Bull Moon Rising (Royal Artifactual Guild #1)

Chapter One

ONE

ASPETH

27 Days Before the Conquest Moon

The coach taking us to Vastwarren City is creaky, the seating is uncomfortable, and I paid far too much for the ride. But it’s also very obviously an artifact, which is why I wanted to take it. The exterior looks the same as every other coach that was waiting on the street in front of the inn, but this one had no horse harnessed to the front, nor a yoke for it. Instead, there was a symbol carved into the wood that I recognized as Old Prellian.

The coachman charged a pretty penny but I didn’t care. I wanted to ride in that damned artifact coach.

And now here we are, and it’s a dreadful, bouncy ride. I can’t help but eye the coach covetously anyhow. It speeds along the cobbled roads without a horse to draw it, heading for the city in the distance. The driver is a cheerful sort, too, and seated inside with us instead of riding on a bench atop the coach. He faces the windows and holds reins as if he’s steering a horse, yet there’s nothing pulling us along. More symbols in Old Prellian crawl over the front of the coach and I’m absolutely dying to lean forward and read them, but I’d have to shove my face into his lap to do so because my vision is so dreadful. I have to content myself with the knowledge that the coach is indeed magical and the merrily chatting coachman won’t sell it. No one sells an artifact.

Well, no one except my foolish father.

I bite my cuticles, squinting out the window as the magic coach barrels past a field with a great deal of people standing in it. They dig at the dirt with shovels, and it looks as if there’s a booth at the far end of the muddy land. A sign next to the booth reads in bright, colorful letters, DIG FOR ARTIFACTS! YOU FIND YOU KEEP!

“Does that work?” I blurt out to our driver as we pass by. “Does anyone truly find an artifact in the fields?”

The driver chuckles. “Oh, no, that’s purely for the tourists. Everyone shows up with a few pennies and their spades, ready to turn their luck around. They all think they’ll find the next automaton or Pitcher of Endless Wine. No one does, but they leave at the end of the day happy. I heard some of the more unscrupulous sorts take broken artifacts and bury them in the fields so people can find something.” He shakes his head. “You’re better off avoiding that sort of thing.”

“But your coach is an artifact,” I point out, ignoring the stomp of Gwenna’s foot on mine. “How did you acquire it?”

He reaches out and pats the coach like it’s a person. It might as well be. Any working artifact is more prized than gold. “A gift to an ancestor from the king. It’s been in the family for generations. I’m lucky to have her.”

“It’s quite rare,” I agree. “No one’s tried to steal it from you?”

This time Gwenna pinches me.

“It’d be useless if they did,” he tells me cheerfully, oblivious to my line of thought. “It dies at sunset and there’s a magic word to make it activate at sunrise. That word is a carefully guarded secret in my family and we wouldn’t share it, even upon pain of death.”

I think perhaps this man just hasn’t been pressed enough yet. Surely someone could coax a magic word out of him with the right sort of convincing. Then I’m disgusted at my own thoughts, because I’m imagining someone torturing a coach driver (who’s been quite lovely, honestly) over his artifact.

It’s just that the Honori family needs artifacts dreadfully. I debate how to approach my next question in a delicate manner, and all the while Gwenna stares at me with narrowed eyes. “I don’t suppose you’d sell it?” I ask. “I’d make you a very wealthy man.”

I’m lying, of course.

If I had two pennies to rub together, I wouldn’t be fleeing Honori Hold. If I had two pennies to rub together, I would have married Barnabus Chatworth despite the fact that he’s a title hunter. As it is, I am quite, quite broke…but that doesn’t mean I can’t try. If I could get the driver to sell this carriage to me, it wouldn’t solve my problems, but it’d be a step in the right direction.

It’d be something .

“Oh, I can’t do that,” the coachman says, and I’m not surprised. “I inherited this girl from my father, and she’ll be going to my son after me.” He caresses the front of the coach again, like a lover. “I can’t sell my family out for money when the money will come in simply because of the artifact.”

