Chapter 3
3
RUNE
M y wards pinged, jingling the silver bell hanging above my door. Frowning, I lifted my eyes from the open book on my lap—I’d been engrossed in a murder mystery, where twelve strangers were trapped in a storm-swept castle together—and glared out the window. What in fate’s name had tripped them now? This was happening an obnoxious amount lately, and I couldn’t figure out how to fix it. Forest critters weren’t supposed to set off my wards, and yet there they went again.
Grumbling, I snapped my book shut and placed it on the table next to my rocking chair. The fire raged in the hearth, blasting a soothing heat through my cottage. The spring weather had warmed the past few weeks, but I liked it hot.
“I better go fucking check on it, Moira,” I muttered to the black cat perched on my kitchen table, licking her paw. She stared at me with glittering eyes, like she was daring me to tell her to get off the table again. I’d given up. The damn beast owned this cottage at this point.
I thundered over to the door, unlatched it, and yanked it open. “You coming?”
She very pointedly continued to stare. Unlike every other cat I’d met—which to be fair, wasn’t all that many—Moira hated going out at night. If I tried to encourage her, she hissed at me and all her hair stood on end, like I was asking her to stand out in the rain or something.
“Ridiculous cat,” I muttered, then ventured outside.
It was a warm spring night, insects buzzing, moths bouncing against the window. I moved toward the woods. A few rabbits darted away at my heavy footsteps, and I could feel one of the neighborhood owls watching me. I fed them sometimes, and they were getting bolder by the day, which was all well and good so long as Moira didn’t come out once the sun went down. She’d try to catch one, though I couldn’t say she’d be particularly successful. She was a funny little thing. All hiss and no bite.
The redwoods towered around my cottage, boxing it in so that my home almost seemed like it was a part of the forest, which was what I liked most about it. Most inhabitants of this island lived in the town of Oakwater, about a half hour’s walk from here. They insisted on clustering together like that, nearly living on top of each other. Windows looked into neighboring windows, and voices drifted through walls, enough for you to make out every word of someone’s conversation. They were packed in tight, even when there was all this space . I didn’t see much sense in living like that.
No matter. It meant no one came looking to build their house anywhere near mine.
My ward suddenly pinged again, and the bell’s jingle drifted toward me through the open door.
Frowning, I hefted my axe from the ground and ventured into the thick of the forest. It probably didn’t mean anything. It never did. But I couldn’t ignore it, either. Because the first time I brushed it aside would be the time it really mattered.
With the axe head resting on my shoulder, I strode through the familiar trees, not even looking as I cut my path toward the perimeter I’d marked with my Jordur sand. The sand was one of the four Galdur elements, one of the few true aspects of magic in the world. Most folk didn’t know the full depths of what the sand could do, but I’d spent my youth at an academy for those interested in training magic. And the Jordur sand, the element of the earth, could be worked in such a way that it could warn its user of intruders, so long as said intruder crossed the line of sand.
When I’d buried it in a circular formation around my cottage, I’d known windswept leaves and forest critters could be a problem, so I’d followed the instructions in a textbook I’d…’borrowed' from the academy. It was meant to alert me only when the intruder was over a certain size.
It had always worked until recently. Seven times now, it had pinged when nothing was there.
Odds were, nothing was there this time, either. But I still had to check. It was the only warning I’d get if someone found me. And even though none of them should be able to step foot on this island, I knew they’d find a workaround one day.
I stalked through the trees, my axe at the ready. The scent of wood smoke permeated the forest, drowning out the usual scents of pine, moss, and fragrant wildflowers, thicker now that I was away from my cottage. I frowned and looked in the direction of my closest neighbors. A family of dwarves had taken up residence about a ten-minute walk from here, but they didn’t usually burn logs this time of year. They were more comfortable when there was a chill in the air, having lived most of their lives underground in the caves of The Glass Peaks.
