Chapter 230 TEIGEN LIV
The path narrowed as they climbed higher into the hills. Pine branches brushed against Elara’s sleeves, and the air grew sharper with every step, carrying the clean scent of resin and damp earth. Behind them, the village sat tucked in its valley, thin threads of smoke rising from the chimneys. Ahead, the jagged ridges rose dark against the morning sky.
Rae walked steadily ahead, his wool cloak flapping at his heels. He leaned on his walking stick, but there was still real strength in his wiry frame. Ryker stayed close behind, catching Elara’s elbow whenever roots caught her skirts or the rocky ground made her stumble.
She had insisted she could manage on her own, but her soft court slippers were no match for the mountain path. Each time she faltered, her cheeks burned as Ryker’s calloused hand steadied her. “You won’t last long up here in those fancy shoes,” Rae said without turning around. “We’ll find you proper boots at the cabin. They’ll serve you better than all the silk in the empire.”
Elara bit her lip at the blunt words, but she nodded. “I’ll manage.”
Ryker gave her a small smile. “She will. She’s tougher than she looks.”
Rae chuckled low. “I hope so, lad. The mountain doesn’t go easy on soft hands.”
At last the trees opened up into a small clearing. A weathered cabin sat against the slope, modest and sturdy. Its stone chimney stood straight, and the patched roof looked like it would keep the rain out.
A woodpile leaned against one wall, and an old iron pot hung near the door.
Rae stopped and pointed with his stick. “Here we are. It’s not much, but it’ll keep you hidden. Few people bother with these old paths anymore. The villagers know about it, but they won’t come poking around unless they have reason to.”
Elara stared at the little cabin. It was nothing like her father’s grand manor, no soaring arches, no polished marble floors, no long echoing corridors. Just rough planks, a crooked doorway, and the constant whisper of the pines. Yet something about it felt freer than any room she had ever known.
Ryker stepped forward and pushed the door open. Dust swirled in the stale air as sunlight cut across the simple furnishings: a rough table, two chairs, and a basic bedframe. Nothing more.
“We’ll need to clean it out,” he said quietly. “Chase the mice from the corners. But it’ll do for now.”
Rae set his stick aside and eased himself down onto the step, watching them with tired fondness. “I’ll bring you blankets, tools, and whatever food I can spare from the village. After that, you’ll need to keep your heads down. Tongues are already wagging.
Some think Ryker’s brought home a secret bride. Others…” His gaze sharpened. “Others smell trouble.”
Ryker’s shoulders tightened. “They’ll see soon enough that I mean no harm.”
“Harm? No,” Rae said. “But danger travels with you. Folk here guard their peace. If soldiers come asking questions, their goodwill might turn sour fast.”
Elara straightened, though her hands still trembled. “Then we’ll earn their trust. I’ll learn to live as they do, no matter how strange it feels at first.”
Rae’s lips twitched, almost a smile. “Good lass. Words are cheap. It’s what you do that will prove you.”
He pushed himself up with a groan. “I’ll head back down now. Come to the village later, Ryker. Take her to the market. Let them see her trying. Suspicion fades when people watch you haggle for carrots like everyone else.”
Ryker clasped the old man’s arm. “Thank you. For everything.”
Rae squeezed back, eyes softening. “Don’t thank me yet. Just keep her safe. That’s all I ask.”
With that, Rae started back down the path, his figure slowly disappearing among the trees.
Elara stood in the cabin doorway, peering into the dim space. “It feels so small,” she whispered.
Ryker came up beside her, his presence solid and reassuring. “Small, aye. But it’s ours. For a while, at least.”
She glanced up at him, something unspoken passing between them. Then she took a breath and stepped inside, her skirts brushing the dusty floor.
Ryker followed and closed the door gently behind them. By midmorning the market square was alive with noise and color. Stalls crowded the cobblestones, awnings flapping in the breeze.
The air smelled of fresh bread, smoked fish, and vegetables pulled straight from the earth. Chickens clucked in crates, children darted between legs, and vendors called out their prices over the cheerful din.
Elara kept her cloak pulled close, feeling every eye on her even though most people were too busy to stare. She had spent her life among velvet and gold, yet she had never felt so exposed.
Her gown, though simpler than her court dresses, still looked finer than what the village women wore. She glanced at Ryker walking easily beside her and tried to match his calm stride.
“Keep your chin level,” he murmured. “Not too high, not too low. They’ll think you’re proud or scared if you don’t find the middle.”
She nodded, pulse racing. “Do they know I don’t belong here?”
He smirked faintly. “They’ll know you’re new. New isn’t the same as unwelcome.”
They stopped at a stall where a woman laid out bolts of rough wool in muted colors. Ryker gave Elara a subtle nod. “Start here. Ask for wool to make a cloak. Watch how she answers. Don’t offer more than you need to.”
Elara swallowed and stepped forward. “Good day,” she said, her voice a little too proper. “I’d like some wool. For a cloak.”
The woman’s sharp eyes flicked over her, but her tone stayed friendly. “How thick, miss? For spring winds or winter cold?”
Elara blinked, caught off guard. She glanced at Ryker, who offered no help, only a raised brow.
“Winter,” she said quickly.
The woman pulled out a heavy roll of dark gray wool. “Four coppers for a span.”
Elara hesitated. She had never handled coin herself, stewards had always done that. She counted out four coppers from the small pouch Ryker had given her and placed them carefully on the table.
The woman counted them and gave a small nod. “Not bad. You’ll need needle and thread too.”
Heat rose in Elara’s face. “Yes, of course. Thank you.”