Prince of Traitors

Owin

Jasper scribbles on a piece of parchment with a small nib of charcoal. He writes a sentence and presents the paper to me. He arches one eyebrow at me, issuing a silent challenge.

I smirk at him and take the paper. It's crowded with his scrawling writing. He's been helping me practice reading aloud for an hour now, writing different phrases and proverbs from Odrend's holy books.

Clearing my throat theatrically, I peer down at it. "'Good th... things come... to... those how—who wait,'" I recite haltingly. "At least give me a challenge."

Jasper rolls his green eyes at me. "Getting cocky, Navaarim?"

"Haven't I earned that right?" I crumple up the paper and throw it at him.

He bats the crumpled paper out of the air and laughs, his teeth bright against his tan skin and dark brown beard. "I suppose so. I've taught you well, certainly," he says.

I snort and stifle a laugh. I give him a soft kick to the shin as he sits across the cart from me, my boot softly tapping against his.

Someone knocks rapidly on the side of the cart, and Rahmi pokes his head in the back. The young man grins widely at us, his skin dark in the waning sunlight.

"Supper's on, stowaways," he says. He holds the canvas cover aside as Jasper and I, crouching, exit the cart from where we sat among the crates of sweet summer fruits and vegetables. "How're reading lessons?" Rahmi asks.

"Good," I reply.

"She's been doing very well," Jasper says. He runs a hand through his hair, smoothing it back. His hair has grown out a little, beginning to lengthen at the sides. I've already refreshed the color once in the time we've been with the caravan, using up the last of the dye.

It's been nearly two months. Peter and Judeth, who are husband of wife, own the cart that picked us up in the woods all that time ago. They're farmers, shipping produce to the battle camps along the border.

Over the time we've been their passengers, we have helped with the daily chores around the caravan. The work has changed Jasper, sculpting the muscles of his limbs and torso and making his broad-shouldered, narrow-hipped frame thicker. The sun has bronzed his skin to a warm gold, bringing out a spattering of freckles on his nose.

The other carts hold clothing and other amenities for the soldiers. Rahmi drives a cart filled with crates of weapons: swords, bows and arrows, shields, and other gear.

The caravan has made camp a few days from the Astrian-Odrendi border. A big campfire sits in the center, the five carts stationed in a semicircle around it. The merchants transporting their wares mill about the campfire, a group of only eight or so people, not including the prince and me.

Of course, no one knows Jasper is the prince. We've been referring to him as Kieran all this time, hiding his identity from the merchants.

Like Rahmi says, food has been prepared for the group. Judeth stands by the fire handing plates out to the other merchants.

"Judeth, darling," Rahmi says. "What have you made for us?"

The old woman waves a dismissive hand at him. "Don't try to sweet-talk me, boy," she says. "You'll get the same as everyone else. It's lamb and rice tonight."

Rahmi grins and Jasper laughs. Judeth smiles as she hands us each a full plate of food. She gives me a small smile as well; she still doesn't trust me, but when Jasper is with me she seems less tense.

"Thank you," I mutter to Judeth as she hands me my serving.

The old woman gives me a small smile. "Of course, dear."

"Come, come, darling," Rahmi says, slinging a slender arm over my shoulders. "You and Kieran can come sit with me."