Wandering: Daughter of Arden, #2

By Loren G. Warnemuende

Princess Maleen and her maidservant Marietta survived three years of exile in a tower only to escape and discover their kingdom's capital, Ardenay, in ruins. Now Maleen must forge ahead and make decisions about her future, even though she has no idea what happened to her country or to her father, King Darrick.

 

Why didn't Pandor and Prince Melanor come to their aid? What happened to King Etham and Prince Jared of Dranneth? The state of Arden is much worse than she or Marietta imagined—Maleen's life is in danger, and those she thought were friends are the very ones she should fear the most.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bandersnatch Books, LLC
• Release date: Jun 13, 2023
• ISBN: 9781958863091

Book preview

1

FIRST STEPS

Maleen stared down at the Mor River. The water moved sluggishly, gray with bracken and ash as far as the eye could see. She held her sleeve against her nose and glanced over at Marietta. The older woman looked rather green.

Do you see anything promising? Maleen asked, her voice muffled by the cloth over her mouth. The women had hoped to find some small boat that they could take east toward the city of Ardemore, far off on the coast of the Morain Sea.

Marietta barked a rough laugh. Even if we could find solid pieces of wood, we have nothing to connect them into any sort of raft.

At the sight and smell of the water, Maleen was almost thankful that wasn’t an option. She sighed and looked to where

there used to be a wharf. The only remnants were a few charred posts that stuck up above the water like rotten teeth. She re- fused to look up behind her at the shell of Ardenay Castle and its decimated town, fearful it might look like the crown of a gaping skull. She looked instead toward the eastbound road which at least lay open, despite the hulking ruins of burnt out shops and homes that lined it. Silence pressed in there, cold and dead, but it was less forbidding than the lurid swirl of the river water. She glanced back to Marietta.

I guess we’re walking, then.

The older woman nodded, and they stepped toward the desolate road. As they neared it, Maleen wondered if it actually was better than the river. It had once been a broad highway that ran straight as the crow flies between Ardenay and Ardemore. Now it was a broken track with paving stones uproot- ed and strewn across it, shoved into the burnt out shopfronts and even into surrounding fields. The fields which should have been ripe with wheat or full of grazing cattle were as barren now as Balder Field. Maleen remembered the summer days she had started along this route with a bright company of carriages full of courtiers, anticipating the restful stops along the road at welcoming inns and the luxuriant homes of nobles and merchants. She wanted to close her eyes and block out the de- struction, but she forced herself to take in each detail. This highway had been King Darrick’s work for Arden, and the Aharrans had destroyed it. The fields of grain and the herds of cattle had been food sources her father had helped grow for the kingdom. For the first time since she had seen the ruin of Ardenay, Maleen’s distress gave way to a spark of anger. How dare anyone—the Aharrans particularly—think they could demolish everything her father had done for Arden? It could not be so—she could not permit it! She lifted her head at this thought and took her first cautious step along the broken way.

The women picked their way along, following the flow of the bleak river to their left. The buildings of the town thinned and eventually dwindled to well-spaced farms with husks of houses whose windows gaped. Maleen glared back at the houses for as long as she had the strength, willing them to show life. Within mere hours, Maleen was exhausted. She glanced over at Marietta, whose eyes were focused on her feet as they dragged in the dust. Their three years of limited activity in the tower had taken their toll. The summer sun beat down, and its heat drained them. Maleen shifted her pack for the hun- dredth time, feeling the strap dig into her shoulder. She wished she could cut away the heavy blankets. Her eyes blurred with dripping perspiration, and she could no longer glare at the empty houses. The continued desolation and the overwhelm- ing weight of silence dragged her down. In the whole morning, their only companion had been a lone hawk wheeling overhead.

At noon they wandered into the yard of one of the forsaken farms, hoping to find clean water and replenish what remained in their skins. Marietta insisted that they find a covered well or pump.

"For we can’t drink that, she said, pointing toward the river. I wouldn’t advise it in good times, and after a war, who knows what it might carry. No, as long as we are able, we will pull water up from the untainted depths of the earth."

Maleen suppressed a tired smile. Marietta’s speech had assumed its lecturing tone—a sure sign she was aggravated.

