Eight
I t took Cin three more days of walking with his broken boot, his foot growing increasingly more pained, bruised, and blistered, before he found a good time to slip away to the forest. Manfred had taken the money from an odd job he’d done their neighbor out to the gambling hall in the city, Emma and Louise had afternoon tea with a social group in the next town over, and Floy hadn’t left their room for two days as they poured themselves into a painting they claimed was a gift for the prince.
No one was even there to notice as Cin’s flock formed back into the shape of a horse, whisking them away toward the east.
He followed the roads he knew, riding through the ever-deepening forest that lay between Hallin and Falchovari by way of the wide, well-traveled merchant’s path that, if one went far enough, eventually connected both capital cities—both castles, even—before progressing onward toward the kingdoms beyond.
All too soon, though, Cin’s steed veered off on a smaller trail.
He let it choose its way, the mount’s magical hooves ever sure and its ears pricked as though it understood the route ahead as more than simply the looming trees and ominous rustles in the gloom that Cin could make out.
It stopped short suddenly, half a dozen of its flock members drifting off it to flit through the forest. An anxious thrill running through Cin, he dismounted to follow them.
He pressed through the trees until he found the scatterings of a camp: a tent sloppily erected, fresh ash from a recent cook-fire, and tucked behind it all, a covered wagon. This couldn’t be the elves… could it?
Cin stepped through the brush, but he hesitated to call out.
Perdition landed on his shoulder, Rags and Lacey following, all three wary as they held tight and low against Cin’s body.
He proceeded with more care then, letting each step land more quietly than the last. Nothing moved but him.
As he made his way around toward the wagon, he noted the lack of a horse despite the tack—ridden off into the woods by whoever had set the camp up, he wagered.
Cin flinched as three of his birds shot past him as though spooked. As they peeled upwards, their wing beats fluttered the cloth cover on the wagon. Cin caught a glimpse of something metallic inside.
Creeping closer, he leaned just enough to pull back the edge of the wagon’s cover.
Bile rose in his throat. Cages . Not a hunter’s cages either—Cin had seen plenty of those as the famine strengthened—but larger, thicker versions, empty manacles dangling from the bars.
Those nearest had the stain of red-brown blood.
Cin had to step back to keep the little food he’d eaten for breakfast from coming back up again.
Despite all the lives he’d taken, all the pain witnessed leading up to each kill, this horror felt no less visceral, no less terrible than the worst of everything else he’d seen.
Whoever this camp belonged to, they’d held elves captive in these very cages—elves who were now enslaved in some Falchovarian factory or illegally to the wealthy of Hallin.
It made Cin want to burn the wagon down, to pull every link of heated metal free from the others and leave nothing left of their magic-dampening powers behind.
As much as his blood boiled, though, he knew that dismantling the enslaver’s tools would not stop them for long.
To put a true stop to their work, he’d have to return later.
“Remember this place,” Cin whispered to Perdition.
She flared her feathers in agreement before taking off, back to the place where Cin had left his flock-creature.
The weight on his shoulders did not alleviate though, even as he mounted his steed and set back off through the woods.
After a worryingly short ride, they emerged from the dense forest into a quaint little clearing.
At its center, a small but sturdy log cabin had been constructed, with a large wooden shed behind it.
Despite the fine craftsmanship, the set up appeared oddly sterile, empty of the homey touches that made a space feel lived in.
Cin supposed they had just moved here, after all.
What might that make them, though: desperate or defensive? With an enslaver hunting so near to them, Cin hoped for their sakes that they were on high alert.
Beneath Cin, one bird after another peeled away from his flock-creature, gently depositing him onto the ground in a flourish of wings.
Perdition landed on Cin’s shoulder as the last of his mount took off into the trees behind him.
His broken sole flapped awkwardly against the ground with each step toward the buildings.
Cin swallowed down the apprehension lodging in his throat and called, “Hello? I’m looking for the elvish cobblers?”
He didn’t have to wait long.
An elf opened the front door of the cabin, his long, straight hair spilled over his shoulders, shining as it caught the light, but he scowled at Cin with an expression far darker than his gilded appearance.