“I understand.” I still think someone could torture the word of power out of him, but I understand.

He glances at the back seat of the coach, where Gwenna huddles next to me, holding my cat’s carrying sack. “Some things aren’t for sale.”

If they were , then my problems would be solved…or would they? Considering I have no money as well as no artifacts, I wouldn’t know. “Indeed.”

“So you ladies are heading into Vastwarren? This your first time in the city?”

“First time,” I agree, glancing back at the dirt field as it disappears from view. I’m tempted to grab a spade and try my luck with all the others, just to see if one can truly find an artifact in all that mud. If there’s even a chance, it’s worth trying, isn’t it? For a moment, I dream about shoveling a few spadefuls of dirt, just enough to put in a bit of effort, and then striking down upon metal. I’d pull it up and uncover a gilded, gleaming artifact. Not just any artifact, either. One with endless charges, just like the coach we’re in right now. Or perhaps one of the ones that recharge in sunlight.

And it’d have to be something useful, too. Nothing like the glass candle that creates an endless wisp of rose-scented smoke. Something like one of the shielding crystals that are used in the capital would be perfect. Or something that creates a sought-after item from thin air, like the decanter that pours serpent venom. An artifact of war from Old Prell, that’s what Honori Hold needs. Several of them, actually. We need defense, and a way to fund our hold.

And we need those artifacts to actually work . The ones currently filling our vault are all dead. A dead artifact is as useless as…well, as a holder heiress with no funds and no artifacts to defend her family’s holdings. I bite back a sigh and lean my head against the window of the coach, watching as another family hurries toward the field with buckets and spades in tow, chattering excitedly.

Gwenna nudges me, and I realize the coach driver was talking to me.

“Mmm?” I inquire, straightening.

“You didn’t say who you are and why you’re heading to Vastwarren City. Attending a party of some kind?” The way he says it sounds hesitant, as if he doesn’t understand why anyone would host a party in Vastwarren. The king avoids the place because it’s said to be rough-and-tumble. That makes me a little nervous. When I envision “rough-and-tumble,” I think of some of my father’s stableboys and how they get loud after they’ve had a few drinks. But that’s only a few stableboys. I cannot imagine an entire city of that. Leaning forward, I peer out the windows of the coach to the city in the distance. It looks like a great big stain spread over a hill, with the smog of a thousand chimneys polluting the air overhead. All of it looks dirty, but that doesn’t mean it’s unsafe…

Does it?

I’ve read a heap of books about Vastwarren City, but mostly in a historical context. I know all about how this spot on the plains between two rivers was once the hub of a large ancient city called Prell, and Prell was full of magic. The gods grew angry at the people of Prell and had it swallowed up by the ground, where it was forgotten for hundreds of years. Then, three hundred years ago, the Mancer Wars broke out. At the end of the conflict, magic was outlawed, and a new industry was started—artifact retrieval. Vastwarren City was built atop the bones of Old Prell.

Vastwarren is truly the only city that’s not under holder rule. The rest of Mithas is divvied up into great estates lorded over by holders like my father, and all of the holders are ruled by the king. But Vastwarren? It’s a place unto itself, and the Royal Artifactual Guild holds sway over it.

I don’t know what the city looks like inside. I know Old Prell had grand plazas with magical fountains, and the inhabitants imbued everything they used with magic, from cups to horse carts to weapons. It sparkled with energy and the people there were rich and glorious…but the dirty stain on the horizon tells me that Vastwarren City is an entirely different sort of place, and so are its people.

The coach driver wants to know if we’re attending a party, but he’s just making conversation. Everyone knows that the nobility avoid Vastwarren and its hardscrabble, rough people. We stick to our isolated holds and to court.

But the driver doesn’t know I’m noble, and he wants an answer. Might as well give him the truth. The new truth.

“My name is Sparrow,” I tell him, and just saying the name fills me with pride. I straighten, squaring my shoulders. “And I’m heading to the city to join the Royal Artifactual Guild.”