Thankfully the farm did have a well, securely covered by a round stone. They pushed it away with much sweat and strain and found to their relief that a bucket still hung on an inner hook, connected to a substantial rope. Apparently the Aharrans had not looked beneath the surface for things they could destroy. The women drew up the water and drank thirstily, with a brief prayer that it wasn’t poisoned. The water was sweet and cold, a welcome relief after their walk and struggle to remove the stone. When their thirst was quenched, they refilled their water skins and rolled the stone back into place, hoping that other weary travelers would find the clean well.

Maleen looked about for shade and pointed to the eastern edge of the stone farmhouse where a thin band of shadow lay. Let’s sit there for a bit. Perhaps we can catch a breeze, she said hopefully.

Marietta scanned it, brow drawn, then nodded. Yes, you’re right. It’s sheltered from the road, and we do need rest.

Maleen glanced back at the desolate road and grimaced. It doesn’t seem there’s much need to hide ourselves.

You never know, Marietta answered. We must be careful. These times are treacherous, and we know nothing.

Maleen shrugged and headed toward the shade. Marietta could worry if she wished. Maleen knew what she had seen that morning: nothing. If there was anything living in Arden, they had yet to find it. When they did, Maleen was sure she could assert her authority. Treacherous though the times might be, she knew soldiers and commoners alike would honor her, the heir of Arden. After all, for all they knew she might be queen now. She sighed at this thought, hugged her arms to herself, and stepped into the shade. A couple days before, she had been sure she would see her father, and she had looked forward to showing him how much she had matured in her years of tower exile. The devastation of Ardenay had burned that hope to ash.

The women sank down and leaned gratefully against the rough wall. To their relief, a soft, cool breeze greeted them, and as the silence settled, Maleen’s eyes drooped. She yawned, bringing exhaustion up from her depths.

They can’t all be gone, she said in the midst of a second yawn, returning to the central theme of their conversations. Where could people possibly be?

Marietta shaded her eyes with a hand and looked south into the sun-stark distance where a haze enveloped the Tallot Mountains.

"Across the mountains as Aharran slaves . . . . Escaped to

safer regions of Arden or farther . . . ."

Maleen shook her head, trying to rid it of sleep. She had to think now; she had to mull over possibilities and plan their next steps. What was their true situation? They had to discover that first. Though she knew Marietta had no more answers than she, discussing it together might help.

She thought over what they had seen in Ardenay and recalled the hint of green in the northern reaches of Gibon Forest.

I’m sure the war didn’t reach far, she insisted, proofs coming to mind. Dranneth, Zeph, and Pandor would have come to Father’s aid. You remember the war council before the tower—

"I remember Dranneth’s presence at the council—"

Oh, they just arrived before the others, Maleen flashed back. Remember? My grandfather was delayed by business in Zeph. I’m certain King Gregor sent some sort of delegation, even if he was battling the Aharrans himself. Pandor’s troops are vast; some would be able to help Arden. The council wasn’t over when we entered the tower.

Do you really believe Pandor came to Arden’s aid? Marietta asked, almost idly, still gazing toward the mountains.

Maleen glanced at her, annoyed.

What exactly are you saying, Marietta? Of course, Pandor came to Father’s aid. Remember the note we received after the first invasion—the one that came with the extra supplies? It referred to Pandor coming in from the north.

I remember that was the point where the letter broke off, Marietta said.

Maleen stared at her mentor, trying to parse her meaning.

Marietta, she said, I’m not sure what you’re implying, but there would be no benefit for Pandor to allow the Aharrans to disrupt their trade route through Arden to the sea and north to Dranneth.

No benefit, it would seem, Marietta answered, looking away from the mountains toward the broken road. As it is, they’ll be hard-pressed to get things to Ardemore and the coast along this route. Even the river doesn’t look very safe. It’s just that . . . well, you’d think there would be less damage if Pandor had helped.

Maleen frowned, disturbed by Marietta’s suggestions. It was true that support from Pandor should have given more strength for Arden to repel the Aharrans, but it was unthinkable that Pandor would sit by while their trade routes were demolished.

If they didn’t help Arden, she said at last, it’s because the attack on them was too great. We know Pandor was preparing for the war as well, and from the length of the war it seems the Aharrans were much better organized than their raids of the past implied.

