As we approached the carvachi at the end of the camp, I noticed Dihara walking away from it. On the steps was a small book, a very old one, and with a quick glance, I saw that it was all handwritten. I scooped it up and let Reena show me into her colorful wagon.

It seemed far larger inside than it appeared from the outside. She showed me every convenience it contained, but the biggest attraction was the bed at the back. Lush with color, pillows, draperies, and tasseled trim, it looked like something from a storybook. I pushed down on the mattress, and my hand disappeared into a soft magical cloud.

Reena grinned. She was pleased with my reaction. I couldn’t resist running my hand along the hanging golden tassels and watching them shiver at my touch. My eyes grazed every detail of the bed like I was a starving sheep let loose in a pasture of clover.

She gave me a nightgown to wear and left, offering her own unique blessing as she went down the steps, knocking the door frame with her knuckles. “May the gods grant you a still heart, heavy eyes, and angels guarding your door.”

As soon as she left, I plopped down on the mattress, promising myself I would never again take a soft bed for granted, nor a roof over my head. I was beyond exhausted, but I didn’t want to sleep yet, preferring instead to immerse myself in the luxury of the carvachi. I looked at the numerous trinkets Reena had hung on the walls, including several of the strange ribbed flagons of the Ancients, one of the few artifacts still found in abundance.

I wondered about all the lands this small band of nomads had traveled through, many more places than I could even imagine, though it seemed like I had seen half the continent by now. I thought about my father, who never left Civica. He didn’t even visit half his own realm of Morrighan, much less the vast territories beyond. Of course, he did have his Eyes of the Realm to convey the world to him. Spies. They’re everywhere, Lia.

Not here. One good thing about being in this far-flung wilderness was that I was at least out of the clutches of the Chancellor and Scholar. It wasn’t likely that a bounty hunter would ever find me here.

But neither would Rafe.

It hit me afresh that I’d never see him again. The good ones don’t run away, Lia. He hadn’t exactly run, but he had seemed ready to move on with his life. It didn’t take much to convince him that I had to go. I had brooded over his reaction beyond reason. I was too numb and grieved at the time to fully take it in, but I had had a lot of time to think about it since. Reflection, my mother always called it when we were ordered to our bedchambers for some perceived infraction. My reflections told me he was grieved too. Let me think. But then just as quickly he had said, I’ll meet you for one last good-bye. His grieving was short-lived. Mine was not.

I had tried not to think about him after leaving Terravin, but I couldn’t control my dreams. In the middle of the night, I would feel his lips brushing mine, his arms strong around me, his whispers in my ear, our bodies pressed close, his eyes looking into mine as if I was all that mattered in the world to him.

I shook my head and sat up. As Kaden had said, it wasn’t good to dwell on maybes. Maybes could be twisted into things that never really existed. For Rafe I was probably already a distant memory.

I had to concentrate on the present, the real and true. I grabbed the thin, soft nightgown Reena had let me borrow and put it on. A nightgown was another luxury I would never again take for granted.

I browsed the book Dihara had left for me and curled up on the bed with it. It appeared to be a child’s primer in Gaudrian to teach several of the kingdom languages, including Morrighese and Vendan. I compared it to the book I had stolen from the Scholar. The languages weren’t exactly the same, just as I suspected. Ve Feray Daclara au Gaudrel was hundreds, maybe even thousands of years older, but the primer revealed what some of the strange letters were, and there were enough similarities to the present language that I could translate some words with confidence. My fingers gently slide over the page as I read it, feeling the centuries hidden within.

Journey’s end. The promise. The hope.

Tell me again, Ama. About the light.

I search my memories. A dream. A story. A blurred remembrance.

I was smaller than you, child.

The line between truth and sustenance unravels. The need. The hope. My own grandmother telling stories to fill me because there was nothing more. I look at this child, windlestraw, a full stomach not even visiting her dreams. Hopeful. Waiting. I pull her thin arms, gather the feather of flesh into my lap.

Once upon a time, my child, there was a princess no bigger than you. The world was at her fingertips. She commanded, and the light obeyed. The sun, moon, and stars knelt and rose at her touch. Once upon a time …

Gone. Now there is only this golden-eyed child in my arms. That is what matters. And the journey’s end. The promise. The hope.

Come, my child. It’s time to go.

Before the scavengers come.

The things that last. The things that remain. The things I dare not speak to her.

I’ll tell you more as we walk. About before.

Once upon a time …

It seemed more like a diary or a tale to be told around a campfire—an embellished story of a princess who commanded the light? But it was also a sad tale of hunger. Were Gaudrel and this child sojourners? The first vagabonds? And who or what were the scavengers? Why would the Scholar be afraid of a storyteller? Unless Gaudrel told more than stories to this child. Maybe that was what the rest of the book would reveal.

As much as I wanted to keep studying the puzzling words, my eyes were closing against my will. I set the books aside and was rising to turn off the lantern when I heard stumbling on the steps outside and Kaden burst through the door. He tripped and grabbed the wall to regain his balance.