Chapter 9

　　The river was swollen and turbulent from the rain. A small village lay on the far side, but the only stone bridge leading to it was tragically destroyed. Ezekiel swallowed a groan.

　　“Now what?” Etienne’s voice was laced with frustration.

　　It was a fair question. The sun was setting fast. The knights might find them, but they had to prepare for the worst. Two princes spending the night exposed by a raging river was unthinkable.

　　“Is there not another way around? A mountain path?” Etienne grumbled.

　　Ezekiel answered with a sigh. “I cannot see clearly, but after this storm, any other path is likely in no better shape than that bridge.”

　　“Smart little brother. You are a comfort.” Etienne gave him a thumbs-up.

　　Ezekiel just sighed again and dismounted.

　　“What are you doing?” Etienne asked, alarmed.

　　“If we had time, we could wait for help. But we cannot be out here after dark.”

　　“You are not actually thinking of crossing that river, are you?”

　　“I thought I might use the debris as a foothold to get across.”

　　“Ezekiel!” Etienne shouted, but Ezekiel was fairly confident.

　　The bridge was in ruins, but parts of it remained above the churning water. He planned to pick his way across and get help from the village. “The state of this bridge suggests it collapses often. If so, they must have ropes or some other means of crossing.”

　　“Ezekiel, I would rather we both stay up all night here than let you try that.”

　　“Brother, you are shivering.”

　　Etienne flinched. It was true. Soaked to the bone and exhausted from his wild ride, his body temperature had dropped, and his teeth had been chattering for some time.

　　“If it seems too dangerous, I will turn back immediately,” Ezekiel promised, pulling off his boots.

　　Etienne just sighed, offering no further protest. As Ezekiel stood before the broken bridge, preparing to enter the water, a voice called out from the other side.

　　“Hello!”

　　Ezekiel’s head snapped up. The river was wide, the current ferocious. But through the roar of the water, he could hear the distant shout. He squinted, making out a small figure standing by a pile of rubble on the far bank. A woman was cupping her hands around her mouth, yelling with all her might.

　　“Can you hear me? Hey, you!”

　　“We can hear you!” Ezekiel yelled back.

　　Startled by his brother’s uncharacteristically loud voice, Etienne looked over as well. The figure was indistinct, but her simple clothes suggested a local villager checking on the bridge.

　　“Do not try to cross! It is not stable!” she shouted.

　　The brothers exchanged a look, their eyes falling on the heap of stones rising from the current.

　　The young woman yelled again, her voice straining. “The stones… weak… and light!”

　　Her words were snatched away by the wind, but Ezekiel understood the warning. The stones used to build the bridge were unexpectedly light and brittle. Outsiders sometimes tried to cross on the debris, only to be swept away.

　　This must happen often, Ezekiel thought, then shouted back, “Is there another way across?”

　　From across the river, she crossed her arms in front of her chest. No.

　　“We must get to Quillucsia tonight! We are lost! Is there any way at all?”

　　At his desperate cry, the woman seemed to hesitate for a long moment. Then she did something utterly unexpected. She began to take off her clothes.

　　Etienne’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. But Ezekiel, instead of being shocked, yelled in panic, “Do not! Do not go in the water!”

　　It was too late. She had already stripped down to a thin, worn shift. Waving her arms, she pointed further down the riverbank. “I know a path through the water!”

　　Before Ezekiel could protest again, she turned and began to run. The brothers had no choice but to follow along their side of the river, shouting as they went.

　　“Stop! Your life is precious!”

　　“Hey! You have a life to spare? I will take it! Mine is quite valuable; a second one would be useful!”

　　Despite Ezekiel’s frantic pleas and Etienne’s bizarre bargaining, the woman ran some distance before scrambling down the bank near a thorny thicket. She took a deep breath, grabbed a thick vine hanging from a tree, and stepped into the raging current.

　　“Whoa!”

　　“No!” Ezekiel roared, horrified. Stepping into that flood was sheer madness.

　　But then he noticed that the vine was worn smooth, as if many hands had used it over the years. And the silver-haired woman moved through the current with a surprising skill. As she drew closer, he could see the calm focus on her face. Finally, soaking wet and breathing hard, she reached their side of the river.

　　“Hey, miss! Are you insane?” Etienne, who looked as if he had aged ten years, rushed toward her, but stopped short, his face turning beet red as he averted his eyes.

　　Ezekiel, too, instinctively turned away. Up close, she was a girl about their age, and the sight of her in a single, drenched layer of clothing was an unforeseen disaster for the two young men.

　　She, however, seemed completely unfazed. She nonchalantly wiped water from her face with the back of her hand, her expression apologetic. “I am sorry, I must have startled you. Only the villagers know this path; a stranger could never cross it alone.”

　　“Argh! Is ‘sorry’ all you have to say? I do not know whose deranged daughter you are, but you just scared the life out of me…”

　　“Brother.” Ezekiel cut him off. He quickly shrugged off his own heavy cloak and held it out to the girl, his gaze fixed somewhere past her shoulder.

　　“Oh, it is alright…” she began, waving a hand in refusal.

　　“When we said we had to get to Quillucsia,” Ezekiel said, his voice heavy with disapproval, “we did not mean we intended to force our way across an impassable river.”

　　The girl flinched at his stern tone. He had the build of a man who would be called dashing, but ‘beautiful’ was a more fitting word. He looked as if he had never been anything but beautiful in his entire life. She could also tell that this beautiful person was, at present, incandescently furious.

　　What she had done was dangerous. Her father would have been beside himself. But her father was not here. So, she decided to employ a rather simple tactic to diffuse his anger.

　　“My name is Iris Quillucsia.”

　　The boy’s mouth snapped shut. Etienne’s, however, fell wide open.

　　“So you are the deranged daughter of a noble house…”

　　Iris had to fight with all her might not to smile.

* * *

　　Following the girl who introduced herself as Iris, the two brothers crossed the river. The vine she had secured saw them safely to the other side, and at last, they found themselves drying their hair before a warm fire in the village—or, to be precise, in the ‘lord’s castle’ at the village entrance. If one could call it a castle.

　　“If I lived in a place like this, I would write a letter asking for a tax exemption, too,” Etienne muttered, wringing out his shirt.

　　The place was, as he implied, shockingly humble. It was well-maintained, but the small stone structure was hardly a mansion.

　　Instead of agreeing, Ezekiel shot him a warning look. “Brother. Watch your words.”

* * *