Hmmm, was all Marietta said, and Maleen bit her lip to hold back sharp words. Why did Marietta have to act like she knew more about the matter than Maleen anyway? Just because Maleen hadn’t paid attention to her country’s politics before the tower didn’t mean she was ignorant now. She had studied all the books Marietta had put before her in her exile, and she now grasped things she knew would be impossible for Marietta to understand—what it was to be the heir of a nation, for instance.

I cannot forget this, Maleen told herself as her mind churned. I am Arden’s heir and I cannot neglect my responsibility . . .

The two didn’t speak again, and Marietta closed her eyes. Soon her head dropped in sleep. Maleen knocked her head softly against the wall behind her, the grit of the stone grasping at her dark curls. Her exhaustion had fled and now her thoughts whirled ahead over the next steps of their journey.

The road they followed would eventually split. One route left the Mor River and continued straight east to Ardemore. The other highway followed the northern bend of the river, but this was not the one the women wanted to take. Maleen had once traveled the northern route on a brief journey to the fortress city of Fairlien that sat at the bend where the River Chrys opened into the Mor, but she was more familiar with the eastern road from her summer sojourns to Ardemore. The farms through which they traveled now would give way to the great estates of some of her father’s lords—Lord Fadrith, Lord Saldon, Lord and Lady Bradmore—all old friends who would shelter her and Marietta and provide them with the news they so desperately needed. Surely these friends would know the truth about her father. These were faithful courtiers, not skep- tical of her father like Lord Bathern from the north had been, or oily like Lord Unger of Ardemore.

A thread of hope tugged Maleen’s heart with these thoughts, and her mind wandered to memories of golden banquets and balls that lightened the weariness of travel. With horses changed at regular waystations, the journey could be made in a week, but they had never needed to take that pace. Maleen’s traveling companions, particularly her ladies-in-waiting, gladly stretched the journey out into two or three weeks with relaxing stops along the way. Maleen had never argued; it reduced the complaining and gave her a chance to escape the gossip of her ladies.

But where, Maleen thought, focusing back on the present barrenness before her, where would she and Marietta stop until they reached the estates? Were the waystations still in use? The only one they had passed that morning was as burnt out and desolate as everything else. And considering how one morning on foot had worn them out, it would be a blessing from the Mighty One if they could travel twelve miles a day. She sighed drearily, wishing they were a hundred miles further along the road.

Her sigh startled Marietta, who jerked out of her doze. Goodness, look how the shadow has lengthened! We must move on. Perhaps we can find a decent sleeping place by dark.

Maleen nodded and stood, slinging her satchel back over sore shoulders. The exhaustion that had fled settled back with the weight of the pack. As she stepped forward, Maleen put her foot down on a sharp stone and winced. She glanced down at her fine leather slippers with their thin soles and then at the stony road before them. If only she and Marietta had searched the castle more thoroughly for some strong boots! Not that they had seen anything useful amid the destruction, but there might have been a pair of boots.

Perhaps, though, someone in a carriage would pass and offer them a ride.

They set out in silence and in silence continued as the sun beat down, baking their heads and dragging down their bundles. Their shuffling feet raised small puffs of dust with each slow step.

There aren’t even animals, Maleen said once, putting voice to thoughts to break the stillness. Even so, she pitched her voice low in fear of waking something.

I remember when I left my village after its destruction so long ago, Marietta said equally softly. It was similar to this for almost a day. When we reached the outer limit of the villages destroyed, we finally saw life again.

How long do you think this will continue?

I wish I knew. A three-year war is quite different from village raids. Marietta lifted her gaze to the long road and the brackish water to their left, and her brow furrowed. Maleen’s stomach tensed at the thought of the little bread in their sacks.

Gradually the sun sank behind them, casting their shadows like wraiths ahead. With the sinking sun came a furtive breeze that carried a damp fetid chill from the river. The two wanderers looked about them for something that might shelter them for the night. At last, they spotted a waystation. It was gutted like one they had seen earlier that day, but stone walls and the remainder of a roof still stood. Further exploration revealed a well behind it, and like the one at the noonday stop, it was covered by a stone with a bucket within.

They drank deeply from the clear depths of the well, relishing the chance to sit and rub sore feet. After they rested, they went into the station, cleared floor space, and rolled out their blankets.

