Owls were hooting somewhere, as crickets chirped along. The road was crowded, but the night was quiet; the only sound was the rattle of the carriage wheels.

  Alyx hugged her knees, perched on a wide crate near the front of the carriage. She sighed, glancing toward the back where Verona and Elissa were playing dice.

  They had invited Alyx to join, but she had no heart for it. She had played Cyvasse often with Daleria when they were living together in Volantis. It was a slow, thought-demanding game she liked for how it sharpened her mind. But Daleria was not at the table; she was at the reins.

  Daleria had traded places with Elissa earlier in the day, sensing the exhaustion in her. Now, Alyx was seeing the exhaustion in Daleria beneath that controlled facade. Yet she had insisted Alyx stay hidden within the carriage frame, safe from prying eyes. And though Daleria attracted attention with her beauty, the road felt safer with her at the helm.

  Daleria meant trust to Alyx, indeed, still there was a never-waning tightness in her chest.

  "I’ve seen enough cocks in Cockscombe to last a lifetime," Elissa grunted, tossing the dice into a circular red box. "We need to chop them, I say. Spare ones would go to the stew, a win by any means.”

  "Ugh, stop. It’s so gross talking about cocks and stew." Verona leaned back as Elissa shook the box, the dice rattling like dry teeth.

  Elissa slammed the box down and lifted the lid. "Hah!" She raised a celebrating fist, grinning at Verona. "What, you don’t like to eat cocks?”

  Verona frowned, snatching the box. "We are past Cockscombe. Cut it.”

  “Will do.”

  “Ugh…” Verona rolled her eyes and put the box down, annoyed.

  “Such a baby.” Elissa smirked, looking down to see the result. “A losing one at that.”

  “Shut up!” She crossed her arms and turned her cheek in a huff.

  Alyx watched them interacting. She smiled softly, almost bitterly.

  “Hey.” Daleria patted the wooden space beside her.

  "May I?" Alyx asked, glancing at the driver’s seat.

  Daleria nodded. “Come.”

  Alyx crawled forward, passing the veils and settling next to Daleria behind the horses. The night air was cooler here, breezing past them.

  "What troubles you?" Daleria asked, her eyes on the road.

  Alyx let out a small breath that was half a laugh. Daleria always knew. "I was just… thinking. Wondering if this was the right choice.”

  "We are traders, Alyx. Why would visiting a tourney just near us be a wrong choice?”

  "Why trade in Westeros at all?”

  "Alyx," Daleria said, her tone steady. "Do you remember our vow before we crossed the Narrow Sea? We swore to see it all, the very heart of it, of everything.”

  The heart. Alyx felt the weight of her own heart then.

  She sighed. “You know why I am fearful.”

  “What does concern you?” Daleria tilted her head, eyes warm with bond. "Are you still dwelling on those thugs from this morning?”

  "They called themselves knights."

  "Pah." Daleria dismissed the notion with a wave of her hand. "They were bandits in stolen steel. Either paid sellswords to sow chaos or hedge knights with empty bellies.

  “Hedge… knights?”

  "Men knighted with no house to serve and no land to hold. They sleep beneath the hedges, hence the name. They targeted us because we looked foreign, and likely thought us easy prey for the tourney.”

  “What do you mean?” Alyx further inquired.

  "They likely thought one of us might be highborn enough to vouch for them. Not every man with a sword can enter the lists without a name to back him.”

  Alyx stared blankly at the dark horizon. "Do you think… they intended worse as well?”

  “I cannot know, but we have enough reasons to have suspicions.” Daleria glanced over her shoulder, there, just beyond Verona, was lying a young lad, the vehement squire from before. "You saw how they treated him. Although he does not appear small in age, it is still cruel. He is likely a poor nobody, taken advantage of and used by them most unfairly. The way that the knight beat him was not knightly at all; it was a stretch. It is one of the many reasons why I think the darkness in those men might be running deep.”

  Alyx shuddered. "What is knightly with these people, anyway? They always speak of honor, but one must ask, did they think they were acting with honor there? Did the man blocking our path think so?”

