Princess Rainy's Arc

Chapter 3 of 12

Three days passed, and no guide came. Rainy paced the halls of the pale-stoned castle with its blue-green domes above her. She had sworn to wait, but waiting scraped at her. Her white lynx trailed behind, its claws ticking on the floor. Each morning she watched the road from a high arch. Each evening it stayed empty. On the fourth day, she stopped watching and went to find her father. King Anthony sat alone in a small room off the throne hall. A stack of letters covered the table before him. His silver crown lay beside them, set down as if it weighed too much. He looked up when she entered, and his stern face eased the way it always did for her. "The guide has not come," Rainy said. "You told me to wait. I have. Now I want to know who I am waiting for." Her father set down his quill. He rubbed his beard, then gestured to the chair across from him. "Sit, my child. You have earned an answer." Rainy sat. The lynx settled at her feet. "The man I sent for is a prince," King Anthony said. "His name is Rowan. His father and I were friends when we were young men, before either of us wore a crown. We rode together. We fought together. I trust few men. I trust him." "A prince," Rainy said. "From where?" "The northern kingdom. His son grew up in the mountains you want to cross." Her father leaned forward. "Rowan does not sit in a hall like his young sister. He wanders. He knows the passes the way you know your own halls. There is no better man to lead you north." Rainy felt something loosen in her chest. She had pictured a hired stranger, a paid sword who would resent the road. Instead her father had sent for a friend's son. Someone who chose the wild for himself. "Then why is he late?" she asked. King Anthony's face darkened. He picked up one of the letters and turned it in his rough hands. "That is what troubles me. Word came this morning. A storm has closed the northern passes. Rowan sent a rider ahead. He is coming, but slowly. He cannot risk the ice." Rainy took the letter from him and read it herself. The writing was quick and bold. It named the storm. It named three or four more days of delay. She set the letter down. She had her answer now. She knew who she waited for and why he had not come. The guide was real, and he was good, and he was trapped behind the same mountains that held her secrets. "Then I will wait a little longer," Rainy said. Her father nodded. But she felt the road change under her feet. The journey was no longer a question of leaving. It was a question of the storm, and how long it would keep the north locked against her.