The carriage creaks with each turn of the wheels, the silence pressing heavier than the sound. I sit across from Vaeroth, my anger simmering, the leather seat too tight beneath me. He looks perfectly at ease, as if the ride were meant for him, while Father and my barely recovered Mother ride exposed outside.
"Tsk." I can't suppress my displeasure as I think back on how Mother forced me to ride with him.
"You seem agitated," Vaeroth remarks idly, his calm demeanor only irritating me further.
"Of course I'm agitated. A lot of good men died," I snap.
"Yes—and you seem to blame me for that." He turns to meet my eyes, his presence suddenly sharper. "Why is that?"
His tone is almost bored, but his gaze betrays him. He studies my face intently, as though waiting to catch the smallest flicker of a lie.
"Because it is your fault," I say, forcing my voice steady.
"I don't see how. I could hardly have planned an attack while I was sealed away," he replies, tone light, almost innocent.
"That's why they attacked—to free you!" My words snap sharper than I intend, irritation boiling at his uncaring attitude.
He tilts his head, as though considering a puzzle. "That seems an odd thing to do, considering humans and elves are at peace. Are humans looking to restart the war?"
The question lands too calmly, too philosophical, as if he were discussing weather.
"What? No!" I dismiss it quickly. "Besides, you're an enemy of humans just as much as elves. You fought against both sides…" My voice falters, trailing off as the realization hits. My stomach twists. "You did that on purpose," I accuse.
"Yes, I did. When people are angry, if you press the right nerve they'll often respond without thinking. It's often an effective way to uncover secrets. Remember that." His chuckle is quiet, unbothered. "But now that the cat's out of the bag, you may as well answer my questions."
Heat rises in my chest. I glare at him, furious at being baited, and even more furious that it worked.
"I'm not telling you a thing." I turn toward the window, the blur of trees sliding past. My jaw tightens. I catch his movement in the corner of my eye but refuse to give him the satisfaction—until a sharp flick lands against my forehead.
"Did you just—?" I stammer, rubbing the spot, disbelief breaking through my anger.
"Yes. Because you're pouting." His chuckle is low, amused. "I taught you a valuable lesson here. The least you can do is answer a few questions as a lesson fee."
"Lesson fee? How can someone without memories be so manipulative?" I scoff.
"I think that says more about you than me," he teases, before his tone shifts. "But really—just a couple of questions. What's so dangerous about letting me ask?"
I frown, weighing the risk. Answering could reveal too much, but he's right: questions don't demand answers.
"Fine. Ask, and I'll consider responding," I say at last.
"Great. First—are elves and humans truly at peace?" His voice is curious, almost childlike.
"Yes. The peace was made before you were sealed," I reply, steady but cautious.
"Then why was I sealed?" he presses. "And why does everyone act like I'm some kind of monster?"
I turn to the window, stalling. Mother had been firm: don't tell him. But he'll learn the truth in the capital anyway. And if he's going to rage, better here in the farmlands than among innocents in the city.
"You were a warlord," I say slowly. "Brutal. You fought alongside humans at first, but when your king denied you lordship over a city you captured, you turned on them too. You slaughtered the noble and the army who had helped you take it."
Surprise flickers across his face—sharp, unguarded. For a heartbeat it looks like distress, before he masks it behind calm.
"Tell me about the capital. I've probably never been—and even if I have, it's not like I'd remember." He chuckles.
I notice the obvious subject change but choose not to point it out.
"The capital is beautiful. Most of the powerful noble families spend at least part of the year there. Humans too—honestly, no one will even look twice at you in the capital. Many work alongside elves throughout the city. We even have some humans serving in our estate, despite not being nobles." I say, proud of the fact that our household doesn't limit service to lesser noble children.
"Really? That sounds nice, actually." His faint smile lingers as he looks out the window at the passing farmland. "A world at peace… I have no memory of war, but it still feels strange to hear."
His words hang in the air, and I don't know how to follow. His smile fades into quiet contemplation, and I turn to the window, content to let the conversation end there. The steady rhythm of hooves and the creak of the carriage fill the silence, louder now that neither of us speaks.
A short time later the carriage slows, and Captain Thalen signals for the guards to begin unpacking. A few head toward the nearby farmhouse while others start setting out blankets and food.
"We'll stop here for lunch," I explain, smoothing my skirt as I step down. "Thalen is asking the landowner's permission."
Vaeroth looks out over the bustle of the guards, seeming confused.
"If he's asking permission why are they already unpacking?"
I blink, caught off guard. "That's just how it's done. No one minds — it's an honor for them to have the Duke's family rest on their lands." I explain confidently. "No one's ever said no."
Vaeroth's gaze lingers on the guards for a moment, then he asks quietly, "Can commoners say no to nobles?"
He doesn't wait for me to answer, already moving to lift a basket from the carriage.
When the food is laid out, I sit at the blanket. Mother and Father join me, although Father sits so close I accidentally bump him a handful of times before I finally shift a bit further away.
"We'll eat a short lunch and then resume our journey. There is much to do when we return," Father says tersely. "We must inform the council of the Baron's incompetence. Leave it to a fadekin not to notice traitors among his own men," he mutters.
I wince at the anger in his words. It pains me to hear him speak so harshly of the Baron. Although I understand the seriousness of his mistake, the Baron had always been kind to me.
"Mind your words, Althar," Mother says sharply. "We wouldn't want our guest to think us ignoble."
"What's a fadekin?" Vaeroth asks casually, tearing off a piece of his roll and inspecting it as if it were some fancy gem.
"Nothing worth repeating," Father says, softer now. "I spoke in anger. Forgive me — the day's ride has been more taxing than I expected." He doesn't look up, his attention fixed on the bread in his hands.
"Yes, it has been a long time since we rode on horseback. We really must get back into practice when we return," Mother agrees brightly. Then, with a smile that feels too deliberate, she adds, "Liriel, perhaps you could take Vaeroth out riding. I'm sure he'd love to see the sights."
"What? Why?" I protest at once, already weary of him after only half a day.
"Because he is our guest, dear — and don't forget he saved your life." Her tone sharpens, firm enough to make me pause. There is something she is trying to tell me, but I can't grasp it.
"I don't want to be a burden. I'm sure there are others who could give me a tour," Vaeroth says, his voice as indifferent as ever.
"No… it's fine," I answer reluctantly. "It's a good excuse to get away from my studies anyway." I'm not happy about it, but I try to trust my mother's plan, whatever it may be.
"I'll look forward to it then," he says with a smile.
The rest of lunch passes in short exchanges and awkward silences. Eventually the guards begin packing blankets away, and Father stands, helping Mother to her feet, then myself.
Captain Thalen signals, and the horses are readied. I step back into the carriage, skirts brushing against polished wood, and settle opposite Vaeroth once more. He climbs in with the same unhurried grace, as though the world outside were of no concern to him.
The door shuts, muffling the sounds of the guards and the countryside. The wheels lurch forward, carrying us back onto the road toward the capital. Silence settles between us, heavy and expectant, broken only by the rhythm of hooves on earth.
Beyond the window, the farmland thins, and the distant spires of the capital wait unseen, drawing us closer with every turn of the wheels.