I expect him to make the appropriate awed noises that such a pronouncement deserves. Guild artificers are exciting, dangerous individuals, the ones stories are written about. They’re respected everywhere they go, and every holder employs the best artificer teams to hunt for them. Everyone reveres an artificer.

Not our coach driver. Instead, he looks back at the two of us again and bursts into laughter.

Rude.

Once we’re deposited onto the outskirts of Vastwarren City with our baggage, Gwenna glares at me with anger before I can even take a good look at our surroundings. She pinches my arm, scowling the moment the coach lumbers away. “You absolute fibber! Why did you tell that man your name was Sparrow?”

Squeaker howls for attention in her carrier, the sound loud enough to make people pause in the busy street. I open the specialized satchel and heft the large orange cat into my arms. It’s like hugging a sack of flour that sheds, but my pet is mollified once she’s held in my arms like a baby. I run my fingers over her white chest fur while she purrs. Poor sweetheart. It’s been a terrible ride from home. Bad enough that I had to spend the last three days in various coaches bouncing across the countryside. My poor Squeaker had to spend them in a bag. I couldn’t leave her behind, though. She’s all I’ve got.

Well, her and Gwenna.

I frown at my maid. “I’m not a fibber. I told you before. Everyone who joins the Royal Artifactual Guild takes on a bird name. It’s to honor the first artificer, who was turned into a swan by a cursed artifact. Everyone in the guild is a bird, and the applicants are called fledglings. I’ve decided that I like the name Sparrow.” I pause and then add, “I know this isn’t your dream. It’s not too late for you to go home. We can say you were kidnapped. Better yet, I can write you a lovely letter of recommendation that would get you hired at any hold. Just say the word.”

Gwenna gives me a narrow-eyed stare. “Why are you chasing me off?”

I resist the urge to raise my fingers to my mouth so I can bite my cuticles. Grandmama thinks it’s a disgusting habit—and it is—but I can’t help myself. When I get anxious, I nip away. I scratch at them with my thumbnail instead. “I just…I appreciate your companionship, Gwenna. Truly I do. But this place isn’t for proper ladies, and I don’t want you to feel trapped into a fate not of your choosing.”

She stares ahead at the bustling street in front of us. People of all kinds crowd the cobblestone ways, and all of them look like they come from the rougher parts of the city. Then again, perhaps all of Vastwarren is rough.

“Do you remember when I was nine and you were fourteen? We were girls and my mother had just been hired into your father’s kitchens. We played in the garden together before your tutor came and found us. Remember what you said to him?” Gwenna asks.

I squint at her, because I don’t recall this day at all. Most of my days as a child were spent sitting alone in Honori Hold with a tutor, because Father would be away at court. Sometimes it would be a mathematics tutor, sometimes an etiquette tutor. The best tutor was the one who encouraged my interests in Old Prell, and the worst was the one hired by Grandmama who wanted me to sew and “work on my laugh” so I could catch a husband. “I’m sorry, I don’t recall. What did I say?”

She looks at the buildings around us, holding a hand to her eyes to shield them from the late-day sunlight. “You asked if I could take lessons with you. That you wanted a friend at your side and you liked me.”

I smile softly, because I still don’t remember, but it sounds like something I would have done. I was so lonely as a child that I was desperate for any sort of attention. “I don’t recall. Did we take lessons together, then?”

“No.” Her voice goes flat. “Your tutor said that I was a servant, and there was no point in educating someone destined for a kitchen. That educating me would be a waste.” Her jaw hardens and she meets my eyes. “I remember that, and I remember the next day that a position was found for me in the scullery, and I had no choice but to say yes, because my mother needed the coin. I think about that all the time.”

My mouth goes dry. “I’m sorry, Gwenna—”

“I’m not. His words made me angry.” She sets her shoulders back. “It made me realize I wanted more than just a job. I want to learn. I want to be something. Someone. And I’m going to make my own path if it mucking kills me.”