Maleen sank onto the blanket with a sigh. How far do you think we’ve come today? she asked.

Not far enough, Marietta answered shortly.

The brisk answer bit at Maleen, and heat flushed her face. She opened her mouth to snap back about the uselessness of maidservants but caught herself and swallowed her words. Where had that thought come from? She hadn’t thought of Marietta as a servant for two years! Hadn’t she put that patronizing attitude behind her? She frowned in the dim light, wishing she weren’t so tired.

Besides, I have been asking plenty of unanswerable questions, she thought. She resolved to work on holding her tongue.

The older woman, meanwhile, had taken a piece of soldier’s bread from her pack and split it between them. She smiled wanly. The One Who Provides has given us our bread for today. We will trust him to do the same in the days to come.

Maleen nodded without speaking and bit into the bland offering.

Dark flooded in like a dragon’s shadow, and their small corner became a refuge from a rising wind. The ground, even cleared of stones, was lumpy and hard. Waystations were only made with dirt floors, designed more for horses than humans. Originally there would have been bunks along one wall, but these were long gone. Maleen lay uncomfortably in her cloak, trying to wrap herself around the larger bumps on the floor that pressed up through her blanket.

Sleep came at last, but it was sporadic and mixed dreams with reality—visions of waking in the dark to see glimmering red eyes peering into their corner or soldiers marching on roadways to headless deaths. At last gray dawn came, a deep gloom without the promise of sun. A thrumming shook the ground, and Maleen lifted her head, thinking it was thunder. Rain sounded like a horrible addition for a day’s walk.

The thunder receded as she raised her head, so she lowered her head to her blanket again, only to hear the sound once more. She sat up and looked around in bewilderment, catching Marietta’s eyes fixed on her. Marietta still lay on the ground, her face tensed with listening. Maleen realized she could now hear the sound sitting up, and her pulse thrummed to meet it.

Horses?

Marietta nodded slowly and sat up. And many, she said.

But whose? Maleen asked stupidly, then bit her lip as she remembered her resolution to not ask answerless questions.

Marietta rolled to her knees and stood slowly. She hobbled stiffly to a gaping window cut out of the front wall of the waystation. Maleen stood to join her, groaning as pain shot through her back. She edged up beside the older woman and peered out onto the empty road before them. Her blood hummed in her veins, and as the thunder grew, her heart moved to her throat and pounded. Memories of cowering in the tower listening to the rush of Aharran steeds outside flashed through her mind.

Stand back from the window! Marietta hissed. Stand to the side if you want to look out!

Maleen leaned back, thankful for her drab clothes. From where she stood, she could see a slice of the road back toward the west from where they had come. As the pounding grew, the gray sky in that direction thickened with dust, and the sound was full upon them before the first dim figures came into view.

Suddenly they were before them. Figures and pennants of crimson and black, powerful horses surging by at full gallop, chain mail and harness clattering on swords and shields.

Maleen’s heart returned to her chest, though it continued to thrum with the beat of the horses’ hooves.

From Pandor! she mouthed to Marietta with a smile. Then aloud, We should reveal ourselves and ask for their help.

She stepped forward as she spoke, only to be yanked to the floor as Marietta clamped her arm with an iron grip and dragged her down.

Don’t be a fool, child, she hissed in Maleen’s ear and held her close to her side.

Who’s being the fool? Maleen snapped back, glaring at the older woman. Her beating heart now throbbed through her aching wrist, and she rubbed it angrily. This was too much!

A bit of short temper on Marietta’s part was one thing, but blatant snatching for control of matters was another. Why shouldn’t they reveal themselves to King Gregor’s soldiers? The men would have the answers they needed and be able to take them to the people they wanted to find. Maleen struggled against Marietta for a moment. She was sure she could overpower her, but then she looked into the older woman’s white, pinched face, and she couldn’t bring herself to defy her. This was the woman who had loved her when she was a baby and, in the past three years, had shown dedication and wisdom Maleen could only hope to model someday. She gritted her teeth in frustration and sagged onto the dirt. Marietta’s grip loosened.

The thunder and clanking passed at last, leaving thick dust hanging in the air. In the wake of the passage, silence returned, slipping in till it refilled the crevices.

The women sat up slowly; Marietta brushed her hand across her face, and Maleen struggled against her anger.

