Aliana. Hobben's Pass They had traveled through the night and most of the day, stopping once shortly before noon to let the horses rest and tend to their wounded. The covered cart in which they had placed Aliana was spacious enough for her to lie down fully, but its luxury stopped at size. Derrick's guardsmen had bought it off a wool merchant at a holdfast an hour's ride from Tyron's Keep, offering them far more than it was worth and perhaps more than they made in a year, but Aliana's inability to ride was liable to slow them anyway and Derrick was insistent that she should be given every comfort available on the inherently uncomfortable journey back to Castle Randal. Her brother had been at her side since they left Tyron's Keep in the darkest hours between midnight and dawn. The old healer had put the fear of the gods in him, but Derrick had not needed her encouragement. He'd carried Aliana in his arms like a child, kept her wrapped tightly in blankets and close to his chest even astride his destrier, cantering gently at the rear of his cavalry flanked by William on the right and Sir Staggart on the left. When they acquired the cart, Derrick insisted on joining her there, sitting upright by her side, hand gently stroking her hair. Derrick feared, as his sister did, the further consequences of her condition. Aliana could not blame him; by no fault of his own he had yet to marry, and if he failed to produce an apparent heir then at least his current heir could be capable of such in his stead. She feared barrenness, but while they were still in the open she could not stomach that fear compounded on that of being taken captive again. Aliana did not speak of it, nor did Derrick, and thus in the cart silence reigned. Derrick would intermittently touch her shoulder or her brow and ask if she was well. Aliana would nod, and then press her eyes tighter shut, trying to sleep. Rest did not come. She turned on her side, watching the land pass by out a gap in the side panels of the cart. At first they traveled the rocky terrain east of Tyron's Keep, passing small holdfasts with barren trees and few homes. After their brief stop they had turned north on the long road through Hobben's Pass. By mid-afternoon it had begun to snow, and they made camp in the shadow of the mountains, hemmed in on two sides by the forest which crept in on the old merchant's road. Soon it was dark again, a darkness deeper even than in the inner chambers of the Keep. They led the cart to the flattest point in the road and blocked its wheels. Only then did Derrick touch Aliana's shoulder and urge her to turn and face him. "I must see the camp gets sorted, and speak to our guides," he told her. He sounded kingly, more so than she remembered. Aliana nodded her understanding and curled over on herself once again, peeking outside as before. The cart jostled under Derrick's weight as he slipped outside. Aliana heard the snow crunch beneath his boots as he walked away and closed her eyes, focusing on that sound in all its variations as the cavalrymen moved about making camp. The door at the back of the cart creaked, and the unit jostled again under a person's weight. Aliana opened her eyes and looked over her shoulder and the heavy layers of blankets covering her. It was William. His hair was frosted by a thin layer of snow, chiseled features turned raw and red from riding through the oncoming storm. He was on his knees inside the cart, trying to remove his frosted cloak at the door rather than dragging the damp fabric in with him. He seemed to be struggling. Faintly Aliana offered, "It's alright, just close the door," but by then William had wrested the heavy garment off. Aliana's stomach churned at what was revealed beneath William's cloak. His left shoulder, wrapped times and times over in layers of bandages, his tunic torn open around it, stained the deep ruddy brown of dried blood. A thin snake of fresh blood was just beginning to seep through across his collarbone. Aliana rolled onto her back and tried to press herself upright with her hands, but her body cried out at the effort. William watched her, a similarly pained look on his face to the one on hers. They were both a bit broken, it seemed. Finally, he pulled off his damp gloves and collected another blanket from the back of the cart before inching closer to Aliana's side. He gently slid a hand beneath her shoulders at the base of her neck, lifting her up just enough to lay the folded blanket atop the one she already used as a pillow. Her body thankfully did not protest much beyond the omnipresent ache, and she felt better for being propped up. "Thank you," she said quietly, adjusting the blankets around her as she looked across at William. He sat with his back to the other side of the cart, legs folded beneath him. Aliana had not seen him so clearly in more than half a year. He looked wearier, older by much more than some months. His blue eyes were dim in the semidarkness of the cart. The dull white of his bandaged shoulder stood out most. They sat in silence for some time. Finally, Aliana asked, "What happened?" She had slipped in and out of consciousness as they escaped Tyron's Keep, Derrick and William as her protectors and saviors. If either of them bore blood from the battle, Aliana could not have told whose it was, least of all while they remained armored. "Your