I shuffled out of the inn blindly, as the sun was so bright, and met Weston at the stable. He took one look at the leather wrapped around my arm and ripped it off with one tug.
“Ow.” I scowled. “Do you have to manhandle me?” I snapped as I rubbed my arm. I had forgotten the leather was even still on.
His eyes were hard. “I don’t have time to deal with the attention you cause flaunting yourself.”
My head hurt and his words only sent irritation down my spine. “I don’t flaunt myself,” I grumbled.
He scoffed and held up the leather in his fist. “Do you even know what this means?”
“Yes I do, thank you very much,” I sighed.
“So you are flaunting yourself.”
My brain was too foggy to think correctly, and I was confused, but not confused enough to believe I was flaunting myself. “No, I’m not. All women have to wear the leather to the festival.”
He laughed coldly and tossed the leather to the side. “Who told you that?”
I frowned. “Why do you care?”
“The leather means you are actively looking for a new lover.”
I shook my head. “No . . . you’re wrong . . . That isn’t what Rosa said. She said every woman had to wear one.” I thought about the night before, and I couldn’t remember if all the women wore the leather.
“Well, Rosa lied to you.”
I scrunched my forehead in confusion. “Why would she do that?”
I thought about the dance and realized that they had probably been going to do much more than ‘get to know each other.’
“Probably the same reason someone had you wash with olian soap.”
“Why would someone want me to stink? What was the soap?”
He looked down at me with an unreadable expression. “Sylvians are sly. You can’t trust any of them. I’m surprised the soap and the leather were your only problems.” He gave me his back and started to get the horses ready. It took my muddled brain a few minutes before I realized he didn’t answer my question.
* * *
As we headed out of the city and onto the dusty paths, I thought about the fortune teller. Her omen left a bad taste in my mouth, and I became even queasier than I was before. I thought about all the different ways I could die. Most were impractical, but my imagination was far from reasonable.
Falling onto a cactus and one of its thorns piercing right through my heart.
Asphyxiation by a dust storm.
Falling off Gallant and breaking my neck.
Falling off a cliff.
A lot of fallings. Premonition, maybe? I hoped not . . .
The ridiculous list went on and on until Weston looked at me with distaste. Perceptive much?
It was midday, and my headache had passed when I watched Weston slip his cloak on. I looked at him with a grimace. It was blazing hot out, and he was putting on a cloak?
We had barely said anything to each other, and I wasn’t going to start now. He would only ignore me, and it really made me feel like punching him when he did that. I would rather live, so I kept my mouth shut. His behavior was odd, but it usually was so I didn’t let my imagination go wild this time.
We stopped at the first tree I had seen in a while, and I sat under it to get a break from the sun’s heat. A stream flowed beside it, and the sound of the rushing water was calming enough that I almost fell asleep.
My eyes opened at the sound of many horses’ hooves hitting the ground. We had passed many travelers, so I didn’t find it odd that they were on the path. I found it odd that they were slowing when they saw us.