  "What is honor, truly?" Daleria mused. "In Westeros, it is a currency. A way to trade virtue for coin or favor, like all the so-called pieties of the Andals." She shook her head with a bitter smile. "They have made it only a word, a rule, something that lacks real feel. True honor lies here." She pressed a finger to her chest.

  Alyx smiled, impressed as always. "You just know, Dally. With you by my side, I knew we had it with those brutes. But… even I was slightly nervous. I admit it."

  Daleria softened, smiling. Leaning toward Alyx, she pressed a soft kiss on her cheek. “You know I will always protect you.”

  Alyx flushed. Then, she comforted herself on Daleria’s shoulder, feeling her warmth.

  They sat in silence for a while, the quiet stillness of the air relaxing the night further. In the tall grass alongside the road, crickets chirped and fireflies lit the way magically. Behind them, Verona and Elissa’s playful banter blended into this beautiful night.

  "I worry for them," Alyx whispered. "I feel we are dragging them with us. But they are not like us.”

  "They saw us," Daleria replied. "They chose to be with us. Allow them their choice, Alyx.”

  Alyx’s concerns barely waned at first, but with Daleria wrapping an arm and pulling her close, she felt warmer, safer. She closed her eyes, easing into the night. Whatever was ahead, it had Daleria, and it had Daleria with her.

  A chatter, Verona and Elissa were snuggling closer as the night bled darker. A clatter, softening the relaxed quiet with how easy it had come, like the night massaging Alyx magically.

  But then, something else. Daleria shifted her weight on Alyx, applying pressure to straighten her from her sleepy state.

  “What?” Alyx muttered, rubbing her eyes.

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  Daleria’s eyes pointed behind.

  Something about the girls inside? No, horses were approaching.

  “How do you fare, My Lady?”

  She turned and left of her was a face; a face with eyes darker than the night. A beard that looked just lush enough to be nice, resting on a firm, shapely jawline and below an aquiline, smoothly noble nose. A face it was, clean and nicely proportionate at every degree. A neat dark hair there was, what escaped from sleek strays was gathered together roughly above, rather than made a tail; almost ample but just so fine even as scattered.

  She was taken a little, from his face and as well as from him calling her a Lady. Unlike her simple brown tunic, he had armor as bright as a mirror and a quality inner caftan, visible with its pale sapphire color in armor gaps. This was surely not a commoner to think she was a Lady; yet she thought nobles, too, wouldn’t call her a lady with the disguise, at least not this quick.

  “You have eyes, My Lord.” Alyx smiled with a greeting nod.

  The Lord smiled, too, warm as night. He then turned behind and threw a look to his men; so they understood, slowing their horses and leaving them room.

  “Aye,” he turned then, "And my eyes speak to me of beautiful charm.”

  The moment those words came out, Alyx expected a man’s gaze; jumpy, wandering. Yet, his eyes only locked, steady and intense.

  “Alas, my mind also speaks, saying My Lady is wary, and weary. I assume the road had treated you not with ease?”

  Alyx held his gaze. “Yet, somehow, the night has been nicer than the day so far.” She smiled a moment, eyes averting. “With people, as well.”

  She felt the touch of Daleria’s shoulder and her mind cleared.

  The moment she noticed the words she uttered and the way she acted, she regretted it all. She turned to face ahead, gazing blankly.

  How foolish she was to flirt so easily, or simply make the mistake of appearing so? She didn’t know which was it, herself.

  “From which House do you hail?”

  Alyx managed a gentle smile. “House Vendavell.”

  The man rubbed his chin. “Sounds not from Reach.” He lifted his eyes then. “What is your sigil?”

  “Blue sun on a lavender surface.”

  “Dorne?” The man asked.

  Alyx nodded.

  His smile grew. “Ah, difficult to see with how fairer than most Dornish you are. Where from Dorne?”

  “From Latebloom, South of Godsgrace. We are a very minor House.”