late husband's doing," William answered. He seemed relieved a moment later when Aliana showed no surprise at the statement. Even in semiconsciousness, she had heard Derrick's words. He is dead. You are safe. He had not told her Renfry's death was William's doing, but the knight's statement implied it, and it was easy enough for her to believe. Aliana tried again to push herself more upright, but it was useless. She sighed, almost a groan at the pain, and gave up when she saw William's gaze on her, focused and serious. He was watching her with a sort of bewildered scrutiny, as if he did not understand why she lay there without speaking, why she could not even lift herself, but without the active concern of seeing a wound, because there was none. And then she realized; he did not understand. He did not understand at all. She laid her head to the side, looking directly across and up at William. "He didn't say anything, did he?" It was a confirmation, not a question. "He had you bundled up in his arms like a babe when I found you. I was already hurt. I didn't ask questions," William told her, wincing as he turned to acknowledge his bandaged shoulder. Aliana closed her eyes. They felt heavier than before, though she was no closer to sleeping than she had been the whole journey from Tyron's Keep. They were simply heavier, heavier to protect her from seeing William's shoulder and the look on his face, pained and concerned at once. "It isn't my place to bring it forth again if you do not wish to volunteer..." "Isn't it?" Aliana pressed, opening her eyes again and meeting his. "Spare me the insistence that repeating it will only make me sad. I am ill with it as it is, don't insist I keep it from you to spare myself." William's hard expression softened, and he leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees, wincing again. "I cannot promise any comfort, whatever it may be, other than that I will keep your confidences." "I know," Aliana affirmed, forcing a weak smile which she just as quickly repressed. She pressed her eyes tight shut, swallowing the lump that had lodged in her throat. She had not yet said the words herself, only heard them spoken about her between the old healer and her brother. But she knew, and it weighed on her like a stone on her chest, stopping her breath and her speech. Finally, she gained air enough to speak softly, eyes open. "I was with child." William's blue eyes flashed and he sat up straight, visibly struggling with the pain in his shoulder; the line of blood along the bandage was more pronounced now. She saw surprise in his face, but no recognition. "And Derrick left the babe? He --" "There was no babe," Aliana stopped him, words almost a wheeze of air from her lungs. "It was not even enough of a child to live when it died. It was blood. Just blood." The understanding was quick to change William's expression. He opened his mouth as if to respond, only to press it closed again, watching Aliana in silence. His gaze fell to her hands, which had come to rest over her stomach atop the blankets in which she was bundled. It had become unfortunate habit; she had not wanted the child, but neither had she wanted to hate it for its paternity. Somehow it had made her feel less alone, and it had kept her husband's hands away for he coveted it too dearly. Now they were dead, baby and father both. She did not expect William to understand, nor her brother. I wish Mother were with me. She lost a child once. A real child. "I am sorry, Aliana." "You must stop being sorry for things," Aliana answered quickly, softly. "I knew it could be months or years before Derrick would attack the Keep, and even then that I might not live to see it if I were marked for a traitor. It saved me in that." She acknowledged her now barren womb, resting one hand lower on her stomach. "He would no sooner kill his heir than he would himself, even if a traitor carried it." Aliana raised her eyes to meet William's. All she could see was the pain breaking through the solemnity, and her gaze kept drifting to his wounded shoulder. Both broken indeed. The line of blood seeping through the bandaging on his shoulder was pronounced, impossible to ignore. Aliana refused to let her misfortune be a distraction. Once she could move on her own, she had every intention of telling Derrick to use the cart for their wounded, their truly wounded, if there were any. "You're bleeding," she pointed out. Had it been a year past, deep in the wilderness, he might have had the gall to laugh at her for indicating his own injury. Instead, William just sighed and murmured, "I know. It hasn't stopped. They wrapped it well enough..." "Not well enough if it's bleeding through," Aliana argued, trying once more to sit up with her hands pushing down on the uneven floor of the cart. She made it up a good ways before her body protested, and she gritted her teeth, trying to fight through it. William's hand came up behind her back, the other reaching across her to grip her far shoulder. "For gods' sake, Aliana," he muttered, encouraging her with the press of his hands to let him accept her weight on his arm. "What are you going to prove, that you can have a look at my shoulder and declare it to be bleeding even though you can't sit up yourself?" Aliana grabbed on to his woolen tunic. She did not want him to force her to lie