Figurehead

sixteen

Both Jast and Iru- the king's horse since he was young- are settled in the grass, asleep side-by-side. Here, between the outskirts of Anshakim's farms and Aranakiu's border, there is only a small cluster of trees and grass. There is a smattering of snow dusting the area, and I sit, sprawling against one of the tree's trunks.

He crouches with his back to me a few steps away, returning his waterskin to our bundled belongings on the horses' backs. It is night, although the sky isn't much darker now than it was at half-day. Iru isn't accustomed to great distances like other messenger horses, so we are moving at a slower pace. Not that Dein knows; very little has he left Anshakim.

If I'm honest, I don't mind moving at this pace. It means it will take us longer to reach Kalsemir. It is selfish of me, I know. But still. My only issue is, it wouldn't take much time if someone were to follow us from Anshakim. They'd reach us pretty quickly. I'm being fearful, I suppose.

His voice interrupts my thoughts. "Who stands guard, then?" he asks, straightening and turning to look at me.

I shrug. "I can do it." I'd rather be awake to keep watch than try and sleep uneasily. I can't sleep properly when I'm uneasy, which means I don't sleep well much at all.

"So can I," he counters.

"You're king," I point out.

"You're-" he stops short in his immediate retort. No. I'm not queen, although that may not have been what he was about to say.

"I'm...?" I prompt.

He seems to search for the right word. "Important," he says eventually.

I raise an eyebrow. "And you're not?"

His jaw clenches. "We can't both stay awake."

"I know. So sleep." I cross my arms.

"Janf."

"Dein."

We glare at each other.

"I'm keeping watch, Dein. I can't sleep." He closes his eyes in exasperation and turns away from me.

"Fine," he mutters.

He moves in silence, unrolling a pallet, laying a pelt on top of it and nestling in it with another cloak covering him as a sheet. He lies with his back to me, his body curled up near the horses' warm bodies.

"Sleep well," I mumble.

"Wake me as soon as you get slightly tired," he replies, sighing heavily.

"Alright."

I know he isn't asleep yet. It seems like it has been such a long time now since I practically forced him to leave me as guard, but I know he's still awake. I'm not tired yet. It is cold now, though. The snow is falling steadily, although it is falling lightly. At the moment.

How long has he been so unguarded? The guards are far away. His afa is far away. It is not the first time the former king has abandoned his crown for anonymity elsewhere. But this time it is for as long as he lives. Dein is king now, not his afa.

I lower my gaze from the snowfall to the man curled up by the horses. He is really truly king. When I first met him four Dre ago, nobody thought he would ever rise to power. He was barely known by the Anshakim, although he was noticed for his looks, the traits characteristic of his blood; his height, his eyes, his looks. Not much else, really. I suppose he didn't realise his anonymity until his sister died and the inheritance was named his. Then it was gone.

Who ever imagined I would know the king? Who ever imagined I would someday be out here in the open, the king unguarded and vulnerable only steps away?

Certainly not me.

It is cold and silent, the wind seemingly asleep, unlike the man almost at my feet. I welcome the light snowfall with open hands.

But the thin coat of white on the grass and the surrounding dirt is not enough to mask the sound of pounding hooves a short distance away. I rise to my feet, silent, dagger in hand, wondering if my silhouette looks like a shadow looming over the Escatin figurehead.

I can see the road from here, the trees lining part of its sides. There is a lone horse and rider pelting down the compact dirt, heading our way. It is hard to see from here, to identify the rider. The horse I vaguely recognise. Miun, a black-coated horse with white-splashed legs. One of the fastest in the empire, perhaps.

They are approaching from Aranakiu.

I move forward, tucking the blade into one of the pockets of my dark cloak. He turns and looks up at me, his back warm, solid and lying across my booted feet. "Can you see who it is?" There is no sleep, no tiredness in his voice, in his eyes. So much for 'we can't both stay awake'.

I shake my head once and return my gaze to the rider fast approaching. We aren't very well hidden here. "I recognise Miun." He sits upright, looking up at me with a frown. "The horse," I add.

I step back as he stands, looking out past the few trees standing between them and us. "I don't recognise them either," he murmurs. Whoever they are, they wear a cloak pulled low over their face, billowing behind them.

I take my dagger from my pocket and readjust my fingers on the handle, tightening my grip. The Lord is with us. I really should stop forgetting. Beside me, Dein takes the pelt from his pallet and drapes it across my shoulders. I turn and meet his gaze. "What are you doing?"

His eyes are unreadable. "Waiting to see who the rider is."

His gaze shifts back to the approaching lone rider, and I see his clenched fists, see the tension in his muscles and jaw. Miun comes to a sudden halt at the tug of the reins a short distance away and the rider dismounts, tossing back their- her- hood.

I don't realise my arm is in the air, poised to throw the dagger until he stops me, taking hold of my hand.

"Who is she?" I ask. He doesn't respond.