  “A Lady of the Greenblood.” He bowed his head so slightly in a cordial gesture. “May you grace me with your name?”

  “Alyx Tyssa Vendavell. And you, My Lord?” She tilted her head.

  He nodded curtly in thanks. “Braxter Glasser. My seat is Beachcastle, South of Reach.”

  “How fine."

  "Fine indeed to meet you, Lady Alyx Tyssa. ‘Tyssa’, is that a name of use? Or a nickname native to your land?"

  “You can call it such a word, but it is mostly a name at this point,” she replied, offering a slight, respectful bow. "It is a pleasure, Lord Glasser. Allow me to ask: are you a knight as well?”

  He was wearing quite the armor, riding a horse so skillfully, and brimming with cool confidence. He looked like a Knight, different from those she saw, and different from how she imagined a Reach Lord with a castle would be: snobby and mind-crippled.

  “I am. A Lord and a Knight serving the Lord I am. Allow me to ask: would a Lady be so kind as to grant me her favor?”

  Alyx giggled softly, covering her mouth with her hand to maintain her elegance. Surely, he had his way with words.

  "I cannot say. Knights treated us inhumanely on the road today.”

  Braxter’s eyes fell with disappointment. “A heart-cutting pity.” He met her eyes again, seeming sincere in his gaze. "My deepest apologies, my Lady, for any bitterness caused by men who call themselves knights but possess the manners of swine.”

  “I thank you.”

  "Still, though you have every reason to shun me, I have an offer to make.”

  “An offer?”

  "Aye. The moon is high. It will be difficult for ladies such as yourselves to find lodgings in Ashford. I’d say even searching for one is not feasible.”

  It sounded more like an invitation rather than an offer as soon as he spoke. What else was she expecting from a man?

  "We are capable of making camp, my Lord.”

  "I suggest not. I see you are wary, but I have no ill intentions. I have a manor just north of Ashford, lent to me by a cousin. It is private. You would have beds, warm food, and shelter. You will have no one to bother you.”

  "A most kind gesture. But I am not keen.”

  Braxter’s head fell forward; it was a movement indicating partly an understanding bow, partly a disappointed begging. “You have no reason to be concerned. I can see that you are reading this as just me saying ‘come’, but I assure you it is an honest offer, for I can see you are merchants from Dorne. I have many relations with Dorne, and have Dornish goods to sell at the tourney, but no merchants to vend them. Even more are to be brought as there are carriages from Beachcastle coming after me. I had thought to find business in Ashford, but the earlier the better. I will sponsor you with a stall, pavilion, storage, carriage, connection, and protection.”

  "It is… generous," Alyx admitted.

  "Let me make it more so: I will entrust you with my goods, and you sell yours freely. I will ask only a humble share of your profits, and you shall have a larger share of the profits from mine.”

  “My Lord,” Daleria suddenly leaned forward past Alyx’s frame, showing her face. “If you speak of trade, please speak of numbers with clarity. A deal needs details.”

  "I’ll take a tithe," Braxter said, shifting forward to face Daleria. "Ten percent of your daily sales, and fifteen of mine for your labor. We shall operate two stalls, one for your goods and one for mine. You can operate your stall however you wish, and the deal stands even if goods on one side were to drain. We’d just sell the stall, split the money from the stall, and continue with the rest with the same numbers. I imagine this offer will easily have you exceeding your expected income by a great margin.”

  Daleria’s eyes turned sharp, looking up as if counting the coins flowing. The firelight from the carriage lantern reflected the sharpness in her light blue irises. She was doing the sums, calculating the weight of silver against the weight of risk.

  "Fifteen percent on your goods, and we keep ninety of our own,” Daleria repeated slowly, her voice losing some of its defensive edge as she faced him again. “It is fine labor… but still labor, what you are asking. A heavy, tiresome labor.”

  Braxter chuckled. "What else were you expecting? A charity? Surely business is not this simple.”

  “Indeed, it is not.” Daleria smirked. “So why should we accept this offer?”

