It felt like a lifetime had passed since Palingard's fall. Ariana was fairly sure it had been mere days, but it could've been weeks for all her tired bones knew.
She stayed mostly in her chambers, resting and healing from both her twisted ankle and wounded side. Michael checked on her frequently, joyful one moment and grievously brusque the next. As if his silence concerning all things of value to her – namely Adoria's intentions for Middengard – weren't enough, his tremulous moods aggravated her almost beyond bearing.
Also irritating was the adolescent chambermaid who gushed incessantly about one young Adorian or another. How quickly Ariana had forgotten what it was like to be so young and how grateful she was to be beyond it.
Avoiding Kaitlyn wasn't easy – the girl took notice of just about anything Ariana did or said, remembering it with startling and annoying accuracy. As soon as the girl was otherwise engaged, Ariana made her way in cloaked anonymity to the outer hall. Wandering the corridors, she took the path she recalled having walked with Jenner, finally coming to the pavilion where she'd found Duncan.
Her father's dearest friend had asked to see her on more than one occasion and she'd found herself, for once, pleased to have someone to turn guests away at her whim.
How could he? After everything, all of his stupid empty promises, the time he spent teaching me skills that he obviously learned here.
Ariana laughed indignantly, more than a little mystified at her father's disdain for what he had told her were crutches for those unwilling to fight for their own dying world. Not only was Gabriel wrong, he was a hypocrite. Perhaps he was ashamed of her, wanting nothing of her brash, untempered gracelessness to stain his revered homeland.
She shook her head, anger welling in her gut, and walked into the open. The wind hit her face, threatening to push back her hood, so she held it close with one hand. She had begun to hate the cold but felt trapped whenever she was inside for very long.
As her brother already suspected, rumors concerning the arrival of Gabriel's daughter had quickly spread through Cyphrus. If she didn't know better, she'd think Michael was King and not a powerless figurehead as he claimed.
She came finally to the markets, which, unlike in Palingard, were located on long cobblestone alleys to shield them from the fierce winter. Blazing fires lit the middle of the street to warm shoppers.
She took a deep breath, enjoying the sound of life and the smells of breads and fragrant fruits that she would venture to guess did not grow in Middengard. Michael had given her a handful of gold tokens soon after she had arrived, and she had spent only a few, treasuring what was left despite Michael's promise of providing whatever she needed.
He simply couldn't understand. They came from different worlds. She knew nothing, save what very little Sara had shared, of court life. She didn't know how to be anything other than the boisterous child of Palingard that she was. It saddened her a little to think that this would be her new existence and she wondered if Sara would feel at home here or just as lost as she did.
Smiling, she picked up a warm, round loaf of bread, dropping a coin into the Adorian woman's palm. Then, surprised by a whirling gust of wind that whipped around the corner of the street, she gasped, clutching her hood too late to keep it from falling back, revealing fire-red ringlets that tumbled in long strands well past her shoulders.
There was no doubting who she was. She had been told that red hair wasn't common in Adoria's capital, appearing mainly in those who were related to her mother's kin.
All talk hushed into whispers, which alone made her feel uneasy, but when they fell to their knees, her stomach lurched.
Bowing her head, she tried to will the blood that welled in her cheeks to leave them a more reasonable color than the vibrant scarlet hue they no doubt displayed. Mumbling apologies as she pushed her way past the masses, she ducked into the darkest doorstep she could find, discarding the bread as she entered.
The crude wooden sign that hung from rusted chain above the door should have warned her, but at the time, she didn't care where she was going as long as it was away from the unwelcome attention.
Inside the establishment, the Braeden stopped their chatter. The tinkling of glass mugs being set down on tables forced a groan from her. Please, let me just get out of here without further notice.
Duncan stood from where he sat near the front, a gentle smile gracing his usually grumpy features. He was thinking that she'd come to find him. Sighing, she didn't have the heart to refute what his face plainly showed he believed. He was lucky she'd had a little while to cool off.
"I'd hoped you would make your way down here at some point, though I can't say your brother will be too pleased you're here."
"Is that because he is supposedly my brother, or because I am a lady?" she asked dryly.
Before he could answer, another voice – one she hadn't heard since she was very little – answered for him.
"Can a lady not be her brother's ward as well? Not that any man or Adorian will ever have any hope of keeping a true eye on any female in your family."
"Roahn," his name fell solemnly from her lips, breaking her heart as the enormity of her sense of abandonment washed over her.
His hair was much lighter than when she'd last seen him, gray streaks blended with chestnut, the scar that ran from brow to cheekbone far less prominent and his skin much fairer now than when the harsh sun of Palingard had tanned him.
"Ariana," he rose from his seat, his walk slow and deliberate as he made his way to her. "Were it within my ability to ask your forgiveness I would, but I know, as do we all, how deep was the love your father felt for you, how limitless, and to ask for such a thing would be to deny what I know was a decision made out of great strength. He wanted nothing but to have you here."
"You knew of their advances on Palingard. Did you think of that endless love of his when you knew my fate and decided my life wasn't worth saving?"
Roahn paused, restraint evident in his handsome features. His face wounded her deeper than she'd imagined it could. Lifting a hand in an angry reflex, her palm was inches from his face when he caught it and lowered their clasped hands to his chest. He held it her hand there for a moment, stilled against his heart beating in his chest.