Her determined words send a thrill down my spine. “I love that. I’m so happy you’re here.”

She reaches for my hand and gives it a squeeze, and I hug her. Or at least, I try to hug her. But I’m juggling Squeaker, and she’s got our bags, and it all turns into a mess. She pulls away with a puzzled frown and I pretend to pick lint off her sleeve instead. It’s a shame, though. I do so love a good hug and they’re so very rare. No one likes to hug a holder’s daughter. “It’s settled, then. I shall be ‘Sparrow,’ and you shall be ‘Chickadee.’?”

“By Hannai’s tits I will,” Gwenna declares, indignant. “That’s a terrible name.”

“Then you choose.” I shrug. “We’re assuming new identities starting today. I can’t very well go around declaring myself as Lady Aspeth Honori, heiress to Honori Hold. That’s just asking to get kidnapped and held for ransom.”

And my father can’t pay the ransom. At all. He can’t even pay for his knights. I can only imagine the chaos that would ensue if our neighboring holds knew just how stretched thin Honori Hold truly is. A hold is considered only as strong as the land it protects, and Honori is the oldest holder family. We’re thought to be strong with artifacts—undefeatable. If the truth came out, my family’s hold would be overtaken by our enemies, our lands annexed to theirs, and our entire family would be executed. And while I’m beyond frustrated with Father for gambling away our last working artifacts, the people who live on Honori lands are blameless. They don’t deserve whatever terrible fate is on its way for the hold.

It’s the lord holder’s responsibility to protect their people, and since my father cannot, it falls to me.

So no, I have to do this. When Father left for court to visit his mistress, the courtesan Liatta, I knew I had to act. I slunk out of the hold in the middle of the night, carrying a few bags with my possessions, and left a note to the staff explaining that I would be visiting my grandmother in the eastern hills.

In the meantime, I’ll become an artificer myself, find an absolute hoard of artifacts, and replenish the Honori holdings.

Aspeth Honori was left behind on the dusty roads to Vastwarren City.

Sparrow is who I am now.

Gwenna rents a luggage cart with a penny, dragging it after her. We load up the cart—or rather, she does while I juggle my cat. Then all of our gear is loaded and there’s no reason to wait any longer.

“Come along, Chickadee,” I say brightly. “The guild recruitment meeting isn’t until the morning. Shall we find lodgings?”

“Not ‘Chickadee,’?” Gwenna protests, her hands going to her hips. “That sounds incredibly dumb.”

“Then pick a bird. What’s your favorite bird?”

“To eat? Turkey.”

“Mmm, I don’t think calling yourself ‘Turkey’ is a good idea, though I doubt it’s taken.” I purse my lips, thinking, and adjust my heavy cat in my arms. Good gods, she’s shedding like a dandelion all over my dark traveling dress. I try to put Squeaker back into her satchel but she howls with anger and digs her nails into my arm, so I sigh and heft her onto my hip like a fat orange baby. “What about ‘Blue Jay’? ‘Robin’? ‘Wren’?”

“How about I stay Gwenna for now?” She gives me an irritated look and picks up the handle to the luggage cart. “Guild first, bird name later. Lead the way, Lady Sparrow.”

“Just Sparrow,” I tell her brightly, and then breathe deep.

It’s a mistake. Vastwarren City has a peculiar smell to it. It’s a smell like a compost pile, along with unwashed bodies and a variety of other undelicious stinks. There’s a cloud of smog hanging over the city, no doubt due to several thousand hearths working all at once. I cough, juggling my heavy cat, and then wish I hadn’t laced my corset so tight this morning. “By the Lady. There’s a real stench to this place.”

“Smells like I rubbed the back of my ear,” Gwenna agrees.

“That’s disgusting.” I pinch my nose shut with one hand, juggling Squeaker with the other. She’s not wrong , though. There’s a distinct, unwashed scent to everything that I’ve never experienced before. Honori Hold is austere and lightly populated and above all else, clean . Vastwarren City looked a little run-down from afar, but I had resolved to withhold judgment until I stood in its streets.