  “Because it is vanity,” Braxter smirked back. “If Lord Glasser stands behind a stall shouting prices for Dornish red and Myrish lace, the other lords will snicker that my coffers are empty. But if I patronize beautiful merchant ladies, sponsoring them to sell exquisite goods? Then that, I call a good trade. For both sides." His eyes shifted to Alyx. "Appearances are everything in Reach, indeed, as well as for the rich. Is that not a fair accord?”

  He had his logic; Westerosi nobility were notoriously fragile about their image. If they were to do trade in such a tournament, it was only natural that they’d seek merchants to trade for themselves. He was not offering anything unsensible, but the way his dark eyes lingered on Alyx’s face suggested he was seeing more than coin. She felt a flush rise to her cheeks.

  Half to hide, half to check, she turned to Daleria. Her Volantene friend held Braxter’s gaze for a long moment, searching for deceit, before finally letting out a short breath.

  “At least you are honest. But nobody said otherwise.” Daleria simply chuckled with open palms. Eyes narrowed, staring seriously now. “If we are to accept, I do not say we are, we will require secure quarters. We sleep in the same room. All of us.”

  "I would expect nothing less," Braxter bowed his head.

  A bit nervous, Alyx leaned toward Dally, her voice a whisper. “Are we really going to stay in his house?” She locked eyes with her.

  “I do believe we can, but…” Daleria stared at Braxter. It was an intense stare; a stare of warning.

  “How hurtful to be treated as a danger.” Braxter sighed, his smile wry.

  “Shameful for your kind rather than your own, My Lord, nothing personal.” Daleria smiled with her own counter.

  “Hah! True enough.” Braxter gathered his reins. “Look, it is not my house to start with. There will be many other people around. To add: I do believe you have reasons, but if you are so very untrustful of me, one of you can come with me to see the place before staying.”

  A pause and a thoughtful strike: Daleria leaned back and looked up at the air.

  Then, she nodded before facing him again. “Fine, I will come so we shall speak of more details on the way.”

  Braxter nodded.

  “What about the carriage?” Alyx asked.

  “Where do we need to part?” Daleria asked, looking at Braxter.

  “There is a turn with a pathway bridge just up ahead.” Braxter turned his horse slightly and pointed with a gauntleted hand. “It’s about a hundred paces past that copse of pines. A clear path, well-trodden.”

  The carriage slowed.

  Wood creaked, leather sighed, and the horses snorted as the road forked ahead; one path continuing toward Ashford proper, the other narrowing into a darker ribbon beneath leaning trees. A small stone bridge arched over a shallow stream, moonlight glinting faintly on its damp back like a blade’s edge.

  “Very well,” Daleria said, stepping down from the carriage onto the dirt road. She brushed dust from her sleek gray trousers beneath her pristine sleeveless cotton. “I will take one of our horses.” She went behind to get the cheap saddle they had, a gift from Elissa.

  “Um, what is happening?” Verona spoke to her when she appeared behind.

  “Nothing you need to worry about,” Daleria said, taking and carrying the saddle with effort.

  She went front again to place the saddle on Lightspare: the white horse next to their chestnut-haired one, Lordling.

  After settling the saddle well enough with adjustments and separating the horse from the carriage, she swung herself up on it. She turned back to Alyx

  “Pull somewhere near and wait for me.”

  Alyx nodded.

  “We shall see you at the hearth, my most angelic Lady,” Braxter called out, his voice smooth as silk. But Daleria only stared as if she was hearing and seeing razor-sharp edges dangerously close.

  Braxter spurred his horse, and they trotted off into the gloom, his men trailing behind like fast shadows.

  They watched them go until silence finds them alone.

  “Handsome or trouble?” Verona suddenly turned to Alyx.

  “I’d just cut.” Elissa earned a frown and a fist from Verona on her shoulder.

  Alyx’s deep blue eyes stared straight ahead, fixed on the world. Handsome or trouble? It was a truly good question.

  Her lips parted.

  “Handsome enough to be trouble.”