Luvenia woke up alone in her carriage.
The events of the previous night crashed down upon her consciousness. She scrambled up and out, nearly falling out of the carriage before she found her feet and stumbled into the rosy light of dawn.
Iron Hans—or, rather, the woman whom her father had called "Iron Hans"—was sitting by the remnants of a small campfire between the two carriages. She had cast aside her dark cloak. Her clothes were as masculine as the name she bore: a long-sleeved shirt of drab fustian, a leather jerkin in a different shade of drab, trousers in another unmatched drab hue, and (breaking up the motley monotony) a pair of stout black boots.
"I've taken care of everything I could." She did not look up at Luvenia. "Lord Phaon and Lord Caradon are in their carriage."
Luvenia was a little relieved not to have to see their corpses. She looked down at her hands, and saw that someone had cleaned the blood from them, though her torn dress was still stained.
"I fainted," she theorized aloud. She had laughed until she was lightheaded, and that was the last thing she remembered until waking a moment ago.
"I don't blame you. You held up remarkably well up to that point."
"For a princess, you mean."
The woman's smile was uneven. One side of her mouth had a tight scar that prevented it from stretching more than a centimeter from true.
"For anyone your age. Anyone at all, really. I've seen grown men go to pieces at the sight of blood."
"We all have blood," said Luvenia dismissively. "Men might be able to forget that, but we get reminded pretty regularly."
The woman laughed—the same deep rumbling laugh as before. Luvenia felt a twinge of longing to lean on that broad chest, to let that laughter warm her right through.
Mortified, she turned so the woman could not see her expression.
"What actually happened? I didn't see anything but... the aftermath."
"Horse thieves. I'm not sure how many. At least two with throwing knives, or one with considerable skill. They took out the coachmen first."
Luvenia had not spared a thought for either of the coachmen, living or dead. Her face burned with shame.
"They cut the horses loose, then they must have gone into the envoys' carriage. I got out too late to save either of them."
"At least you tried."
"No—it was my fault."
Luvenia joined her at the smoldering campfire. The ground was cold but not freezing. She did her best to ignore the darker patches of earth that represented last night's casualties.
"What makes you say that?"
"Iron Hans" glanced at her, just briefly, before letting her gaze drop to the embers. Her face was heavily scarred on one side; her nose had been broken at some point and healed badly; her mousy hair was marred by a broad streak of white.
"I knew I should have ridden with the coachman, but I didn't want him to bother me, so I stayed in the carriage instead."
"But I was..." She didn't want to say 'in your lap' aloud. "...right there with you. Doesn't that make it my fault as well?"
"No!" The woman looked up at her earnestly. "Not at all, your highness. It was my idea, and this is the first time you've traveled, so–"
"It's not my first time."
Luvenia wanted to take back the words. She didn't think she had it in her to relate the story of her first journey, and of the worst night of her life—even including last night.
To her great relief, "Iron Hans" did not press her for further details.
"You mustn't blame yourself, your highness. You did everything you could, and more than anyone would have asked of you."
She didn't want to think about what else she could have done, so she changed the subject.
"How did you stop the bandits?"
"Most of them were already gone with the horses. There were only three left."
"And...?"
The woman leaned over and pulled her discarded cloak to one side. Lying in the dirt was a very weird sword, its blade bent into a broad "U" shape so the tip pointed back toward the hilt.
"I took one of their sabers and showed them what I can do to solid steel." Her smile did not reach her eyes. "They decided not to find out what I can do to flesh and bone."
"You bent that? With your HANDS?"
"I'm the strongest man in seven kingdoms. Hadn't you heard?"
It sounded almost like a taunt, but Luvenia did not take offense. She could see a great weariness in the woman's eyes, in the set of her jaw, in the sag of her broad shoulders.
"About that... I'd like to know exactly how you became 'Iron Hans,' and why... if you don't mind telling me."
The woman said nothing for a few minutes. Luvenia waited in companionable silence, then made a tactical decision to change the subject again.
"Thank you for... washing my hands, and looking after me. I must have been a mess."
"Oh. A little, I suppose." The woman looked shyly away. "I would've changed your clothes, but I didn't think you'd want to have been undressed without asking first."
