The Girl of Fire and Thorns Read Online Free Page B

why I do not travel with my husband. Awkwardness is common at first, they assure me. Don’t worry. You’ll adjust to each other soon enough. I grit my teeth, frustrated with their blind assurances but grateful for them just the same. I look down, unable to explain.
    The carriage pitches as we set off again. It’s hotter inside, and my skin becomes sticky. Were I athletic like Alodia, I’d get out and walk. I wonder if this is why my husband does not care to travel with me. Perhaps there is no danger at all.
    I am married to a stranger, and no one has bothered to tell me why, other than to make vague references to a treaty. Surely the fact that I bear the Godstone has something to do with it. But since no one is forthcoming, I will have to find out for myself.
    As Ximena wipes my damp forehead with her linen skirt, as Aneaxi pours me some cool wine from a traveling skin, I pray silently, asking God to make me a little stronger, a little braver.
    Our route lies through the jungle of the Hinders, the mountains dividing our two countries. True to his word, the king checks on me regularly. At meal stops, he asks detailed questions about my comfort. Are your cushions thick enough? Would you prefer your carriage to take a turn at the head of the procession? Is the wine to your liking? He is sweetly attentive, always taking my hand and looking me in the eye, like he truly cares.
    In response to the question I asked Lord Hector, my husband tells me the jungle is a dangerous place, crawling with the descendants of convicts who were tossed into the wild a century ago when Joya’s prisons overflowed. But we cannot risk a sea voyage this near to the hurricane season.
    Master Geraldo spoke of these Perditos, the lost ones of the jungle. My teacher said they stayed far away from the highway, so I’m not sure I believe Alejandro.
    Sometimes our path is steep enough that my back rests comfortably against the boards of the carriage wall and I am able to doze in spite of the constant lurching. But after a while, desert cactuses and royal palms give way to golden rain trees, dripping yellow teardrops. The seed pods clunk onto the carriage roof at irregular intervals, making it impossible to nap. At night, I sleep fitfully in a large tent with my ladies.
    The jungle rages with noise. Screaming birds, chittering spider monkeys, and buzzing insects all battle for attention. The wind cannot penetrate the foliage to cool us as we travel, but we hear it, whooshing through the canopy above. It is, truly, the most deafening place I’ve ever been.
    On the morning of day four, the jungle goes silent. It happens so suddenly, so profoundly, that I peer around the curtain, expecting to find that God has whisked us to another time and place. But the silk-cotton trees still loom above me, their dark buttresses impenetrable in the filtered light. The same palm fronds twist desperately around them, seeking sunlight.
    Two carriages ahead, Lord Hector drops from the roof to the ground, sword in hand.
    Our procession has been large and clamorous with its carriage wheels, snorting horses, and clanking armor. Yet the jungle never saw fit to honor us with silent fear. Beside me, Lady Aneaxi mutters in prayer.
    Then, far away at first, a drumbeat resounds. I can’t pinpoint its direction, but the echoing thrum makes a cavern of my chest. It thunders again, closer.
    The carriage jerks to a stop.
    No.
    Alejandro’s guard has acted on instinct. They sensed danger and stopped the procession to establish a perimeter defense. The foliage hugs our path; were I to reach from the carriage window, my fingertips could flutter the drooping palm leaves. An unseen enemy could spear me just as easily.
    Ahead is a slight clearing in the jungle where the trees retreat from the road.
    “Lord Hector!” I call, heart pounding. He glances at me; his chest rises with a long, controlling breath. But I know I’m right in this. The Belleza Guerra devotes whole passages to sizing up