Page 98 of Heart's Escape

Alindra

THE BEST I COULD DO

The envoy from the Kingdom of the Summer arrived in the night. I know, because the commotion of their arrival woke me from yet another dream about Phaedron, this time one where he came through a portal to my old room in the Kingdom of the Summer, then shoved me into my bed, climbed on top of me, and—

Anyway. I got out of bed in the night, trying to shake the stupid, stupid dream out of my head as I wrapped a thick cloak around my shoulders, pushed open the tent flap, and stood on the edge of the wooden platform to watch King Grathgore’s envoy.

In the flickering torchlight and the confusion of darkness, I couldn’t tell exactly who’d arrived from the Kingdom of the Summer. And I decided the middle of the night wouldn’t be the best time to show up and offer to help; the dozens of Royal Guards from the Kingdom of the Fall had it under control.

So I padded back into my tent and tried to fall asleep, tossing and turning under layers of quilts as my mind quietly tried to strangle itself. When the sun finally rose, painting its golden light across the fresh crop of ice crystals blooming on the walls of my tent, I decided that I would go down to greet the envoy once it was light.

And yet here I still am, several hours after the sun crested the ridge and filled the little valley with light like water filling a bowl. I tug impatiently at my sleeves, then at the tangle of hair that I’ve braided and unbraided three times already. I’ve swept the floor, made the bed, cleaned off the table, finished the dishes, and even stacked fresh wood next to the stove. I’ve done everything that could possibly need doing in this little tent, the first space I’ve ever had to myself.

I just don’t want to go down there.

I don’t want to see anyone from the Kingdom of the Summer. I told Lythienne I would be there when the envoy went through the portal, just in case, but that doesn’t change my growing certainty that I would much rather be right here, in my own space, instead of doing literally anything with anyone from that cursed kingdom. Not even if it’s only to watch them vanish through the portal into the Lands Below.

But, that stupid, stupid part of my mind whispers. The Royal Guard. King Galan sent dozens of his guardsmen out of the Crystal City to meet the envoy from the Kingdom of the Summer, and probably also to make sure no one tries anything nasty.

And Phaedron is in the Royal Guard now. He got his wish three months ago, according to Ithronel, when King Galan held a sword to both of his shoulders and announced that Phaedron Undervale is the latest member of the Kingdom of the Fall’s Royal Guard. And if King Galan sent dozens of guardsmen, isn’t there at least a chance Phaedron is also out there right now—

Oh, my freaking stars. I am such an idiot. I groan as I sink my fingers once more into my hair. Phaedron is gone. Even if he’s out there, he sure as all the nine hells doesn’t want to see me, and the sooner my damned dreaming mind realizes that, the better off I’m going to be.

Someone coughs outside the thin canvas wall of my tent. I freeze. There’s been a lot of noise floating up from the World’s Beginning this morning, of course, from the horses bickering whinnies to voices organizing supplies and the bark of orders from the guards.

But this was right outside my tent. I turn toward the window I’d cut in the canvas, which is of course closed, and then back to the table I just cleared off. My knife is tucked in the box where I keep my kitchen supplies, damn it. If I could just reach it—

“Alindra?” a man’s voice calls.

I don’t recognize him, not immediately, but he sounds familiar. I clear my throat. “I’m here,” I reply.

Boots thud onto the wooden tent platform, and a shadow falls over the door. “May I?” the voice asks.

I glance down at my dress as if reassuring myself that, yes, I am actually wearing clothes. Then I run my eyes around the interior of the little canvas tent I spent the entire morning cleaning, as if maybe there’s a huge pile of trash in the middle of the floor that I’d completely overlooked.

“Of course,” I answer.

My breath catches in my throat as the tent flap pulls back. It’s not going to be Phaedron and I know it, but still, that traitorous part of my mind flushes when I see the bright seal of the Kingdom of the Fall’s Royal Guard.

And, above that seal, I see Raiyben. He’s been a fixture in the World’s Beginning practically since the portal opened, and he always treats me with a level of respect that’s almost disconcerting. This morning, he’s frowning like he’s about to deliver bad news. Fear prickles the skin on the back of my neck.

“Alindra,” he begins, bowing slightly. “There’s a gentleman out here who wishes to see you.”

My heart stumbles, then picks itself back up. I open my mouth, but all that comes out is a little “oh!”

Raiyben’s frown deepens. “Shall I send him in?” he asks.

Phaedron. It can’t be Phaedron. He wouldn’t be frowning like that about Phaedron. But who else could it be?

“Sure,” I stammer.

Raiyben glances around the interior of my tent like he’s surveying a battlefield.

“Very well,” he says in a low voice, almost like he doesn’t want to be overheard. “I’ll be just outside, my lady.”

With that, he bows once more, turns, and pushes open the tent flap. It swings closed behind him, and his shadow ripples across the cloth as he steps off the wooden platform.

“She’s agreed to see you,” Raiyben says.

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