Jularra fell silent for a moment in the face of his obvious regret. Then she shook her head and clapped her hands to change the conversation’s focus.
“I have about seven months before the deadline,” she said. She leaned over to where Vylas had set the map and letters, and snatched the map.
“If I take the most direct route,” she continued, “northwest through Yubik, I can probably make the border of Hignriten in about three weeks.”
She glanced at Vylas.
“That’s about a month before I can even start asking around. Before I locate Leona. Before I hopefully persuade her to help me. And then, the trip back.”
She sighed and rubbed her eyes, then followed with a yawn.
“You need some rest,” Vylas said.
Jularra ran her hand through her hair and yawned again. “Mind if I sleep here tonight? I’ll talk with Korden tomorrow about getting an emissary sent ahead to Yubik, and start preparations for the advance group to Messyleio.”
Vylas nodded.
“Of course. Get comfortable. I’ll go wash out your clothes.”
He started to turn away.
“I, uh…” she started, trying to focus her thoughts and face her fears. “What if this effort doesn’t yield anything? What if the deadline comes and goes with no heiress provided, or no arrangement made?”
“Well, you know what the pact says about that. But we’re not at that point yet. As it is right now, you are childless, and the Voidwarden is none the wiser. We’re still here. 'What ifs' are worthless,” Vylas replied. “They do no good for anyone.”
“I know that, Vylas. But it isn’t for me. It’s a 'what if' for our people.”
Vylas had no rebuttal.
“They deserve it,” she continued. “They deserve the consideration. The extrapolation.”
Night was on its way, and the increasing cricket chirps brought it to both their attention. Vylas leaned in towards the fire and scanned the floor, searching for how he felt. His eyes circled the room and settled back on the fire.
“Imagine the worst,” he said in a dark whisper. The fire’s harmless light flaunted itself in his eyes, while warning against the pain of its flame.
“Never let it get the best of you,” he added.
Twelve
Jularra flung the jumble of blankets and quilts back, agitated. What started as occasional tossing in the middle of the night had evolved into a magnified awareness of pain and soreness that lasted well past dawn. She slowly dropped her legs over the side of the bed and sat up, cringing and wincing the whole way. She managed to lean forward, but as she went to stand up, an invisible punch to the gut racked her tender innards. She teetered towards the bedpost.
Stretching slowly, she waited for any more pains to make themselves known, probing her belly and lower abdomen with her fingertips.
Wrapped in a quilt once again, Jularra shuffled into the house’s main room. Through heavy eyes, she spied Vylas sleeping in the chair she had rested in the night before. Beyond him, her clothes lay drying on the front window ledge.
She hobbled over to the window, trying to make her steps find a rhythm that minimized her pain. She reached for her clothes and nodded at the rooster just outside the window. After returning to the bedroom to dress, she tiptoed back over to Vylas and leaned down.
“I'd better get back,” she said, kissing him on the forehead. “Thank you, Vylas.”
His eyes opened a sliver before closing again.
“Want some breakfast?” he mumbled.
“No,” she whispered. “Go back to sleep.”
Jularra grinned weakly when he replied with a burst of snoring.
She headed outside, then looked down and pinched at her clothes to examine them in the light of day. Vylas had gotten most of the blood out. She'd bled the entire ride from Morganon; that, along with her sojourn in the river, would have prevented the blood from ever really setting. She cringed when she thought about her saddle. And her horse.
It turned out Vylas had rinsed those, too. Jularra gave her head a quick shake of gratitude. After studying her stirrups, she gingerly climbed up and set out for Morganon.
***
The return trip felt almost as bad as her ride in. But instead of the contorting spasms and cramps, each jiggle and stomp of the horse made every inch of her insides—from her ribcage down—throb with a stabbing soreness. That the ride home was missing the fear and panic from the day before made the journey no less miserable.
Jularra broke through the trees as she had hundreds of times before, but veered away from the main gates, heading instead for a small postern gate guarded by two Spire. One of the guards stepped out as she approached.
The Spire placed her hand on her sword, about to challenge the approach of a stranger, but she immediately let go and bowed upon recognizing her queen.
“Good morning, Your Majes—”
Jularra flung up her hand. “Shh. No. Thank you, but no.”
The guard faltered, but Jularra was already moving to dismount. As she leaned over and swung her leg around, her aching insides twisted. The jolt of agony buckled the leg holding her weight; her horse shied, and Jularra tumbled down to smack against the ground on her back. The two Spire ran over.
“No, I’m fine,” she cried. “Just let me be.” Jularra sighed up at the sky, then added, “Can one of you go after my horse, please?”
“Yes, of course, my queen.”
One of the Spire jogged off. The other leaned over. Jularra looked up at her.
“Just… let me rest here a moment.”
The remaining Spire shuffled her feet before looking around awkwardly.
“Your Majesty?”
Jularra relented and lifted her hand for assistance. As Jularra came to her feet with the aid of the Spire, she patted the young guard on the back and nodded at her before limping into the castle.
With numbed pride and bruised body, she walked through the narrow service corridors and out into the quiet walkways adjacent to the towers. Her skin tingled with anxiety's cold itch. She didn’t know what to say to Korden, or how
