I sat with my back against the seat of the coach, my eyes glancing at the snoring form of the Sovereign every so often.
'He's never snored before.' I thought then turned my eyes and thoughts to the night as we drove along the dirt road. I worried for Brigitte most nights when she said that she wanted to drive, I didn't understand it. But, we were different people and she always seemed to jump to the position.
We drove for all night and settled down in early morning. Brigitte parked the coach with a creak that made us both tense from nervousness. But the rickety coach somehow managed to stay together.
Roasting some old chicken from yesterday over the crackling fire we talked about what we should start with first.
We decided that cloaks were our first priority, it was always safer to be hidden.
Leaving one piece of chicken for the Sovereign we began to stitch together a cloak for me out of a dark, blue, woollen material.
Hearing a sound of movement we both turned our heads to the coach and saw the door open and a bleary eyed Sovereign stepping out.
He stumbled forward and clutched at the door and pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes.
"Good morning." I said cheerily.
"Don't. Just don't." He said still closing his eyes.
I giggled and we continued with our work.
He eventually stumbled over to where we were sitting and began to chew his chicken blandly. Looking up he squinted his eyes at us and I looked away.
"What are you doing?" He asked.
"Working on making a cloak. We'll do yours next." I said in a snippy tone.
"Is that so? Because it looks like you're stitching a piece of meat."
My head swerved violently and I snapped, "And what would you know of sewing?"
He sat back, resting his head on a stone, "You pick up a few things while at sea, flower." I frowned at his use of the derogatory term, "Such as how to patch a sail, and one would want a sail airtight."
I looked down at my stitches and compared them to Brigitte's which were all even and pulling the fabric together neatly and not in bunches. Feeling embarrassment run hot in my veins I threw my work at the Sovereign, "Fine! Then show us all how well you can sew."
I crossed my arms over my chest as I sat unhappily.
He tossed the dark cloak-in-the-making off of his face and said, "Later, it's not imperative. First we must speak."
"Speak of what?" I said, coming across as offensive when I was genuinely curious as to what he wanted to speak of.
"The Premier is dead."
I felt a chill run through my veins, though I did not know why, I never knew the man but by the way the Sovereign said it, it felt... sadder and darker.
"H-how did you find it out?" I asked.
"One of the men at the tavern was coming from the capital on his way to Waxingville, he said that things are better there than here." He paused and I could see that his eyes were thinking, "The people apparently revolted when they heard of my overthrowall, the Premier was lenient to the outcries and the Lords had him killed."
My heart clenched at the news and I felt the urge to comfort him, not understanding why.
"What of his son, your friend?" I asked knowing that he'd seemed close to him.
"The man said nothing and I'd thought it not wise to prod further." He answered.
I nodded and we sat silently.
After resting from the constant moving for a few hours we all climbed back into the coach.
The Sovereign worked on the cloak, pulling the needle through the fabric with expert hands. I couldn't help myself and I watched fascinated at the intricate stitches he made, tugging the thread to make it secure.
"Why did you learn to sail?" I asked turning my eyes to look out the window at the thin forest of oaks that we passed. The air was getting colder and I pulled my scarf around my arms.
He glanced up from his work and looked at me skeptically then returned to his work, "When I was a boy I received a ship from Viskogorny as a gift, and because their naval fleet is not exactly the strongest it was considered a great gift. My father put all of my teaching resources to sailing, for most of my younger life I sailed all of the Cadaraman Sea and the Great Sea."
He stopped and I looked at him as his fingers worked nimbly. And his eyes looked focused and relaxed.
"Did you like it?" I ventured wanting to know more.
His brown eyes moved once again from his work and lingered on me a little longer, "Why do you want to know?" He asked.
I clenched my fists nervously, I didn't know why I wanted to know, I was curious. Shrugging my shoulders I answered, "I'm curious."
He squinted his eyes at me and his hands returned to his work, never answering my question. Maybe he hadn't liked it.
By the end of that day he had finished my cloak. Resting it on my shoulders and tying it in place it fit very comfortably.
He simply ignored me and sharpened his weapons. I didn't want to say thank you, the thought of thanking him for something seemed wrong.
After our short dinner we set off and continued on for the capital.