Knight from the Ashes (Crown and Crest Book 1) by Shari L. Tapscott & Jake Andrews

Author:Shari L. Tapscott & Jake Andrews [Tapscott, Shari L. & Andrews, Jake]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2021-07-23T04:00:00+00:00

18

Clover

How in the world did Henrik and I stumble upon a conversation about love of all things? No matter, I learned two important things about the soldier.

The first: he’s not in love with Camellia, and the rumors of their affair have been grossly over-exaggerated.

The second: even though Henrik doesn’t love her, he intends to tether himself to her once he is worthy. Or rather, when he obtains the seal that will make him feel as if he’s worthy. In my opinion, he’s far too good for Camellia exactly as he is.

I don’t know how I feel about either of those things. If Henrik doesn’t have feelings for Camellia, why does he want her?

Scoffing, I realize I can answer my own question. Why does any man want Camellia? It’s not for her dazzling personality. But after spending several days with the man, I’m having trouble believing Henrik is that shallow.

So what does he see in her?

“Are you warm enough, Lady Clover?” Bartholomew asks from my side. “The air grows cooler the higher we travel.”

“I’m all right,” I assure him, wondering if Henrik instructed the young man to stay with me. He’s been by my side all day, eager to fetch anything to aid my comfort.

I tuck my new cloak tighter around my shoulders because Bartholomew’s right—the evening breeze is icy.

We’ve left the montane woods and the golden, whispering grespit trees and are now in the rocky alpine forests of the high mountains. According to Simon, the guard post is just ahead.

We haven’t seen any more aynauths, nor any of the other beasts that make the high mountains so treacherous—which is a shame, considering one might have had a hankering for Woodmore flesh.

To Henrik’s extreme chagrin, Pranmore has accompanied us. He walks alongside the wagons, loudly marveling at anything and everything—rocks, birds, trees, dirt.

It’s all new to me as well, but you don’t see me waxing poetic. At this point, I wouldn’t be surprised if one of the guards decided to tie the pungent cheese basket to his neck and send him into the woods to find a new friend.

Alas, the animals we have spotted haven’t shown any interest in eating Pranmore.

For the first time in my life, I’ve seen a diurnal kipper owl, with its tiny white body and deep amethyst eyes that glowed at us from the dark shadows between boughs of a thick spruce.

We also passed a family of prongspringer not long ago, but the small golden deer were far from a threat.

It’s all fascinating and new, and the idea of turning around to go back to Cabaranth tomorrow is almost too depressing to contemplate.

“Have you ever seen a more glorious sunset, Lady Clover?” Pranmore asks me, walking merrily beside my horse. “The colors, the radiance. The hue is the exact shade of spring beet juice blended with the milk of a thornthistle.”

“Or watered-down blood,” I point out, since we’re being fancy.

Pranmore turns to me, aghast. Then his features soften, and he softly chides, “You’re teasing me.”

“I am, yes,” I say with a laugh.

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