Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 58110 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 291(@200wpm)___ 232(@250wpm)___ 194(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58110 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 291(@200wpm)___ 232(@250wpm)___ 194(@300wpm)
Knights? Perhaps this is a show of strength to my new bridegroom. Then, I realize that of course my father must bring his knights—they are returning home with my bride-price. Smiling at my foolishness, I tie my pack to the woale and sit in one of the side-saddles, my father balancing out the other side. Woales are good for long distance travels and carrying packs, but they don't keep up well with horses, so it surprises me to see that both will be in our party.
But I don't ask. My father looks moody this morning, his expression sour. He seems on edge, and I don't want to give him any reason to turn around and cancel my marriage. I just smile and look excitedly at the horizon.
In a few days, I shall finally be married. I will be a spinster no longer.
CHAPTER 2
IOLANTHE
My first inkling that something is amiss comes when we ride south, and farther south still. Most of the largest settlements are along the river, which winds its way through the northern parts of Adassia. Father has always complained that the southern lands are full of vagrants, monsters, and thieves. But perhaps my new husband is a lord with a remote keep? It would explain why he must send away for a wife, if there are few suitable noblewomen nearby. So I keep smiling, my head full of dreamy thoughts. In my mind, my new husband is tall—so very tall—and dark-haired. His features will be strong and rugged, his arms brawny, and he will have a deep, rumbly voice. And, I decide, he will insist upon kissing me the moment he sees me, so taken with my appearance. I sigh with delight at the thought.
I start to worry when Father sells the woale at a seedy-looking outpost on the second day, and the knights all dismount. I clutch my pack, doing my best not to ask questions. Father has a plan, I tell myself. He's worked this out with my new husband. I'm merely being a silly female.
Even so, it strikes me as odd that we're going to walk the rest of the way. "Are we a fair distance yet, Father?" I ask carefully. "The sun will be setting soon."
"Not far," Father says, his voice that curt tone that brooks no argument. "Keep up with the men."
I bite my lip and do as he says. It's really no difficulty to keep pace with the knights leading their horses. They're wearing armor (still) and my legs are long and strong. Even so, the fact that my husband's home is near this filthy little outpost is more than a little concerning.
I'm pretty sure I saw an orc in one of the shanty-like buildings, of all scandalous things. A green-skinned, shaven-headed orc. Horrifying. But I keep my gaze on the road ahead, because my future is ahead of me, not behind. I can always tell my new husband about the orc so he can take care of the situation.
As I walk beside the knights, I send another prayer up to Belara, the goddess of marriage. I pray that he will be kind, and generous, and loving. And then, because I cannot help myself, I pray for him to be tall. For him to be strong, with a deep voice and a broad chest, and that he is able to carry me. A girl can wish, after all. And even though I am no longer a girl, and taller than half of the knights, I enjoy my foolish dreams.
I am sure my husband will be…sufficient.
Toward dusk, a single, lonely outpost rises from the cliffs. The orange and purple skies illuminate the rolling hills of the landscape around us, and the cliffs ahead. As we approach, I see that the lone tower at the top of the cliffs is accompanied by what looks like a fortress built into the cliff itself. A stone wall surrounds the grounds themselves, a tidy courtyard for a natural fortress. Something niggles in the back of my mind, a rumor from last year. There was a stronghold to the south that was overrun, and I remember my father's worry that the bandits who took over would reach to the north and terrorize his lands.
Cragshold Keep. That was the name. I vaguely remember that it was held by fat old Lord Dramus, but I do not recall Dramus having any sons my age, just a boy no more than nine.
Oh gods, am I being sent to marry a child? Belara, please, please, I inwardly beg. Please give me a good, strong, tall husband my age. If I marry a child, I will not be his wife. I will end up being his mother…and I will never have children of my own. The age gap between us will be too great.