Page 34 of Nightingale

“Fuck.” He cursed and dragged a hand down his mouth as he saw the hawk emblem of the Moordians proudly stamped on the leather. It wasn’t just on the reins either, but the saddle as well as the shining stirrups and polished pommel. Even the horse’s flank held the symbol, pressed into the soft fur with a hot iron bent into the bird shape.

Vrea sent a questioning glance in his direction.

“I asked for the tack to be inconspicuous. This is the furthest thing from that.” He answered honestly and half-heartedly gestured to it, “But we don’t have time to change it so it’s going to have to do. When we cross over into Niroula, I might have to switch it out with something from the army, if they even have anything to fit Kohl.”

The name of the horse, she gathered.

“We can always paint over the sigils if they don’t.” She suggested and found the bundle of what appeared to be food by the stable door. Vrea lifted it with a grunt, hoisting it onto her mare’s back and finding the additional rope to secure it into place. She tied a firm knot, tugging a couple times to test it andfinding it satisfactory.

“Not a horrible idea. One that we can better explore once we get on the road.” Rian moved his pack around, setting it against the bedroll that had already been added to both of their saddles, finding the cord under and feeding it through the system of hooks that kept everything in its place. He tethered a bow as well, attaching a quiver stuffed with arrows to the other side.

“We should get moving before the sun casts our shadows towards the palace and eyes start to drift in our direction.” She shielded her sight with a flat hand, gazing up at Hawksmoor Keep as the Prince placed his brown boot into the stirrup and hoisted himself up with an efficient speed.

Vrea fell away from the towering structure and did the same, finding it a bit harder than it should have been but allowed herself that momentary slack from the years of wasting away in the locked room. She’d been able to keep up with toning exercises on her core and throwing punches into thin air but nothing beyond that.

Once she arrived back in Niroula, she’d have to pull Alpheus back into the training room and relearn her old moves in order to keep her in fighting form.

“We can head south, towards the border for the first day and then we should turn east for a bit to avoid the raids that occur in the mountain passes near the edges of the continent.” He informed her as he clicked his tongue to the roof of his mouth and kicked his heels into the horse’s side. Kohl took over with a snort, dirt flying up with the drag of his polished hoof.

“If they try anything, then we’ll be ready for them. More than prepared, I’d say.” Vrea responded and urged her mount into a gentle trot to keep up the pace beside him. “I’m not afraid to face a little bloodletting and fighting after nearly three years in confinement without so much as a blade to touch.”

“You soundbloodthirsty,if anything.” He grinned andwrapped the reins around his knuckles twice, letting it fall into a casual place. “Itching for a good round?”

“When I’ve been trained for literalyearsto kill, maim and torture, of course I feel out of my element after three years of doing none of that.” She explained, “I feel as though the very reason I was born, what I was bred for, has been stripped away from me. Even if it’s violent in its nature, it’s what I’m used to. My mother only continued to have heirs in order to protect my country, to defend it from yours and to fight back. Everything that I am, everything that I was born to be, meant to be, is a weapon meant for killing.”

Rian didn’t speak, as if he felt the same.

“Forgive me if I want to return to that.” Sarcasm laced her voice, twinged with a dash of vexation. “It’s a little bit of my old self that I can regain on this long journey. It’s the only thing I know.”

He cleared his throat as they rode past a set of guards that didn’t so much as pay them a glance of attention. “I never realised that you enjoyed killing so much.”

That was cold judgement she heard. Horrible pity that she had grown so used to murder. Red-hot hatred for his rival.

Vrea took it all in stride, knowing that there was a slice of installed fear in his baritone too. “I enjoy the things I’m good at. Nothing more, nothing less.”

For four hours, they rode in silence.

It took them two to get out of the city, and another to the bustling town below. They entered the mountain range within the third, the hooves clipping in echoing waves. The fourth was accompanied by a rushing stream of water that they tracked down, allowing their horses to pause for a break and a muchneeded drink as Rian unhooked the water skeins and quietly sent one in her direction. She caught it and uncorked it, drinking deeply to quench her sneaking thirst.

When she was done and attached it back to the saddle, she found Rian observing her like an eagle as they found a field mouse, studying it for the best way to pounce on the unsuspecting prey.

“Not that I owe you any explanation,” Vrea started with a warning finger in the air, “But I haven’t felt like myself in three years. Since your father locked me away. There are other things that I enjoy doing far more than taking lives, obviously, but it’s the one thing that I expected to do sooner than anything else. I won’t have you sit and judge my actions in quiet contemplation when I know very well that you’ve killed your ownbrother, Rian.”

His features turned to stone, iron and ice in one.

“I’ve heard just as much about you as I have your other siblings, save for Orla which much isn’t known about thanks to your father’s incessant need to keep the poor female confined to her chambers.” Vrea reached for one of the ruby-red apples from the sack and sank her teeth into it, the juice dribbling down her chin as she chewed.

Their rations were limited thanks to the horses that could only bear a certain amount of weight, but it was still more than they could have carried on foot. If needed, Vrea could hunt for a meal with the bow and arrows that Rian kept attached to his saddle. Though the slim pickings of a mountainous range weren’t inviting to think about.

“It’s true that the King has a penchant for keeping pretty damsels in need of heroic knights to save them, hence Castil’s taunting name.” He admitted to her. “I think it started off as a mean joke at his expense at first, but then it caught on thanks to the shade of his hair. I feel bad for him anytime someone usesit.”

“Your father doesn’t seem very fond of him, yet Castil reminds me the mostofhim.” She commented, taking another large bite. “They’re both cunning, cruel and vicious when it comes to the matter of taking what they want.”

Rian cast a look in her direction that alerted her senses that he was hiding something. Something that immediately made her suspicious. “Whilst you’re not entirely incorrect about the fact that my elder brother sharessomesavage characteristics of our sire, you’re wrong as well. Castil is perhaps the furthest from our father out of all of our siblings in everything save for his mind, which is a cunning reproduction. Theseus was the perfect carbon copy, and I think that Regulus is shortly following in his footsteps.”

The sweet tasting apple was gone in five more bites and she wiped at her sticky chin with her sleeve. A nagging impression pushed into her mind. “What makes Regulus and Castil different?”

“For someone who swears up and down that she hates my family, you seem to be asking quite a few personal questions about them.” Rian winked at her and she instantly scowled, turning to wash her hands in the stream as Kohl continued to lap the cool water up with his big tongue.

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