The carriage ride back to the Northern Marches was exactly eighty percent faster when we weren't actively dodging holy fire or pretending to respect the Emperor.
There were no Imperial spies hiding in our luggage. There were no fake tea parties to attend. It was just a fast, brutal march through the mountain passes, leaving the golden, rotting cage of the capital far behind us.
As the carriage crossed the final mountain ridge, the temperature plummeted.
"My toe beans are freezing."
I looked down. Yuki was in his cat form, sitting in the absolute center of the carriage floor. He was wearing four tiny, bright red wool socks that Yua had furiously knitted during the trip. He looked incredibly stupid, and he knew it.
"I am a creature of divine elegance," Yuki grumbled, his voice echoing in my mind. "I am currently dressed like a festival clown because the air here hurts my face. This is an outrage."
