The Charnel Prince - J. Gregory Keyes [139]
“Well, you’ve known her for longer than I have,” Cazio said, “but she isn’t the easiest person in the world to get along with.”
“She used to be, to me,” Austra said.
“But something’s changed.”
“Yes. She’s changed. Something’s happened to her, and she won’t tell me what.”
Cazio tugged at the mule, who seemed interested in something on the side of the road. “Well,” he said, “you tell me her father and sisters were killed, and someone’s making a pretty good effort to kill her, too. That’s probably had a bit of an effect.”
“Of course. But it’s more than that.”
“Well, I’m sure you two will make up soon,” Cazio said. “Or at least I hope so. I hate to see such long faces.”
They went another few steps in silence. “I’m glad you’re here, Cazio,” she said. “Anne is the only friend I ever really had.”
“I hope I’m your friend,” he said.
“You feel like a friend,” Austra replied. “But not like Anne.”
“No? What sort of friend am I, then?”
“The sort I rarely even dared to imagine,” she replied.
Feeling strange and oddly guilty, he slipped his hand into hers.
Malconio was right. His interest had always been in Anne, though what drove him crazy about that was that he couldn’t exactly say why. But Anne was difficult. She still thought she was in love with this Roderick fellow. He’d thought by showing Austra some attention, he might get Anne to look his way—a lot of women were like that. At times he thought he might be succeeding. At others he felt he was wasting his time.
But meanwhile he had succeeded all too well with Austra. There was no mistaking her affection.
To his surprise, he realized he was genuinely starting to return it. She was kind and intelligent, and in her own way every bit as pretty as Anne. Oddly, every time he looked at her, she seemed prettier. Austra was the sort of girl you wanted to hold and comfort, and tell everything would be all right.
But he still wanted Anne.
A little after noon, they reached the great Vitellian way which was, finally, a real road, wide enough for carriages. One passed them, and Anne watched it go by longingly. She and Austra had traveled to Vitellio in such a carriage, with all the luxuries she had grown up expecting.
Now she was returning home with an ass.
There was one way the two journeys were similar—Austra hadn’t been talking to her much in the carriage, either. She had been punishing her for trying to run away. That argument had been fixed with a promise. She didn’t think this silence could be so easily broken.
Austra had Cazio now, anyway. The two of them had been holding hands all day.
They stayed that night in a barn just outside of Pacre. The farmer spoke a little king’s tongue, and told them they would be crossing into Hornladh soon. Her heart quickened a little at that, and she asked him if he knew where Dunmrogh was. He said it was in the east, but wasn’t sure of the way.
That night she lay awake, feeling guilty for not thinking of Roderick more. She knew she loved him, but so much had been happening.
Deep down, she knew it was more. Cazio had planted doubts about Roderick, and though she knew he was wrong, she couldn’t get them completely out of her mind. She needed to see him again. Was he in Eslen or back home in Dunmrogh?
Perhaps when they reached Paldh, she could find a courier to carry word to Dunmrogh that she was coming home.
The next day, the fields gave way to expansive vineyards that ran over the hills all the way to the horizon. Anne remembered them from their trip in the carriage—she remembered that she had never imagined there were so many grapes in the entire world.
She glanced over at Austra, who for once wasn’t walking twenty yards ahead of her.
“The Teremené River must be up ahead,” Anne ventured. “If I remember from your journal.”
“I think you’re right,” Austra said.
“That was clever of you,” Anne went on, “keeping that journal. At least we know where we are. How many days do you think we are from Eslen?”
“It was five days by carriage,” Austra said. “But we didn’t travel all day, and we spent