Are you happy now? she asked, then wilted as she faced Marietta’s anguished eyes. I don’t understand, Marietta, she said. What do you have against Pandor? Every time I mention them, you question their motives—and now this!

Marietta drew a deep breath and blew it out before answering. I don’t trust anyone besides us at the moment. We know nothing of how any nation has been changed in the past three years. All we know are the sounds that surged around our tower. War does terrible things to people—it is Strathor’s tool!

She whispered the last two words with loathing, and Maleen shivered at the name of the Mighty One’s fallen enemy. There was truth in Marietta’s words she couldn’t ignore. Still, hope rallied when she thought of the people of Arden. They were the victims of this war, and no matter the outcome, they would be faithful to their own.

We will meet friends, she smiled a little and laid her hand over Marietta’s.

The older woman clasped Maleen’s hand with her other and, with a stronger smile, squeezed it.

You have great faith, my dear, she said, then added, and that is not always a fault.

Maleen breathed with relief at the restored peace. No matter what the argument, she could count on Marietta to ease the tension. Maleen was happy to let it go; it was as wearing as a long day’s walk.

At the thought of walking, her stomach rumbled, and the hope of breakfast beckoned, a hope realized too soon. Their morning portion was gone almost before they started. An attempt to wipe away some of yesterday’s grime in a quick wash from a bucket of water from the well was no more satisfying than breakfast. The women kept their wash confined to the one bucket; it was too tiring to lower and lift the pail.

Oh, for a bath, Marietta laughed as she soaked an extra cloth and scrubbed her face.

Oh, for some soap, Maleen added, echoing thoughts of the day they searched the burnt ruin of Ardenay. She glanced ruefully at the dirt caked in her nails and was thankful she didn’t have a mirror. She hid her fingers in her lap and looked to the gray sky that glowered over them. You may be in luck, Marietta, she said with a frown, we may yet have a bath.

Marietta followed her gaze and nodded.

We’d better move on. We’ve already wasted too much daylight.

They gathered up their few belongings and set off down the road where the dirt and dust layering the stones had been churned by the hooves that had passed before them.

2

HAVEN AND HINDRANCE

W hat I can’t understand, Marietta said after a while, is where those Pandorian troops came from. We didn’t pass them yesterday or see signs of them on the road from Ardenay, so they must have come from farther west. But to have traveled so far this morning...

They could have started during the night, Maleen suggested.

True, and they were moving quickly. Why the rush, I wonder? One would think that would wear out the horses too.

Maybe they can change horses soon. Anyway, they’re horses from Pandor. Prince Melanor used to write of steeds that could go a day and a night, often at a gallop. Perhaps it’s true.

Marietta frowned at the mention of the Pandorian prince who had courted Maleen.

Not likely, she said. Long distances, maybe, but no horse can go that long.

Maleen shrugged. She didn’t feel any need to defend Melanor. His promise to rescue her from the tower had failed, and she didn’t want to think about what that meant considering the attention he used to give her.

What does it matter where they’ve come from? The fact that they’re going somewhere means there has to be life ahead.

Marietta nodded, but her brows were still knit. I wonder if they stopped at Ardenay, and what they found there, she said. She shook her head. In any case, I hope we don’t see them again today. I don’t relish the idea of dealing with a group of soldiers, friendly or not. You and I don’t have many defenses.

Oh . . . Maleen blanched. This alone made ten times more sense than all of Marietta’s fears of enemies from Pandor. Soldiers might not wait to find out her status; she certainly wasn’t dressed like a princess.

Apparently, it was not the will of the Mighty One that they meet any living thing that day—or the next. The patrol from Pandor had disappeared into the silence, and only the prints of horse hooves, signs of a camp, and dusty manure piles gave any indication they had passed that way. Maleen and Marietta’s pace slowed as stones ate through their leather slippers and food dwindled. Clean water, thankfully, was easy to find. Though the well stones were increasingly difficult to move, a bucket and rope almost always waited within. Sleeping was easier after the first night, too, though Maleen put this to exhaustion; her dreams were no less tumultuous.