She closed her eyes, wishing away the memories of how many times she'd been held there as a child, letting out a breath only when he pulled her to him. A steady arm held her waist while he rested his cheek on the top of her head.
Duncan touched her back. "Don't think for a moment that we wouldn't lay down our own lives for you."
"I know you are wounded, Ari," Roahn whispered. "I also know there are no words that are strong enough salve to mend what you believe to be broken. But you're here, and if there were ever a time to remember the faith you once had in him, it would be now." Roahn lifted her chin. "You were spared for a reason."
Still in his embrace, tears spilled down her cheeks. Perhaps her tears were for those she'd long since mourned and laid to rest in her mind, or for the realization of the magnitude of how much of her life had been a lie, maybe even a little of both. She cried until her throat was raw, fears for Sara and Bella – for all of Palingard – mixed with the overwhelming grief of losing nearly everyone she'd ever known.
Eventually, a mug of ale was placed in her hands; she emptied the glass in seconds.
Duncan laughed louder than the rest of them, patting Ariana on the back. He looked at Roahn and smiled. "I once fancied you merely brave. Had you spent the last fifteen years in Middengard, I'd call you irrefutably fearless."
Roahn's laugh rolled from his belly as he chuckled. "And why is that, if I may ask?"
Duncan grinned, ducking his head as if he were about to share a secret of great importance. "If you had, you would've known what you risked by pulling a furious, armed Ariana into your embrace."
Roahn stepped back, looking her over in mock horror. "What's this?" He shook his head, clicking his tongue in disagreement, "I think our friend has had too much to drink, eh?"
Duncan took a step back, holding his hands up in a helpless gesture. "I warned him."
Roahn looked at her sideways as she pulled a dagger from her belt, letting it play in a nimble dance through her fingers, snatching it away as soon as he reached for it.
He looked at Duncan, then back to Ariana, astonished. "Dare I ask, but can you use it?"
She smiled, all the while taking aim at a gamesman's board that hung on the wall. Letting the hand blade go, she crossed her arms as it hit dead center. "What would you say?"
Laughter abounded and another drink was sent her way, leaving her feeling light-headed and, for a short while, relaxed.
"So, you were supposed to have wings?" Ariana asked Duncan.
"We all were."
"And, you're not furious about that? I'd be furious. You have to ride and walk everywhere while they get to fly? Seems unfair."
Roahn groaned. "Well, there are moments where it chaps. There are games we can't play for lack of wings, but at the end of the day it isn't so different. It's not like you think, Ari. You ride horses and walk, even though you are fully able to run. Why? Because running wears you out. So does flying. The wings aren't like birds'. Adorians have arms and shoulders and a human body structure, but you won't notice too many flying unless they have to or unless there is some immediate benefit in it." He paused, something unreadable in his eyes. "You definitely won't see your brother fly much. Your father instructed Cademon and him to fly in retreat the day he died and though Michael had no choice in the matter, he's never forgiven himself for it."
"I don't want to know the details, not now." Ariana was already feeling woozy and wasn't in the mood for such talk.
"Then tell us what you've been up to since we've seen you last," Roahn said. "I'm sure you caused all sorts of trouble for Bella."
She entertained them with stories of what had changed in Palingard since they'd last been there and in turn listened as Duncan told his own tales of teaching Ariana the weaponry her father had forbidden.
"It amazes me that the very beings who left my sister for dead, by decree of what they believed my father swore them to, would so flagrantly go behind his wishes to educate her on what he plainly wouldn't have allowed."
Michael's voice silenced the pub. Roahn cleared his throat and bowed to Michael.
"My Lord. My discretion was questionable. I should've reasoned that you wouldn't appreciate her being here."
Ariana looked up at Roahn and then to Duncan, whose hand rested on her shoulder. She'd had far too much ale to take any of them seriously, let alone someone she'd just met days ago, whether he claimed they were related or not. Duncan cringed as she opened her mouth.
"I resent that." She hiccupped, giggling softly to herself. "I am a free woman and can go anywhere I please."
Michael stepped forward and took her by the arm. "You are an Adorian sovereign's sister and your father would be more than mortified had he found you here – he would have strung up every last one of your accomplices by their feet and watched with no remorse as they were tarred."
She giggled again. "Creative. I think I might like to see that – it could prove rather entertaining. It's quite dull around here isn't it?"
The Braeden tried not to laugh, but Ariana's irreverence toward Michael proved too much. Their restraint crumbled, leaving Michael's face stern as he walked her out of the pub, pulling the hood of her cloak over her head as they entered the street.
"Are you ashamed of me as well?" she mumbled.
He stopped, whirled around, and took her face in his hands, steadying her unsure gaze. "It's your comfort that concerns me, not hiding who you are." He paused. "You're drunk."
She shook her head. "I believe I was drunk an hour ago."
Flustered, he dropped his hands and turned back toward the keep. "I suggest you lie down for awhile lest you wake with the headache I fear will keep you close company this evening, though I question your ability to do much of anything reasonable at this point. Kaitlyn will call for you when the feast begins."
"I resent that, too," she quipped, proud of herself for holding what she hoped was a reprimanding scowl on her face. "I'm reasonably able to call myself to the feast!"