Now I’m standing there and, well…it’s bad.

It’s crowded. That’s one of the first things I notice. Gwenna wrestles with the luggage cart while people flow around us in the street, giving us dirty looks for not moving with the foot traffic. I hug Squeaker a little closer, because if she runs away, I’ll never find her again in this crowd. Not that this is a problem—the only thing Squeaker runs to is her food bowl. Vastwarren City is dirty, too. There’s a layer of grime in the cobbled streets and there are potholes everywhere. The buildings—two and three stories tall—all look as if they’re sagging and weather-beaten, and I don’t see a single bit of greenery. Everything is gray and brown and drab and dirty and crowded. Rising above the clutter of buildings is a large wall around the heart of the city. Behind it, I see spires and tall, arching roofs.

That’s where the guild will be. I just have to get through the rest of Vastwarren first.

I eye my surroundings with distaste. There are so many people—people of all kinds. There are the pale northerners from the mountains like myself, and the sun-kissed southerners from the coast. There are Taurians marching through the crowds, their sweeping horns threatening to take out the nearest awning if they walk too close to a building, and their hooves clop on the cobblestones. I even see a slitherskin darting amongst the crowd, small and quick, his portable home perched on his back. I want to stare but it doesn’t seem polite. Honori Hold is high in the mountains, isolated by the landscape and our name. Honori is the oldest of holds, and we’re expected to hold ourselves to a higher standard than the newer holds. We only consort with other families nearly as old, and even though I’ve traveled to many other holds while attending court and visiting allies, I’ve always been left with the women, supervised and stuck in a parlor somewhere, pretending to embroider. Most of the time I can’t even bring a book, because Grandmama thinks no one will wish to marry a bookish woman and that’s why I’ve remained unattached for so long despite the Honori name.

(Then again, Grandmama would have wanted me to marry Barnabus regardless of the fact that he was a title hunter. I would be fine with that if the title wasn’t bankrupt. I’m just afraid of what would happen when he found out it is, and we’ve got no artifacts to boot.)

I once read a pamphlet that compared Vastwarren to an anthill built atop a graveyard, and now I can’t unsee it. The houses perching up the slope that elevates Vastwarren City above the surrounding lands are all clustered together, sharing walls and overhanging roofs, and I get the impression that if one house were to fall, the entire city would crumble. The streets seem to wind around the city in a spiral, lined with more run-down buildings every step of the way. Everything seems to be made of wood and patchwork remnants of other old houses. Overhead, laundry lines hang between houses on opposite sides of the street, dripping water on passersby below.

Something wet drips on my face and I swipe at it in horror. I certainly hope that was from laundry.

“Where to now?” Gwenna hisses at me, her expression expectant. “Do you need to consult your pamphlets about the guild?”

No need—I have them memorized. For years, I’ve gathered every book I could find on the Royal Artifactual Guild. I have the memoirs of Sparkanos the Swan. I have three books written about Guild Master Magpie and her adventures. And every time the guild releases an informational pamphlet, I have one sent to me so I can pore over it. I know precisely the location of the guild headquarters. “The annual meeting is tomorrow. At that time, the doors will be opened for newcomers to find a master to apprentice to. Until then, I suppose we find a nearby inn for the night and bide our time.” I smile brightly at her. “All according to plan.”

“Is it?” Gwenna asks. “Is it really ?”

“Do you have a better idea?”

She thinks for a moment and then sighs heavily. “I do not.”

“Me, either. So come on.” Squeaker howls at me and I adjust her on my hip once more. “Let’s find ourselves a nice clean inn and tidy up.”

“Oh, a clean inn?” she grumbles at me. “Are we leaving the city, then?”

“Very funny.”

But I suspect she’s correct, which is a little alarming. Vastwarren City is a dump.

