12

11

As sunrise yawned over the countryside, a fat horsefly zig-zagged through the branches of the trees lining a dusty road. The birds nesting there were too busy with their morning chatter to attempt making a meal of him yet, and good thing too. This was no ordinary fly looking to sink its teeth into the horses of the royal caravan clomping into view, but Ivan, once again as something infinitely less detestable.

He buzzed between the first horses' ears and up over the banners flying Victors' colours. He skimmed the noses of several of the King's Guard and caught the lace curtain of the window of Queen Betina's ornate carriage.

Inside, the queen arranged cushions beneath her and behind her to lessen the jostling of the ride. The mobilized court had traveled through another night with only the briefest stops to rest and feed the horses and men - in that order. She couldn't complain. She had room enough to stretch her legs out in front of her onto the opposite seat where her lady Jane still snoozed, but she was getting awfully tired of her crown slipping over her eyes and the feeling that her organs were shifting to places they oughtn't be with every bump of the road.

Jane wasn't much company. Her only job was to distract the queen from her anxiety over being reunited with a most beloved stranger of a daughter with idle gossip, but the constant sway of the cab kept rocking her to sleep and always at the juiciest parts. She started the same story over again so many times that Queen Betina gave up nudging her with her foot to wake her up.

She would've liked to have shared the journey with her closest confidante, Prince Richard's wife Marguerite, but sensitivities of all her in-laws were naturally running high. It wouldn't help to be seen as playing favourites, even if everyone knew she would never have chosen Prince Edward's wife Ondine because the poor woman always got coach sick.

She watched Jane sleeping against all odds and imagined the child her arms had ached to hold for eighteen years in her place. How would they recognize each other? How would they get on? How would they be able to carry on a conversation with all the infernal wobbling? Queen Betina parted her curtains to get the attention of a guard.

"Please tell King Victor I wish to speak with him."

As the order passed down from man to man to Victor on horseback surrounded by his brothers, so did Ivan the fly flit down the line of carriages until he wiped his feet on the king's shoulder.

Victor left his line to ride up alongside Betina's carriage. "What is it, my love?"

"Dearest, why don't you let me ride on horseback next to you a while? I could use the fresh air and a little exercise, and the company, of course."

"Nonsense, my darling. You should stay as you are so that you'll be comfortable and well rested before we arrive at Frederic's tomorrow."

Betina smiled and sighed but didn't push the matter. She knew he was worried somehow Robert might reappear to spoil their reunion, just as she knew he was trying to keep his worry from her. She decided not to add to it. There were eyes everywhere, he'd warned her, and those no longer concerned with this conversation flew once again down the caravan's line, taking stock of who was on the way.

*****

Ivan zipped through the deep woods and over the sleeping beds of Robert's men around a dead campfire. He flew into Robert's tent next, buzzing around the face which grimaced even in sleep. Suddenly, Robert woke and, out of reflex, snatched the horsefly into his fist. He soon felt the sharp mandibles dig into his flesh and swore, shaking it free from his hand. Ivan returned to his true form and brushed himself off.

"I am sorry, Highness, but you were crushing my wing."

"What news?" Robert asked groggily.

"The best, Sire. The caravan travels with musicians just as I suspected."