Free Thornlost (Book 3) by Melanie Rawn

first Winterly Circuit that Cade had a way of sulking that cast a murk over everyone within pissing distance. Of course, on that very first Winterly, they’d been cramped into one of the King’s coaches, not their own luxurious new wagon, but Mieka was discovering that the increase in space and comfort didn’t necessarily mean a decrease in the gloom.
    It was a lovely wagon, withal. Because it had been delivered to his house, Mieka had been able to explore its every nook and cranny. Yazz, who had driven Auntie Brishen’s whiskey wagons for years, was ecstatic about the springs, the ease of harnessing and unharnessing the horses, and all sorts of other things that Mieka neither understood nor cared about. Well, except that however the springs worked, it made for an exquisitely comfortable ride. Personally, he didn’t like being within tooth range of any horse, leave alone these huge white monsters leased from the Shadowshapers.
    Though he loved the prideful strut of touchstone scrawled on the outside, it was the interior that charmed him most. Instead of bunk beds along each side, there were hammocks that tucked away when not in use. This allowed for more open space and decreased the wagon’s weight. Woven of stout blue cording, cozied with thin feather-filled mattresses that rolled up into a cupboard, the hammocks swayed gently with the motion of travel. There were cleverly collapsible chairs, and a fold-down table and a little bench where they could play cards or chess on a board painted onto the wood, or eat a meal like civilized persons instead of balancing plates—the same ones Blye had made for them before their very first Trials—on their knees. Mieka’s wife had stitched a green velvet cushion for his chair, and had promised to have more ready by the time they returned from Trials. She worried about the plainness of the interior—no carvings, unadorned blankets, simple glass handles on the cabinets and drawers, no paint on the wood. It wanted some color, she’d decided. She was good at that sort of thing, his darling was; his house featured new splashesof curtains and coverlets and suchlike almost weekly, and her mother was working on a tapestry for the drawing room. Their scheme of blue and violet and gray, built around the blue tassels he’d given her, ruled out use of the rug he’d brought home from the Continent. Its wheat-and-green wool, cleaned to perfection by Mistress Mirdley after Cade told her what Mieka had done to it and why, graced the floor of the wagon instead.
    At the front were built-in shelves and drawers on either side of a mirror and green glass basin that nestled into the wood, perfect for shaving and washing. Jed and Jez had made the cabinetry for their clothes and gear; Blye had made the mirror and the basin. There were glass-shaded lamps, a niche for a firepocket, specially made compartments for their glass baskets and withies, and two windows on each side. Best of all for Cade and Rafe, the ceiling in the middle was high enough for them to stand up straight without bumping their heads. Yazz had worried that six and a half feet was an unwieldy height and could play merry Hells with the wagon’s balance in a stiff wind, but Kearney Fairwalk had assured him that this had been taken into consideration when the wagon was designed and should present no problems. Yazz had grunted the Giant equivalent of
We’ll see about that, won’t we?
before being distracted by the glories of his coachman’s bench: thickly padded leather seat and armrests, two lanterns on each side, brakes at his fingertips, and a tiny firepocket to keep his feet warm. That last wouldn’t be necessary, Mieka reflected with satisfaction, because from now on, they’d be traveling in summer, on the Royal Circuit. No more freezing beneath inadequate blankets during the day. No more slogging through the snowy slush of an innyard at night. No more shivering in beds with stale sheets rife with small crawly things.