Zander has already talked to the Freywich mortals. Seven want to stay in Bellcross, meaning two want to leave with us. As I search the faces standing quietly by the barn, I don’t have to guess one of them, at least. Eden beams at me, her excitement unmistakable.
That illusion has to be doused. Or at least, a frank conversation has to happen. I won’t let her follow me blindly into what sounds like hell.
“Your Highness.” Rengard’s voice draws me back. I find his shrewd eyes on me. “Glad to see you were not harmed in the skirmish with the marauders.”
I can’t tell if his words are genuine. “Nothing Gesine couldn’t fix.”
He shifts his attention to her, to her gold collar. “If only all of Islor had access to such gifts.”
Gesine bows graciously. “If only it were up to me, my lord.”
“Maybe one day we will be blessed again.” He returns his focus to Zander. “Might we walk a moment?”
Zander gestures toward a groomed path around the pond. To Elisaf, he instructs, “Have the Freywich mortals board the sanctum’s wagon so that we may return it to them. Send enough coin for repairs and compensation for their driver. And we will need to make room in one of the wagons for those better suited to privacy.”
He means Ianca. I guess he’s still keeping her presence a secret, even from his friend. Sometimes it’s difficult to understand why Zander keeps things close to his chest. It could be habit, or maybe he has good reason.
The two males fall into step beside each other and stroll away, leaving his guards behind, their circumspect eyes flittering over the legionaries.
“What do you think that’s about?” I ask.
“I am sure you will hear soon enough, if it is something meant for your ears.” Gesine gives my arm a gentle tug. “Come, we must retrieve Ianca before someone disturbs her and she causes a scene.”