Sorrows of Adoration Read Online Free Page B

hardly a lady,
Lord Jarik,” I said, trying not to sound flippant. Abbottess Mercia
was forever rapping my knuckles for being flippant. “Until
yesterday, I did work for my living.”
    He looked back at me
with a jovial smile. “I know you’re not a lady of the court, but
you did, after all, travel a great distance to save our lives.
That, in and of itself, deserves some measure of respect. And what
I carry isn’t heavy. Not yet, in any regard. And don’t call me
‘Lord’.”
    “Forgive me,” I said in
earnest. “By what title are you known?”
    “Jarik will do for now,
and I shall call you simply Aenna, since you say you are no lady,”
he said, winking like a rascal. I laughed at his teasing, for it
was clearly that, and followed him down the side of the valley.
    * * *
    For many hours we
walked amongst trees and rocks through the valley. Though the air
was crisp with winter’s impending chill, the sun shone brightly
overhead and I was not too cold. We kept up a steady pace, and
Jarik was kind enough to ask frequently if I needed to rest. I
rarely did, and when we did stop, I did not feel guilty of it
because he seemed to appreciate the repose as well.
    We spent much of the
time talking of many things, and I grew to like this man very much.
He was pleasant, polite, good-humoured, and a little silly, which I
admit I found quite endearing. He was so unlike the men I knew from
working at the inn. Not that they were all ruffians, and some
indeed were very sweet, but this man was like those of the bards’
songs—handsome, elegant, and well-educated, and yet he seemed to
enjoy my company. Me, the little peasant girl, in the company of
royalty. What a notion!
    I learned that he was
not quite a year older than myself, and his cousin only two years
older than he. It seemed strange to realize people of such high
status were close to my own age.
    He frequently referred
in his conversations to great writers, poets, and other thinkers
who seemed always to have something to say about, well, everything.
I was suitably impressed at first, and then I wondered if perhaps
he was trying to impress me, which in turn made me wonder as to why
a man of nobility would seek to impress a poor girl such as myself.
I told myself I was being silly, that this must be how the nobility
speak at all times—poised, informed, and proud to show it.
    Yet he was not poised
at all times. He would often make a wry comment and then wink at me
mischievously. The wink would inevitably be followed by a roguish
smile that always made me laugh. This was how we remained
throughout the day—laughing, chatting, and forgetting that we were
supposed to be fleeing for our very lives.
    But the truth of the
matter was that there seemed to be no sign of the would-be
assassins. The few times I thought of them, I was filled with worry
for the good Prince and the Lady Gilaela, a title which made Jarik
laugh—he said calling her “lady” was like calling one’s nurse a
Princess. Having not had a nurse, I didn’t know what he meant, but
his infectious laughter made me giggle nonetheless.
    Jarik seemed to catch
on quickly when my mood turned to worry and often assured me that
the Prince would certainly be safe. In the evening as we sat to
eat, he tried to convince me that they would already be safe at
Endren.
    Endren—it seemed a
strange thing to be headed there. It was the capital city of my
kingdom, yet I had never imagined going there. What reason would I
have had? I was neither a trading merchant nor nobility, no one who
would ever have reason to travel to Endren. And yet there I was on
my way, and with the cousin of the Prince no less. I must reiterate
that fact, for every few minutes it reoccurred to me and my insides
would feel shaky, my heart would flutter, and the spirit of
adventure and living what was suddenly a remarkable life would make
me smile broadly. Then I would blush, feeling so silly, and if
Jarik spotted my red face, he would favour me with a