Unease rattled through me. The dwarves were good folk. When they’d first arrived on the island, they hadn’t turned their noses up at living near me, despite me being a full-blooded orc. And when they’d asked me to build their home for them, I’d been more than happy to oblige. I might not be a talkative sort with a lot of friends, but I did what I could for those who needed me.
If that fire was coming from their place…there could have been an accident.
I took off, sprinting through the trees with my axe hanging heavily by my side. Within moments, I’d erased the distance between our homes. I peered through the dense trees. The cottage was fully intact. Through the windows, I could see the entire family gathered around their dinner table, chattering away like all was well.
I heaved a sigh and leaned heavily against the nearest tree. All was well. I should have known it was, rather than jumping to the worst conclusion I could conjure.
I tended to do that. It was one of things people hated about me.
Frowning, I started to turn from the cottage, only to notice their hearth was silent and empty. But the scent of smoke still pulsed against my senses. Stiffening, I looked around, searching for the source of it. If the smoke wasn’t coming from here, then where in fate’s damned name was it coming from?
Were my wards finally right? Was someone really out there, camped out in the woods and cooking meat over the flames?
Tensing, I moved through the trees. Twigs snapped underfoot, but the rustle of the wind through the branches hid the sound. I sniffed the air, trying to scent the direction of the smoke. There was something out here that shouldn’t be, and I was damn sure I was going to find it.
And then there—a light sound drifted toward me. The steady rise and fall of heavy breathing. I stilled and swivelled my head toward the noise. In the darkness, it took me a moment to understand what I was looking at, but after a time, I saw her. An elven woman was tucked inside a redwood’s tree hollow, sleeping.
She wore deep green leathers to blend in with the forest, and her hair was a rich brown that cascaded around her shoulders. Even as curled up as she was, she looked long and lean, like an arrow, and there was something about her that reminded me of the trees. My breath stilled in my lungs as I watched her chest rise and fall once more.
Beside her lay a pack, a bow, and a quiver of arrows. A weapon . Of course, she could easily explain that away—she was out hunting for game, I was sure she’d say. She might not be lying if she said that, either.
The ones that hunted me preferred hidden daggers. It was much easier to stab the target in the heart before he had any idea he was in danger.
But there was something about her—the button nose, the high cheekbones, and the line of her sharp jaw. That, combined with her rich brown hair, made it impossible for her to be anyone else. She looked so much like a Rurik.
And if she was who I thought she was, she was here to kill me.
Sorrow weighed heavily on my shoulders. The answer to my dreaded predicament was obvious. The assassin was fast asleep. She’d never see me coming. I could have my axe buried in her skull before she even opened her eyes.
But a vicious ache went through me at the thought of it. I hadn’t killed anyone in well over a decade. I’d left that life behind—permanently. It was why I’d come to this island in the first place. And it was why I planned to stay here for what I wanted to be a very long and boring life. There was enough blood painting my hands. I didn’t want any more of it.
What was I to do? What could I do? Ignoring her wasn’t an option, either. She’d already found me. Soon, she’d nock her arrow, aim it at my head, and send it flying.
Should I take her captive? I could lock her up inside my cottage instead of letting her attempt to kill me, but…then what? I couldn’t keep her prisoner forever. And eventually, the villagers would come round—they always came round if I went too long without seeing anyone. What the fuck would they think about me keeping an elven woman chained up inside my house?
I scratched the base of my left tusk, thinking. The assassin had found my home tonight, but she hadn’t made an attempt on my life yet. I knew how these people worked. Stealth was the highest priority, and staying here any longer than necessary increased the risk that someone might spot her, even out here in the woods.
If she hadn’t taken aim yet, there was a reason.
Which meant…she might be after something else—something more than just me. And if she was, I had to find out what it was before she got it.
With a grim nod, I turned away from my new enemy and wound through the trees in the direction of my cottage. I knew what I needed to do. I would pretend to make friends with the damn elf and get her to trust me.
And if that didn’t work? Then I’d have no choice but to ask the local blacksmith for some chains.