The Seer Rowan McAllister (top inspirational books .TXT) 📖

shouldn’t have to worry about your Visions anymore. Plus, Traget is the largest town with the largest market beyond Rassat, so strangers coming and going shouldn’t catch anyone’s notice.”

“Traget?” Ravi asked, his voice cracking as the porridge curdled in his belly. “But that’s nearly to the Northern Mountains. We might as well cross the border on foot.”

“Not quite,” Daks replied, his stupid lips quirking in that smug way Ravi hated. “It’s only three days’ steady ride. Vasin has agreed to give us enough supplies for the journey, and he can spare us a mule to help carry the packs, or one of us, if it comes to it. He’s got a cousin in Traget who’ll get the beast and the horses back to him next time they run the merchant barges down the river, and we can get new horses once we reach Samebar.”

He seemed so pleased with this, Ravi could only stare at him for a few beats before he found his voice. “Three more days? In the boglands?” he all but whined.

“They’re not so bad as all that,” Daks replied, waving a dismissive hand. “The marshes are a little challenging, but not if we stick to the marked paths. Vasin is drawing up a map, and he says there aren’t many people traveling that way these days, since it’s planting season. Those who are moving away from the troubles in the North would take the King’s Road to the larger towns along the Matna, so we shouldn’t have to worry about running into anyone. And if you have another Vision, there will be no one for miles to sense it. Win win.”

Why Ravi had allowed himself to think Daks was even moderately attractive for more than two seconds, he couldn’t quite fathom right now. But given that Ravi had only ever read about the boglands and the North of Rassa, he couldn’t exactly argue the man’s logic either, not effectively anyway. The distance had seemed a lot greater than three days’ travel on the maps in his grandfather’s study, and the swamps so much more ominous in some of the stories than Daks made them sound. But he had always wanted to see them, though definitely not under these circumstances.

“Can’t we try a few other villages upriver from here? Surely there has to be one where we can hire a boat to get across. There can’t be a pain priest in every town.”

Daks shook his head. “With the fuss we created in Urmat, and the villages being similarly flush with guard companies, the risk is too high. Shura and I aren’t familiar enough with this area to know who to approach, and Mistress Sabin isn’t either.”

“Surely this Vasin knows someone,” Ravi tried again, his hopes sinking.

“That he can get in contact with quickly? Who’d be willing to take the risk? No. This is the best, safest solution.”

Ravi sucked in a breath and swallowed any further protests. It was obvious they’d made up their minds without him. He didn’t relish another three days in the saddle, though. He wouldn’t be able to walk by the end of them.

“Finish your breakfast. We’ll be leaving soon,” Daks said curtly before digging into his own bowl again.

Ravi lifted his bowl and obediently shoveled the nearly cold porridge mechanically into his mouth, though it didn’t taste as delicious as it had only a few minutes ago.

“My clothes?” he asked when he’d swallowed the last of it.

“I told you. They’re packed. What you have on now will do better for the colder climate anyway.”

“These aren’t mine, though.”

“They are now.”

Before Ravi could argue, Daks stood, collected the bowl from him, and then headed for the door.

“We’ll be back with the horses in a few minutes,” he called brusquely over his shoulder.

Ravi glared at his retreating back until his gaze seemed to drop lower of its own accord. Why did the man have to be so, so—bossy? Solid? Thick?

“Irritating,” he settled on with firmness, as the man’s firm, round ass disappeared from view.

Chapter Eight

THE FIRST day into their journey through the boglands, Daks began to regret his earlier optimism pretty much immediately. It rained. All. Day. Long.

No one spoke. They all rode in heavy, wet silence, hunched over their saddles, trying to keep as much of the cold rain from finding its way inside their cloaks as they could. Even the horses’ heads were bowed as they trudged along berms that only marginally kept them out of the swampy muck to either side and sometimes narrowed to little more than overgrown deer tracks.

As sullen silence seemed to be Ravi’s normal state of being, when he wasn’t arguing or complaining, Daks couldn’t tell if he was as miserable as the rest of the party. He sat stiffly in the saddle and hadn’t leaned back against Daks’s chest even once—which was a little disappointing. Daks could have used some physical comfort while being surrounded by so much damned water.

Never again, he promised himself. He was never coming back to this sodden, Rift-blighted kingdom again if he could help it.

That night they made camp where the “road” finally widened enough to fit them all and a few straggly trees provided some cover. The rain made any attempt at a fire futile, so they simply tucked into a meal of dried meat, cheese, and bread and curled under what cover the trees could afford.

Ravi hadn’t said more than two words all day, and after taking his ration of food, he settled under a tree as far away from the rest of them as the small clearing allowed. Daks frowned at him but didn’t say anything. They were all wet, tired, and cold. Making it an early night meant they could start fresh in the morning, and hopefully Shura’s sky god, Tomok, would have finally emptied his bladder by then. When Shura and Fara curled up together under a second tree, Daks shot one more disgruntled look in Ravi’s direction before finding his own slightly drier place to bed down