down again. "Help me sit against the wall?" she asked as strongly as she could. "Will it hurt?" he said seriously, blue eyes dark with warning. William knew she was likely to lie to him. She looked him in the eye and did not even have to answer. He carefully laid her down, wincing when he twisted his injured arm out from beneath her. "Your brother said to watch over you," he told her, teeth gritted in pain. It seems you are the one who needs watching over, Lord Ingraham. Later, Derrick returned with food for her and replaced William in the cart. He refused to sleep until his sister slept, and Aliana laid quietly and calmly for long enough that he believed she did. She laid awake most of the night, and slept for few fitful hours, plagued with dark dreams. They broke camp at sunrise. The snow had relented during the night, leaving a soft blanket on the road through the Pass, but one that was easily broken. By midday they were deep into the Pass where the mountains rose their steepest to either side. Aliana was able to sit up against the wall of the cart, and one of her brother's older guards, the son of a healer, had made her a draught for pain once they had found the needful plants along the road. When evening came and they made camp, Aliana left the cart and could walk, albeit gingerly, toward the fire to take her evening meal in its warmth. She had not seen William since he left her in the cart under her brother's watch. Their host was sizable, and with Derrick watching over her she imagined he'd dispatched William to oversee the rest. But he did not appear when Derrick gathered his lords to his tent that evening, nor was he there in the morning. On that next morning, Aliana insisted on riding. The wind was bitterly cold but the pain draught had done masterful work for her discomfort, and the fresh air made her feel cleaner. Derrick remained protective, and allowed her only to ride with him, uncomfortably seated sidesaddle with his arm around her waist. When they made camp, Aliana was saddlesore and stiff, cheeks windburned and numb. One of Derrick's guards helped her down from his destrier, and her brother dismounted after her, landing with a crunch on the old snow along the road. His face was drawn and serious; Aliana knew she looked at King Derrick, not the warm and friendly brother she knew, nor even the ambitious young monarch she had left at Castle Randal a year earlier. "You ought to get inside," Derrick said through cold red lips, his breath misting between them. "The nights are only getting colder." "And where would I go?" Aliana countered him, rubbing her gloved hands together. "Your tent will be up soon, and I will shelter in there when it is." The king gave her an admonishing look, and turned his back, walking away to oversee the making of the camp, leaving his sister alone. It was then that Aliana finally saw William for the first time in two days. He was tying up his horse to one of the trees while the other men of the First Cavalry pitched tents and set about making fires. When he turned toward her, Aliana's stomach twisted. His face was a sickly pale color, milky white against the dark bags under his eyes. His hair hung limply along his brow, his shoulders slumped. Aliana was quick to approach him. Up close, she saw his skin shone even in the oncoming dusk. He did not look up until she was only a few steps away, and even then it appeared his eyes drooped, as if he could not keep them open. She did not even know how to begin, how to address the condition in which she'd found him. Finally, Aliana reached out a hand to touch his brow, and found his skin clammy. He looked down at her and spoke as if nothing were wrong, though he breathed shallowly through his words. "You're walking." "Yes," Aliana answered, for she knew not what else to say. A gust of wind caught her from behind and she shivered, tucking one arm under her cloak while the other remained free, hand now resting on William's uninjured shoulder. He was shaking. "Are you..." "Don't," William ordered her, turning and walking away to the nearest site of a fire being assembled. Aliana followed, snow crunching beneath her boots and breath misting in the air. It was not difficult to keep pace with William; his usual much longer quick strides were diminished to slow ones. When she caught up, Aliana grabbed his arm above the elbow. "What is the matter with you?" he asked angrily, turning to stare her down. Aliana released his arm. Searching his face, his eyes angry and puffy at once, Aliana found herself staring dumbfounded up at William. Finally she said, "You're not well." William looked away from her, huffing angrily. "You're not well," the princess repeated, forceful but not loud enough for those further away to hear. Gently, she reached for him again, and felt his arm stiffen beneath her touch as she insisted, "William, you're not..." "What I'm not is your concern," William interrupted her, facing her again with a warning look in his eyes, a look she knew better than she wished. Knowing it was not an argument to be won, Aliana took a different tack, though her heart still twisted uncomfortably at the pallor of his face. "Will you take supper with me, then?" It sounded more like a challenge, but William took it, nodding. "When it is time, yes. Excuse me." He left Aliana in the midst of the camp, and she let him.