing to live under such different circumstances.

“Yes, they've settled on the outskirts of the capital.” Mykal’s voice carried a hint of concern. “It’s not the safest area, especially with the current tensions.”

I chewed on my lower lip and considered our options. “Perhaps we could visit them on our way to meet my brother and father at the Valorian-Keldaran border. It might be more productive than just waiting around here for someone to tell us if they’ve found Abigail or not.”

Mykal's brow furrowed slightly. “If you’re set on going, I insist on escorting you myself. That area is too close to the capital, and the situation there is volatile.”

Ronan, always protective, quickly interjected. “She’ll have me. Plus, Leila is quite capable of defending herself as a blood mage. We should manage fine on our own.”

A chuckle escaped Mykal. “While I don’t doubt her abilities or yours, caution never hurts. Please accept my aid.”

I sensed Ronan’s pride bristle at the suggestion, but before he could escalate the conversation into an argument, I cut in. “We'll take the extra help, Mykal. It's sensible. When can we leave?”

Mykal nodded, appreciating my easy acceptance. “After I organize a small escort, we can leave today. Give me a few hours to prepare everything.” With that, he stood and took his dishes to be washed.

Alone again, I turned to Ronan, who still seemed a bit miffed. “What’s really bothering you?”

He sighed and ran a hand through his black hair. “I guess I'm just irritated about the sleeping arrangements last night,” he admitted with a half-smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

Laughing softly, I shook my head. “Oh, come on. It was just one night. We have the rest of our lives to share a bed. Besides, right now, we need all the allies we can get.”

“You're right, as always,” Ronan conceded with a playful wink. He stood and gathered our dishes. “Let’s get ready to leave. After we rendezvous with the refugees, we’ll head straight for the border.”

My spirits were buoyed by the plan coming together. “Lead the way.”