The Faintest Ink (Watty Winner 2015)

Chapter Sixty-Seven

The princess rolled over, coughing and spitting out the black tar which coated the inside of her mouth.

"Sleep well?" The voice sounded familiar, safe almost, but she was too busy choking on the ash of a thousand names to think about who it belonged to.

The princess shuddered as she wiped her mouth with her hand and saw it streaked with wet soot. "Shut up," she said, falling back down on the piles of sacking beneath her. Her head pounded and the inside of her mouth was sticky with dryness.

Something hot was burning her throat, and it was coming up fast. She sat up. swaying as the floor moved under her. She tried sucking in air in a desperate attempt to calm the flow, but the stink of burning paper did nothing to help.

"If you're going to throw up, do it over there please."

Her stomach turned over. "Too late," she whispered before voiding herself.

"Gross."

The princess tipped back her head and breathed in deeply, relieved at how much better she felt.

"Is there any water?" she asked.

"You're kidding, right?"

The floor lurched again and the princess had to fling out her hand to keep herself upright. She could barely make out anything in the darkness, but it didn't take a genius to realise that she was in some sort of caravan.

"Where are we?"

There was a sigh from the other side of the vehicle. "Halfway to the capital by now. We've been going in a straight line for hours, which can only mean-"

"That we're on the King's Road," she finished.

"So the smoke hasn't totally addled your brain then."

They weren't stuck in total darkness. As her vision cleared she could see lines of light poised at regular intervals around her. With a shaking hand she reached out for one, and peeled away the canvas drapes. She turned her head, almost blinded by the daylight which flooded the space. Squinting, she slowly turned back and managed to make out the rolling fields passing them by, and a man, wearing the King's livery, riding beside them. Even in the shadow of his wide-brimmed hat, she could see his face was completely expressionless. Bored almost. He must have sensed her eyes on him, because he turned to look at her. She dropped the drape, plunging them back into blackness.

"How many are there?"

"Two. And some bloke in red robes. He's riding out in front."

"A master?" she said, confused. Sending a master after a member of the royal family went beyond treason. A person who did that must be very sure that they would not fail in their mission. Treason would merely result in a painful execution. Attempting to work name magic on a princess would deserve a far worse punishment than that. But then, perhaps it was easy to be so sure of oneself if one is a complete fool. For who else would send a master after a princess without a name?

"He shouldn't be a problem," she said. "And the soldiers wouldn't dare hurt me."

"So it's just me they'll stick with their big swords then? Thanks."

"At least I have a plan."

"Yeah. And while I admire the thinking, because frankly, I didn't think you had it in you, you're forgetting one thing."

"And what's that?"

There was a sigh, and then a burst of light as another drape was opened. The princess covered her eyes with her hands, wincing until they managed to adjust.