Page 51 of A Dance of Shadows

My only companion is one I trust with my whole self, not just the portrait of an empress I have to give everyone else.

It’s been a while since I spent much time on horseback. By the time a stretch of water-logged terrain comes into view up ahead, my thighs and ass are aching. I suspect the journey back will be torture.

At least I’ll be making it knowing I have everything I need.

Amid the pools and strips of stagnant water, patches of the reeds I saw in my godlen-given vision sprout up, their ruddy cattails waving in the breeze. More unusual structures protrude here and there amid them, looking like giant orange vases veined with streaks of yellow.

Bastien has slowed, so I draw my horse up next to his. “What are those orange plants?”

He gives a dark laugh. “Frog pitchers. They don’t move, but you wouldn’t want to stick your arm in one. They ‘eat’ anything that’ll hop or fly into them, even if it’s as big as your fist.”

I can’t make out any of the josemine flowers we’re searching for at this distance. As I scan the bog, a danker odor reaches my nose on the wind—still green but with a hint of decay.

We tie the horses to a tree several paces from the first muddy patches. Bastien eases closer, studying the damp ground.

He points to a pool of pale muck. “You want to avoid the lighter muddy spots. Those are particularly viscous. And watch out for areas with a lot of crumpled reeds while none or only a few are still standing. Those are often covering sinkholes. But I’ll go first. You just stay right behind me, and we’ll be fine.”

“All right.” I hitch up my dress and tuck the hem into my drawers so the folds of the skirt only fall to my knees rather than dragging. The murky, decaying smell has thickened, seeping into my lungs.

Bastien sets out along a solid strip of land, brushing aside the reeds that jut up from it. I follow his path. Even the firmer ground here squishes unnervingly beneath my leather slippers.

What I wouldn’t give for some proper walking boots right now.

In my vision, I saw the josemine popping up at the base of the patches of reeds. As we weave along the edge of the bog, I crane my neck to peer around the stalks, searching for any speck of white.

“I suppose they’re not all that common even in a bog,” I mutter after several minutes trudging across the muck.

Bastien glances over his shoulder at me with a grimace of sympathy. “I think it may be a little late in the season for the blooms. But I’m sure we can find them somewhere here. Your gift wouldn’t have shown you them in blossom if you couldn’t find them that way, would it?”

“I don’t think so.” I wish I had more certainty than that. “The gods’ magic works in mysterious ways sometimes.”

“That it does. But it can also make our journey a little more pleasant.”

We’ve just come up on one of the orange frog pitchers, which stands as tall as my waist. A sourer, putrid scent carries from within the vase-like plant—for just a moment. Before my stomach can give more than a brief lurch, a gust of wind sweeps in from the fields behind us, washing away the worst of the bog’s odors.

Bastien is putting his gift to use too, to make this trek more bearable for me.

With a pang of affection, I step closer to rest my hand on his back. Bastien swivels to meet my gaze, and his own darkens.

There’s no one around to see or care that a man who’s not my husband leans in to kiss me.

When our lips ease apart, he keeps his hand by my cheek. His tone comes out dry. “This isn’t the part of Cotea where I’d have wanted to arrange an interlude with you. Lorenzo gets a cruise—I offer you a swamp.”

I tip my forehead against his. “I’d rather be here with you than back in that fancy palace with Marclinus.”

As we walk on, Bastien’s strides look steadier. He keeps one arm stretched back toward me so we can clasp hands, weaving through the cattails together.

“Have any of our courtiers already tried to get your ear?” he asks.

“We only just arrived.”

“They’re not the most patient lot. Although I’d imagine they’ll mostly focus on Marclinus rather than you when you haven’t had much time to establish yourself as a source of power. Of course, the speech you gave might change that if you come back with a cure as planned.”

I cock my head. “Is gaining their interest a good thing or a bad thing? If they have any kind of sway with your family, I’ll want them on my side.”

Bastien makes a derisive sound. “Most of the courtiers are only on their own side. They’ll look for sway wherever they can get it—but they’ll happily circumvent or even undermine what’s best for the governing of the country to line their pockets or inflate their grandeur.”

My fingers tighten around his. “And your parents let them get away with it?”

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