Still, I knew that this place would be a little sketchy. No one comes to Vastwarren for the scenery. They’re here because this is where all the great risk-takers live, after all. Men daring enough to brave the deep tunnels of the ruins of the Everbelow, seeking out the artifacts of the ancients and fighting off thieves and monsters. Teams of artifact hunters delving the ruins of Old Prell and then celebrating their discoveries in the legendary guild hall. Fighters forcing back hordes of ratlings. Of course the city’s going to be a little frayed around the edges.

Quite, quite frayed, actually.

“Hey!” Gwenna’s indignant screech interrupts my thoughts. “That’s not yours!”

Turning around, I see Gwenna in a wrestling match with a strange man over one of my bags. The man snarls at my maid with a mouth full of yellowed teeth, and to my surprise, she snarls right back. He rips the case from her grip and then races away down the busy street, Gwenna chasing after him.

It’s like when Cook feeds the fish in the moat the scraps after dinner, I realize. Several others turn to look at the cart, adrift in the middle of the street.

They’re about to swarm in a feeding frenzy.

Too late I realize that the rich brocade dress I’m wearing is a terrible idea when one is trying to lie low. As another man in worn clothes surges toward the cart, I do the only thing I can think of—I fling myself on it and promptly sit on the pile.

Squeaker howls with indignation as she’s jostled about, but the moment my rump hits the stack of suitcases, the onlookers seem to pause. The newcomer heading to steal another of my bags scowls and waves me off, heading in the opposite direction. My skirts (and let’s be frank, my arse) are big enough to cover the smaller bags and I recline slightly, doing my best to cover my luggage with as much of my person as possible and snarl fiercely at anyone who comes near.

Maybe it’s the sight of the enormous orange cat on my chest or the fact that a woman is sprawling atop a mountain of luggage, but no one else tries to steal one of my bags. Gwenna returns a short time later, panting and sweaty. She puts a hand to her bodice and gasps for air. “Bastard got away with it.”

“Which bag was it?” I ask, worried. If I’m here without my sensible boots…

“Your jewelry.” Her mouth is set in an angry line.

Oh. Well, that’s all right, I suppose. Anything valuable was sold off the moment Father started to have gambling issues, and the thieves made off with a bunch of paste jewels and fakes, nothing more. Still, a well-made fake can bring in coin, and I had been hoping to sell them when we arrived. It limits what we can use for funds, but there are worse things that could have been stolen, like my books, or the outfit I’ve prepared for when I meet the Royal Artifactual Guild. Or Squeaker’s favorite kibble, because she’s a rather particular cat. “I managed to save the rest,” I offer when she continues panting. “Thank you for trying.”

She waves a hand in the air. “Didn’t realize there were that many thieves here.”

I didn’t, either. Indeed, the entire city seems as if it’s full of crooks and brigands now. Every man who passes looks like a potential thief, and whenever someone sidles too near to the cart, I stiffen in alarm. Gwenna grabs the handle of the cart and groans as she gives it a tug, with me still atop the baggage. “Milus’s bones, Aspeth, what have you got under that dress? Rocks?”

“Think frocks, not rocks,” I joke, keeping a bright smile on my face so Gwenna doesn’t panic. I know she hates this trip already. I know she’s afraid of how vulnerable we are now that we’ve left Father’s hold. I could be kidnapped by another holder family for ransom. I could be set upon by thieves. I could be compromised in any number of ways a noblewoman is compromised. I could find myself dumped in the woods to the east and lost there forever. All of these things she’s brought up multiple times during our journey here to Vastwarren City.

I’ve considered them all. I’m not stupid. I’m just completely out of options.

Gwenna’s right that this place is unsavory and dangerous, but coming here is worth the risk. If anyone finds out that Honori Hold has nothing but a few dead artifacts and that my father’s gambled the rest away? We’ll be tossed out by rivals before a fortnight passes…and that’s the best-case scenario. This is something I have to do.