A knot in Cin’s chest released at the sight of him—no chains on his wrists, nor hunters at his back. Whoever had set up the camp nearer the main road hadn’t managed to find this place yet. And now here Cin was barging in to ask for favors.
With the way the elf scowled at him, he had half a mind to apologize outright.
“How the damned did you get here?” the elf snapped.
Cin tried to put on a pleasant expression, hoping a lighter mood might rub off on the surly cobbler. He could always just leave, but then where would he be? He’d have lost a half day’s work for nothing. That was a defeat worse than never having made an attempt in the first place.
“My birds led me.” It would have sounded ridiculous, if not for the flock that trilled and cooed from the branches behind him, their sharp eyes alert and wings ready.
Perdition gave her feathers a tiny ruffle as though in support, clacking her beak together like a threat. It only made the disinterested elf’s expression darken further.
Cin placed a hand casually over Perdition’s back, pleading silently with her to back down. “I don’t mean to intrude—”
As he spoke, a second elf appeared behind the first, his light hair pulled up atop his head, leaving his ears on full display.
“Nonsense, you’re not intruding.” The newcomer shook his head, smiling gently.
“We’ve put in place a magic that only allows those with good intentions to find this meadow. You’re welcome here.”
That was another relief to Cin—at least he didn’t need to worry about anyone charging in on them before he had finished here.
“Elias!” The first elf hissed under his breath.
Elias looked pointedly at his scowling neighbor. “In fact,” he said, enunciating each word, “I quite miss having visitors.”
“You’re only accommodating him because he’s the first that’s made it,” the original elf grumbled.
“Don’t mind Henrik.” Still smiling, Elias stepped out of the house, and Henrik followed him, slower, his gaze narrowing on the birds that filled the trees behind Cin. When Elias held out his hand to Cin, Cin took it.
The kind but firm shake seemed to pull the last bit of tension out of Cin’s muscles.
“I’m Elias,” the friendlier elf said. He lifted his voice, calling back toward the work shed, “Johan, we have a guest!”
The shed’s door opened immediately, and a large, burly human man with dark hair and a beard poked his head out.
By the look of his outfit, he seemed in the middle of crafting, but he gave Cin a friendly nod and lingered in the entrance to watch after.
Cin wasn’t sure whether it was odd to find a human here, among the free elves, but if they had fled Falchovari together, they must have been partners of some kind.
A pang of something sharp and bitter as jealousy ran through Cin.
He tried to shrug it off. Fleeing his home was the last thing a good or pious person should have found intriguing, regardless of who might go with him.
His life was all he had and that was that.
He should have been feeling nothing more for this trio than pity for their loss and hope for their future.
Besides, one of them was still glaring at him. “What are you here for?” Henrik asked.
“A mending, if it suits you, though I don’t have another pair to wear in the meantime.
All I have are these...” Cin lifted his foot, twisting his knee to reveal the dangling part of his boot’s sole.
“I broke it while climbing, and I’d like not to have to worry about that with the next one, if that’s something you can do?
” He took a breath, then added, for the hell of it, “And, if you can make them fit only my own feet, that would also be lovely.”
Perhaps that would finally stop Floy from squeezing their feet into his shoes whenever they wished not to sully their own.
Elias nodded eagerly. “A new pair of such specifications shouldn’t be a problem for us.”
“For a price,” Henrik pointed out, his tone making it clear he intended a steep one.
Cin had been prepared for this, but the thought still sent a tingle of nerves through his stomach. He had so little to offer, yet so much they could ask for when magic and favors were concerned. He’d have to suggest what he could and hope that God smiled on him.
“I don’t have much in the way of payment—not traditional coins, anyway.” He glanced behind him to the cooing wall of wings and beaks. “My flock is at your service though. They led me here; I think they’ll oblige.”
Johan had come to join the elves by then, and he loomed quietly behind them, his expression soft and thoughtful as he watched the birds.
“Done,” Elias said without hesitation.
“Undone!” Henrik snapped. “He should return with coin.”
Elias looked put out. “He came all this way.”
“We should help him,” Johan added, his deep voice so soft that it seemed like Cin wasn’t meant to hear it at all.
Still, Henrik seemed unconvinced.