Chapter 50: Find Its Way Back...
The journey had already felt grueling before it even began. Every step out of Hinnom dragged at Keiser’s bones, but what weighed more heavily was the princess’s voice.
She stopped him before they reached the wagon, her expression grave, the kind of seriousness that made even hardened men pause.
"You’re sure about this... Muzio?"
The name struck him harder than it should have. Muzio. Hearing her call him by the prince’s first name made something cold ripple through him. It wasn’t just strange... it was unsettling. As though she’d spoken to someone who wasn’t there. Someone who should be.
"...Yeah," he answered after a pause, his voice rougher than intended. He didn’t elaborate, and she didn’t press.
Instead, she pulled Lenko aside. Their voices carried low but urgent, and though Keiser couldn’t catch every word, the look on Lenko’s face said enough. Serious, tight-lipped, a little too pale. That boy needed far more convincing than he ever let on.
In the end, they all agreed. Keiser wouldn’t be pushed beyond what his battered body could endure. They would rest through the night. Only in the morning, when strength was gathered and decisions settled, would they set out on the road ahead.
Keiser, still seated on the wagon, watched as Diego spoke quietly with Tyron, his expression unusually grave. Beside Tyron stood a young girl with the same hair as the old mercenary, her face streaked with tears. She clung to him desperately, and Tyron only tightened his arms around her in return.
Ah. So that’s what this was about. Keiser looked away, giving them their moment.
A sudden thud nearly made his heart leap out of his chest. He twisted around, only to find Lenko dropping his enormous satchel onto the wagon bed beside him. The thing looked like it could swallow a man whole.
"Where did you even get all of that?" Keiser asked, unable to keep the awe out of his voice.
Lenko shot him a scowl. "We needed supplies for the road. The people we helped gave them to us." He jerked his chin toward the edge of the square.
Keiser followed his gaze.
Wally stood there, furiously waving, his face blotchy and wet like he was a second away from bursting into tears. Beside him, the old woman smiled softly, her hands folded, though she made no move to approach the wagon. Neither of them did. They both simply stood to the side.
Keiser became aware of the low hum rising from the gathered crowd. The sound made his brow crease. "What are they doing?"
He turned to Lenko, who was also watching the group. The same people who had marched in mourning just yesterday now stood assembled again... this time not in grief, but in parting.
"They’re wishing us safe travels," Lenko explained. "It’s a southern tradition."
Keiser blinked at that, caught off guard. Before he could say more, a voice cut through the murmur.
"...Here."
He glanced up. A short dagger was being held out to him. Following the hand, his eyes met the princess’.
"One of the folk is a blacksmith," she said. "With help from the guild, he forged this within a week. He was still working on it last night."
Keiser accepted the weapon, running his fingers along the hilt. It wasn’t his sword... nothing could ever compare to the dragonbone hilt that had once rested in his grip---but it felt natural in Muzio’s smaller hand. Better suited, even.
His eyes caught on the faint lines carved into the steel... runes, etched deep and glowing softly. ’Anabasis’... a promise that the blade would always find its way back to its wielder.
The realization struck him. It was the same type of runic scripting woven into the princess’s own weapons... the reason her blades returned to her no matter how recklessly she hurled them into battle.
And now, so would this one.
Keiser lifted his eyes to the princess. His lips parted, the truth clawing at the edge of his tongue... what had truly happened in the barn, the part he played in it all. For a heartbeat, he nearly confessed.
But then he stopped.
His mouth curved instead into a bitter smile. The choice was already made, his resolve already sealed.
"...Thanks," he murmured.
Sliding the dagger back into its sheath, he fastened it to his belt. It sat awkwardly there, out of place. He would find a proper holster later, somewhere it belonged. For now, it would have to do.
That was the end of it.
When the wagon lurched forward and began its slow departure, Keiser watched as the children chased after it, their voices carrying down the road. They called out Lenko’s name again and again, their small hands waving wildly. The girl beside Diego, his daughter cried out for Tyron, her voice breaking as she ran until she could run no more.
But above it all, Keiser heard the voices of the people, one after another, calling out the name of the tenth prince. Their words rose like a tide, offering thanks, blessing his journey.
The sound burned him.
Keiser tugged his cloak low over his face, unable to meet their eyes. They shouldn’t be thanking him. Not when the root of their suffering, their losses, this whole predicament... had been him.
Well, not him. Muzio.
But what difference did that make?
The first day of travel passed without much weight.
Keiser mostly sat back in the wagon, letting the road roll beneath him. Lenko hovered like a hawk, making sure he took his herbal medicine on time, ate when he was supposed to, and even lay down to rest whether Keiser wanted to or not.
Sometimes Lenko and Tyron struck up conversations... small exchanges to pass the hours... and every so often they even drew the teamsters or wagon drivers into it.
They were two old men, both weathered by sun and years, who had been guiding this route longer than Keiser had been alive.
They knew every turn and fork, every hill and bend, and most importantly, which paths to avoid when nightfall loomed. Thanks to them, they would not be forced to sleep out on the open road but could always find a village or settlement before darkness closed in.
The second day was another matter entirely.
Keiser should have noticed the signs sooner.
Muzio’s frail body was not built to endure the strain. By midday, fever consumed him.
Heat burned through his skin, sweat soaking his clothes until it felt as though every breath weighed him down. The jolting of the wagon only made it worse, rattling his bones, twisting his stomach.
It was one of the worst bouts Keiser had ever endured, and he had faced pain enough to know. Compared to this, the numb agony of subjugation almost felt merciful.
By the time the wagon rolled under the shadow of the capital’s walls the next night, the fever finally broke. Relief washed over him in uneven waves, each breath easier than the last. He could almost believe he was safe again.
Almost.
But safety had never been part of his story.
At the capital gates, their wagon was halted by armored knights stationed on watch.
Lanterns flared against steel, shadows stretching long across the cobblestones. The guards demanded names, faces, proof of identity. One look at who sat inside the wagon was all it took.
Instead of welcome, they were given chains.
And before Keiser could even catch his breath, they were being led toward the dungeons.
’Welcome back, I guess,’ Keiser thought, the corner of his mouth twitching at the cruel joke of it.