They spoke little. There was nothing to talk about besides speculations, and Maleen preferred to keep these to herself. When not concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other, she observed all that they passed and tried to fit the pieces together. Hour after hour led them by forsaken farms to the south and the sludgy waters of the Mor to the north. How far did this desolation go? Surely the Aharrans hadn’t destroyed the entire land! She wondered vaguely—touching on the thought then dropping it—if she and Marietta would slowly starve to death. The irony of this struck hard: the prin- cess of Arden survived the war in safety, despite the enemy clamoring within feet of her, only to starve slowly to death as she wandered through the wasteland left behind. Would she never know what had actually happened? The Pandorian patrol they had seen encouraged her a little. It gave some sense of life ahead—human life. But they weren’t Ardeners . . . .

And where was her father? Had he really headed to Ardemore as they hoped, or was she an orphan now . . . and a queen? The thought dragged as heavily as her pack, but she forced herself to look at it as they passed mile after mile of the burnt ruins of farmhouses. I am the heir, and I may be queen, she told herself. How would she put her nation back together? Would she be opposed? Would people accept her as their queen? She grimaced, recalling her years before the tower. Her people didn’t even know her, and she had certainly never shown any interest in them. Why should they accept her?

She remembered her father’s words to her as they walked before the townsfolk of Ardenay on the day she entered the tower: Believe me or not, your people admire your will. They are honored to watch you pass.

She doubted his word then, but perhaps he was right. Be- sides she and Marietta survived the tower, and they would survive this—and with the guidance of the Mighty One, she would bring this nation together again . . . somehow . . . And here, her thoughts lost focus, and she was again placing one foot drearily in front of the other.

The rain held off until the fourth day and then fell in a steady drizzle that slowly saturated their cloaks. It was a warm rain, thankfully, but promised no relief from the humidity.

It was on this fourth day that they saw signs of life. The river no longer looked like a path of slimy ash, and some bushes and grass clung to its banks. Soon stunted trees rose along the road. The fields to the south grew greener with more signs of care, and across the river, a belt of trees loomed with blue-shadowed growth. They still saw no animals, but dung here and there on the road showed that something besides horses had passed that way recently.

The first habitable dwelling they found was a small farm a mile out from Draven Town, the first town along their route. It was dusk, so they turned in at the rickety gate with some hope of shelter from the rain, if not food. A small, ragged dog tied to a low post yapped and snapped at them as they entered, but its weak cry was more pitiful than fearful. Its yap signaled someone in the house, and by the time they reached the rough door, it had opened a crack, and a dark eye glittered out at them.

As they advanced, Maleen took in the details of the squalid dwelling and assessed the situation. A poor farmer, clearly—a peasant who didn’t care much for his land and property. She was disappointed that people lived like this when there were so many advantages King Darrick had offered to those in his kingdom. Well, it was best to take charge and declare her intentions. She straightened her shoulders and stepped up to the door, motioning Marietta to stand behind her.

The eye stared up at Maleen, and she nodded at it with a smile she hoped was gentle.

Sir or Madam, my maidservant and I require a night’s shelter from the rain and, if you are able, a bit of food. We have been traveling for days with only soldier’s bread and no word of the situation of Arden. Any news you can give us, we’d welcome as well.

She felt Marietta’s hand on her arm and looked back to see her silently shaking her head, even as a cackle of dry laughter cut across the yapping dog.

Well, came a voice so cracked it was impossible to tell if it were a man’s or a woman’s, "Ain’t ye high and mighty! Maidservant indeed! If you’re going to speak to your fellow creatures in that way, young miss, go try your wiles on the soldiers. You’re eating their bread—let them give you shelter. I don’t take your kind under my roof, that’s sure!" And the black glitter of eye disappeared as the door slammed shut.

Maleen stared at the closed door, trying to process the words. What on earth had that creature been implying? And how dare it slam the door on her! She raised her fist to knock again, but Marietta caught it out of the air, shaking her head. Her shoulders sagged with exhaustion, but Maleen saw she bit her lips in restrained laughter, her eyes dancing.

Now, what have I done? Maleen cried in frustration.

Come, Marietta said, leading her back to the road. We’ll get no rest here tonight. We must try for the town.

But— Maleen started, looking longingly back at the house. Now that they had been barred entrance, it seemed much more inviting.

My dear, do you have any idea what you look like?