As another passerby eyes the cart, I scowl at him and clutch Squeaker harder. The cat is squirming dreadfully, but I keep her tightly in hand. I know I’m heavier than Gwenna. My upbringing as a holder’s daughter has been full of sweets and books and very little physical work, and it shows in the size of my derriere. “If you want to sit while I pull, we can switch.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Gwenna says, jerking on the handle of the cart. “You’re the lady and I’m the maid.”

That makes me frown, because I’ve left the hold. I’m no longer a lady. I’m supposed to be Sparrow and she’s supposed to be my equal and friend, Wren. We’ve discussed this. But the middle of a crowded street is not the time to argue, so I just hold my squirming cat harder. “Let’s find an inn and get settled, shall we?”

We fight our way down two more streets (or rather, Gwenna does) before we come to an inn. There’s a wooden sign hanging over the entrance with a mug of beer and a bed on the shingle. The smell of hot food wafts out the open door, along with laughter. Gwenna points at it, raising her eyebrows, and I nod. The moment we’re over the threshold and out of the street, I leap off the cart, hand Squeaker to Gwenna, and then approach the bar.

“One room, please.” I beam my most winning smile at the woman barkeep, who wipes the wood down with a rag that could quite possibly be filthier than the bar itself.

She pauses, eyeing Gwenna with my luggage. “For a lady and her maid?”

“For two friends,” I say brightly. “We are bosom companions.”

She blinks at me, then at Gwenna, and shrugs. “Whatever. Price is the same. Costs extra for the animal, though.”

The innkeeper assures me that food will be sent up later, along with a basin of water for washing. She doesn’t ask our names, but I offer that mine is Sparrow, which earns another bark of laughter. I’m starting to grow offended at how many people think that it’s funny. Is Sparrow a common name for guild artificers? I should think “Raven” or “Peregrine” or even “Hawk” would be far more usual. But then we’re settled (on the first floor, thank the five gods), and we’ve eaten. There’s even some cooked chicken in a bowl for Squeaker, who makes greedy noises as she eats as if we’ve been starving her in a cruel and unjust manner.

We sit on the edge of the bed and, bowls in hand, eat our meal. I nibble on a small bite of stew, too exhausted to eat much. This is the first time I’ve traveled so far from home, and after days of anxiety and worry, we’re finally here. I feel like collapsing into a heap, but I know the real work has only just begun. Tomorrow I must introduce myself to the Royal Artifactual Guild as a student of the arts and see where they assign me for schooling. Imagine. Schooling, and me at the ripe old spinster age of thirty.

Briefly, I think of Barnabus and his perfect red hair and gorgeous smile and my heart hurts. But only briefly. It’s an improvement. He doesn’t deserve any of my thoughts.

“So,” Gwenna says at my side.

“Yes?”

“Am I sleeping on the floor?”

I put my spoon down in my bowl and give my head a shake, focusing on her. Gwenna has been at my side for three days now, traveling through the holder lands by night, taking coach after jostling coach through the mountains and back through the forests again, all without complaint.

Well, no more complaint than usual.

I’m grateful for her presence. She’s slightly younger than me, twenty-five years to my thirty, and I like that she’s bold about telling me what she thinks. She’s been my maid ever since she was twelve, and I think of her as a friend. Come to think of it, she might be my only friend.

It makes the fact that she’s here with me that much more meaningful. “You’ll sleep in the bed, of course. We’re in this together, and I’m determined that we consider ourselves equals, Gwenna. You’re the only one I can trust, and it means everything to me that you’re at my side. I know Vastwarren City isn’t a dream of yours—”

She snorts, then takes a heaping bite of her stew.

“—but I appreciate that you’re here, just the same.”

“I’m here because you needed someone at your side,” Gwenna grumbles. She stirs her food briskly with her utensil, staring at it and not at me. “And I can’t very well be a lady’s maid if there’s no lady to serve, right?”

