Page 6 of To Ride the Wind

“Yes,” he said. “At least I hope so. I hope I may soon return home.”

She nodded, telling herself she should be pleased for his sake. The note of longing in his voice told her he missed his home, and she could hardly blame him, given the tales of the Palace of Light.

“I hope your journey is smooth and swift,” she said, giving a deeper curtsy than she had at the beginning of their conversation.

“And I hope all your troubles are soon resolved,” he replied.

She smiled at him, once again touched. “Thank you, White Bear. It is kind of you to think of the troubles of an insignificant girl from the valleys.”

“Insignificant?” He sounded thoughtful. “Are you? I wonder…”

For what felt like the hundredth time since meeting him, she was left in confused surprise at his words. But this time he moved before she could respond or question him further. With a final dip of his head, he swung around and disappeared back into the trees, moving faster and more quietly than she would have thought possible for such a large animal.

She stood watching the spot where he had stood far after the last glimpse of white fur had disappeared. Had she really just exchanged an extended conversation with a bear?

And what a strange conversation it had been.

She finally shook herself and turned north. She still had searching to do if she didn’t want to return home empty-handed. And since she wasn’t sure it was a good idea to tell her family about the bear, it would be better if she didn’t provoke questions by coming home with nothing to show for her day’s effort.

GWEN

Gwen stood in the doorway and surveyed the ballroom. It was full of people dancing and talking, and she wondered how it was possible to feel so alone while surrounded by so many people. Perhaps it was a special talent of hers.

“Gwendolyn.” The sound of her full name on her mother’s lips made her back stiffen.

She had vague childhood memories of liking her name. Princess Gwendolyn. It had sounded so elegant. But it had long since become a word that reminded her of responsibilities and unpleasant duties. And loneliness.

She knew all about how to behave properly as Princess Gwendolyn, but it felt like a role she slipped into in her mother’s presence rather than something that actually belonged to her. And it was a role she always did alone. Was it really too much to ask that in this whole sea of people she might have one true friend?

She suppressed a sigh and pasted a smile on her lips. If she took any longer to enter the ballroom, her mother would say her name again but with an edge. And Gwen never liked what happened after Queen Celandine spoke to her with that edge.

If Easton had been there, he would have looked up at her from the mass of faces and smiled and just that would have been enough to drive back the loneliness. Gwen balled her hands into fists, hiding them in her skirts. Why was she thinking of Easton?

Usually she kept her thoughts under better regulation, but the errant memories of early childhood had brought him to the front of her mind. It wasn’t that he ever completely left it, but she knew she had to keep him walled away from the surface of her thoughts. Otherwise she wouldn’t be able to continue the grind of daily living without her mother throwing around phrases like unnecessary melancholy and childish dramatics. All said with the edge, of course.

Apparently, Princess Gwendolyn was not only not allowed to have friends, she wasn’t even allowed to miss the one friend she used to have.

But now that Easton had pushed himself to the front of her mind, he wasn’t easy to banish. She imagined the face of her lone childhood friend among the courtiers who smiled and bowed at her. She had to use her imagination because the last time she had seen him he had been only thirteen—on the cusp of manhood, but not yet with his adult face.

She had spent many solitary hours turning her memory of his childish features into an imagined adult face, and now it was haunting her. She should have listened to her mother and used her time more productively.

Except the responsibilities that fell to the princess of the mountain kingdom seemed to be universally dull. Her mother liked to talk of her duty and the position she would one day hold, but she never relinquished any actual power to Gwen. Any decisions of note or consequence were made by the queen, and if she wanted to discuss them with someone, she always turned to one of her courtiers, usually Count Oswin, the most senior of her advisors. She would never ask Gwen’s opinion—the princess wasn’t even permitted to accompany her while she conducted royal business.

Which makes you wonder, what exactly is the point of it all? she thought, not for the first time.

At least Gwen was circulating in the crowd now which meant her mother was no longer looking in her direction with an expression that managed to convey expectant pressure without breaking a smile. Gwen had attended enough of these functions that she’d long ago mastered the art of moving through the crowd with an unhurried gait that still managed to convey a sense of purpose and direction. Not that she actually had anyone to seek out, of course. But looking as if she was moving toward a goal reduced the false pleasantries she was forced to exchange with people who would clearly rather have been talking to someone else. Anyone else.

She could hear their desire to escape the conversation in their strained voices and see it in the way their eyes darted to her mother after every few words. Even when her mother wasn’t physically present, Gwen felt her specter hovering over every conversation she had with members of her mother’s court. It was why she had long ago embraced solitude.

She passed a server circulating with a tray of drinks, and the briefest flicker of a smile from the older woman lightened Gwen’s steps. She needed to remember that she wasn’t entirely alone. She might not be able to talk freely with any of the courtiers, but they weren’t the only people in the palace.

As if summoned by her disobedient thoughts, Queen Celandine appeared at Gwen’s side.

“Would you like a drink, my dear?” she asked with a false smile.

Gwen gave a diffident response and accepted the drink her mother handed her. Why did the defiance in her mind never manage to translate to her words? No matter what her mother did, Gwen just went along with it, no matter how much she hated her own compliance later.

How many angry speeches had she composed in her mind, only to have them wither on her tongue? She tried to remember the last time she had truly spoken her mind, only to wince. More memories of Easton—and the worst sort this time.

---