"You're right. That was very thoughtful of you."
After an awkward pause, she ventured a question.
"What should we do now? I'm not familiar with this part of the world." Or any part of the world, really, but that was less relevant to their present situation.
"We're a few hours from the capital." "Iron Hans" stamped out the last of the embers. Her boot left a deep imprint, clear through the ashes into the dirt. "I can pull one carriage, but we'll have to leave the other. –With your permission, princess."
"I'll defer to your judgment."
"Thank you, your highness."
"I should be thanking YOU, Hans." Luvenia paused. "Or would you like me to call you by another name?"
The woman looked surprised by the question.
"Hanna," she said finally. "I'm... I used to be Hanna."
"Hanna." Luvenia gave her an honest smile. "It's a pleasure to meet you."
***
While Hanna moved the luggage around, Luvenia used the Middewold envoy's pencil and a blank sheet from his satchel to write a note. She was more accustomed to writing with swan quills, and found she rather preferred the ease of using a pencil. Her culture lessons had not included the preferred writing implements of other kingdoms, but she rather hoped Middewold was a nation of pencil-pushers.
The note said:
"This carriage was abandoned on the seventeenth day of the third month of spring in the twenty-third year of the reign of Eddard of Alatir, first of his name. Our party was beset by thieves who took four horses and four lives. The survivors have continued their journey toward the palace of Middewold.
"I attest that this statement was written in my own hand and by my own will.
"Luvenia Charisse Eddine, Princess of Alatir."
She had no signet ring, so she pinned the note closed with the needle from Myra's parcel and left it on the carriage floor before closing the door.
"Did you mention me?"
Luvenia jumped. Hanna stepped back with a murmur of apology.
"No, it's fine. I'm fine." She took a steadying breath. "I didn't give any names but my own."
"I'm sure you did right, your highness."
"I hope so." Her writing classes had somehow overlooked the finer points of formatting notes to leave in abandoned carriages. She was beginning to wonder if her tutors had ever taught her anything that would be useful outside the palace. "What now?"
"I'm ready when you are, your highness, though I'm afraid the driver's seat won't be very comfortable for you."
"It should be fine for a few hours."
She looked over the Middewold carriage with wonder and trepidation. All her luggage was strapped especially on the boot, while the envoys' had been consigned to the cabin along with their remains. Hanna had ripped out the benches, which lay in an incongruous heap on the side of the road, to make room for four bodies (those of the coachmen as well as of the envoys) and to incrementally lighten the load. It still seemed too heavy to be drawn by a team of horses, let alone a single person.
"Are you absolutely sure you can pull that thing?"
"Pretty sure. I've yet to find my limit."
Luvenia held back her questions. Hanna had promised to tell her everything she wanted to know once they got underway.
"I'll take you at your word. Help me up there, please."
Hanna locked her fingers together and let Luvenia step into her palm. The princess steadied herself with a hand on Hanna's shoulder; she would have expected to be less anxious about touching "Iron Hans" after learning she was a woman, but if anything she felt much more self-conscious. She quickly stepped up and onto the footboard.
"Oh—I meant to put a blanket or something up there for you." Hanna also looked very self-conscious. "But I didn't want to go through your things without asking, so I couldn't find one."
"That's all right. I've got something."
She started to hitch up her skirt. Hanna looked away at once, which somehow embarrassed Luvenia more than if the other woman had watched.
The bundled shawl fell apart in her lap. She had not been able to retie it as neatly as Myra. Another gap in her education.
She tucked everything but the shawl and the candied ginger into her sleeves. The shawl went over her shoulders; the ginger went into her mouth; the paper twist went up her sleeve with the rest of her things.
"Ready up there?"
"Ready!"
Hanna had rigged up what remained of the harnesses in order to hitch herself to the carriage. The pole rested on her shoulder, while a horse's collar across her chest served as the linchpin of the arrangement. Luvenia was not convinced that any of this would be safe or effective, but she would freely admit that she lacked sufficient practical knowledge to make an authoritative judgment.
"Hold on while I gauge my speed."
Luvenia held onto the edge of her seat.
Hanna took a step forward.
The carriage followed.