“You know I’d write you a very effusive letter of recommendation,” I say gently. “Being in the Royal Artifactual Guild isn’t for everyone. I know it’s dirty, difficult work, and guild members spend much of their time in tunnels, digging through the dirt. I’m told that the training is difficult and long, and many don’t make it through to the two-part test. I’ll understand if you wish to leave. I’m sure I can sell something and you can take a coach back to Honori Hold. I bet we could find that nice man with the artifact coach, too. His wasn’t too bad.”

“I’m staying,” Gwenna says, a stubborn look on her round face. Gwenna might be the only person more obstinate than I am, and I adore her for it. “But don’t call me ‘Chickadee.’ It sounds ridiculous and…” She flaps a hand. “Too fussy. Too dainty.”

“Fussy” and “dainty” suit neither of us. I’m tall and broad, with thick legs and a waistline that shows my enduring love for nibbles. I bite my cuticles and read books and wear spectacles. I’m not pretty. I’m bland. Gwenna is pretty, though. She’s got a round, sweet face and thick black hair. She comes up to my shoulder, on the short side of things, but she’s stout and strong and busty and could never be mistaken for a delicate creature. I like the name “Sparrow” because it suits me to blend in. A sparrow is a creature that strikes me as unfussed by the need for flashy feathers or intricate birdsong. A sparrow just does its job. That appeals to me.

“Not ‘Chickadee,’ then,” I offer, though Gwenna really does look like a cute, plump chickadee to me. Even her no-nonsense bun of black hair looks like a chickadee’s cap. “You decide on a name. Did you like the idea of being called ‘Wren’?”

“Humph. Only wrens I know of nest in the hayloft and shit all over the barn.”

“Well, then, it’s the perfect name,” I say brightly. “I come up with plans and you shit all over them.”

We blink at each other, Gwenna staring at me in surprise. Then we both burst into laughter.

“?‘Wren’ will do,” Gwenna tells me, chuckling. “I won’t remember it, just like I won’t remember to call you ‘Sparrow,’ but it’ll do.”

I grin at her and take another bite of my food, glad that, whatever route this journey of mine will take, I’ll have a friend at my side.

It isn’t until much, much later, as I’m lying in bed and staring up at the ceiling as Gwenna snores next to me, that I think of my father. Has he returned from court yet? Or is he still in his mistress’s bed? When he returns, will he even notice that I’m gone? That I haven’t come down to dinner for many nights in a row? Will he inquire with the staff about my absence?

No, probably not.

The thought’s a depressing one. I told everyone that I was visiting Grandmama at her Celen Hills manor, which will work until Grandmama sends one of her letters wanting to know why I haven’t married yet and enumerating all the ways I’ve grown up into an unmarriageable spinster instead of the in-demand heiress I should be. She sends those sorts of letters about once a fortnight (Grandmama is nothing if not determined), and once one arrives, they’ll realize I’m gone, but I figure it’ll take a while, and by the time my disappearance is noted, I’ll be enrolled as a guild fledgling and safe in Vastwarren City.

I picture the scene. Father will return home from court after being away for months. He’ll brush past the staff like he always does, ignore the scrolls and letters full of notices from debt collectors. Instead, he’ll retreat to his study for a drink and to relax. He’ll go out riding for a few days, visit his tailor, get new clothes, and at some point, decide that he should check in on his heir. He’ll invite me to dinner in the main hall—and it’s always more of a demand than an invitation—and then sit as far away from me as possible at the long trestle table that spans the length of the enormous hall. At some point, he’ll realize I’m not sitting opposite him.

Then, and only then, he’ll realize I’m not in the hold. That I’m not waiting around for him to notice that I exist.

It would have been nice for someone to care that I’m gone, I think wistfully. After all, I’m the heir to Honori Hold. No one knows that we’re broke and artifact-less except myself and Father and a few of our most trusted servants. A holder’s daughter should be important.

Shouldn’t someone care?

Anyone at all ?

Squeaker makes a loud mrowr near my ear and paws at the blanket. Obediently, I lift it up, and she shoves her way under, curling up against my side. At least my cat loves me.