How can I? Maleen snapped, "Have I been able to look into a mirror lately? I know I’m dirty and dressed simply, but that’s no reason for that—that—person to imply that I am— I’m a—"

Maleen, my dear, don’t mind that part, Marietta said, taking her arm and leaning on it. The problem is that you’re dressed as a peasant, but you spoke to that person as if you were a princess.

"But I am a princess, and I would have told that person so if I had been given a chance!"

"And we may be thankful that you were not given that chance. That peasant would surely have thought you mad! You are not thinking, child. If we’re to receive help from any farmers or townsfolk, we have to approach them humbly."

Maleen flushed. I don’t know how to do that.

However, I do. And as I am your elder, it would be more proper—in this situation—if I do the talking. She chuckled, then laughed, finally stopping in the road as tears rolled down her cheeks. Maleen stamped her foot—and immediately regretted it as a sharp stone bit into her slipper. She hopped in pain made worse by Marietta’s laughter.

I don’t see why it’s so funny that we’ve lost a night’s shelter because I’m not aware of certain cultural norms!

No . . . . Marietta gasped between laughs. No, not that You should have seen yourself! You were regality itself . . . all wrapped in homespun cloth and standing in a chicken yard!

Maleen’s lips twitched at this image despite herself, but she brought them in line with a scowl.

Well, she stated, setting her sore heel down gently and testing it, at least I remember some of my upbringing after three years in a tower.

Your Highness, it is bred into you. Marietta chuckled. You will never forget it.

"I’d like to know how you intend to introduce us, Maleen jibed as they continued toward Draven Town. Will you say, ‘My princess and I request your assistance . . . ’"

Oh, don’t start me off again, Marietta said. But she pursed her lips in thought. No, we need to think of something suitable. I should have thought of that before.

They walked on in silence as the dusk deepened, looking to the right and left in hopes of finding another farmhouse since they had no hope of reaching town before dark.

I think, said Marietta at last, that until we are among people we know we can trust, we should pose as aunt and niece. It’s better than as mother and daughter, for if you slip and call me Marietta, people won’t wonder why you call your mother by name.

That makes sense. And what of me? Shall I change my name?

"No need of that. You know how many girls born in the year or so after you were given your name. It would be odd if you weren’t Maleen! However, I think we ought to add ‘Maid’ before it. All young unmarried women among peasants use that."

Maid Maleen . . . Maleen tested, and thought of her quiet writing maid. What, she wondered, had happened to her? She’d barely known the girl, and she suddenly regretted that; perhaps in going by her title, she could honor her a little. Maid Maleen, a peasant. She realized that Marietta linked herself to the peasant class despite her heritage as the granddaughter of a Writings Sage, and Maleen gave her a sidelong glance. They truly were on Marietta’s turf, not her own, she thought glumly. She sighed and said, I suppose ‘Maid Maleen’ will have to do until we meet friends.

Yes, until then, Marietta said absently, her eyes straining ahead. Then, There! A light!

Sure enough, a dim glow glimmered, and in the light, they could make out a small house just off the road. They moved toward it eagerly, slipping through the gate and the yard. No dog barked here, but Marietta’s knock was greeted by a thin gleam of light in the crack of an open door.

No eye could be seen here, only shadow, and then a tentative, Yes? in a soft feminine voice.

Please, we mean no harm, Marietta said gently. My niece and I are alone. We have traveled many hard miles and long for a dry roof over our heads tonight. Could we beg the use of a barn or shed?

The door cracked open farther, and a shaft of light spilled out. They felt the perusal of hidden eyes.

You are far behind the others, the woman said. It’s a wonder you have survived.

We are in the Mighty One’s hands, Marietta said. Maleen wondered who the others were whom they followed, but Marietta didn’t ask, and Maleen bit her lip to stop her own questions.

The woman nodded in the shadows.

In the name of the Mighty One, I will take you into my home tonight. My hearth is bare, and I have little food, but my home is drier than my barn, so you must stay here.

She opened her door wide.

We thank you, Marietta said, and they stepped within.

Take off your cloaks, and I’ll hang them on pegs for the night, the woman said, and they turned to face a quiet, spare woman of Marietta’s age. "Spread your wet satchels and blankets out, then sit on my stools, and I will cut the bread. If you need to relieve yourselves first, my outhouse is through the door by my hearth. There is