9
The tavern in Balen’s Ford was quieter than he expected for early evening.
A few locals sat hunched over bowls of stew near the hearth, while two off-duty traders played dice at a corner table near the window.
Most of the Jinn from the caravan were eating with their families since the opportunities for profit were low in this town.
The low murmur of voices was muffled by thick log walls, and the scent of garlic and browned onions hung in the air.
Kurt had chosen a table in the far back corner that was dimly lit, partially shielded by a stack of firewood, and just near enough to the window that the virkin could keep watch from outside.
Malea arrived at the table with two bowls of stew and a small loaf of crusty bread wrapped in a cloth napkin.
She slid into the seat across from him, cheeks pink from the cold, her blonde braid coiled neatly over one shoulder.
“The bread is still warm from the ovens,” she said with a faint smile, placing a bowl of stew in front of him, along with a thick slice of the bread.
He inclined his head. “Thanks.”
For a few moments, they ate in companionable silence. The firelight flickered over her face, casting shifting shadows across her cheekbones. She looked tired but also energized in that sharp-eyed way she got when chasing a mystery.
“I spoke to the blacksmith,” Kurt said finally.
Her eyes lifted. “And?”
“There’s a rumor. Maybe more. Past the ridgeline, he said there was an old mining camp that might have been reopened by someone.”
Malea leaned in. “Who’s working it?”
“That’s the mystery. Nobody seems to know, and he wasn’t even sure it was true.”
Her eyes widened slightly, excitement flaring. “If someone is up there, it has to be connected.”
“I think so too.” He paused, then added, “I’m planning to scout it. Just enough to confirm activity.”
She didn’t hesitate. “I’m coming with you.”
Kurt stiffened. “Malea—”
“No,” she said, before he could finish. “We’re in this together. You said so yourself.”
He set down his spoon. “There’s a difference between trading information in a town or tavern and walking into a potentially hostile camp. You don’t know what’s up there.”
“Neither do you,” she countered. “Which is why we should go carefully. Together.”
Before he could respond, the window behind her creaked ever so slightly. A small green snout pressed against the glass, followed by a shimmering blue one. Two sets of bright, intelligent eyes peered through the fogged pane.
“You should not go in blind,” Sir Arch said, voice slipping into Kurt and Malea’s thoughts. “We will fly ahead at dawn and report what we see. If the camp is empty, you lose nothing but time.”
“And if it’s not,” Lady Keera added, “you’ll be prepared before you go blundering into it.”
Kurt stared at the window a moment, then huffed a breath of reluctant amusement. “Are they always like this?”
Malea smiled. “Only when they’re right.”
He leaned back in his chair, exhaling. “Fine. You two scout it first. I’ll wait to act until I hear from you. And thanks. Your help is much appreciated.”
“Wise,” Arch said with a prim flick of his tail before the two virkin disappeared from the windowsill.
Malea reached for a piece of bread and broke it in half, offering him a piece across the table. “You don’t have to protect me, you know. I want to help.”
“I know you do,” he said, accepting the bread and letting his fingers brush hers. “That’s what scares me.”
She looked down then, cheeks pinking again, but not from the cold this time.
They finished the meal in a more comfortable silence, the tension shifting into something quieter. Something closer. Outside, the sky darkened, and the wind picked up, whistling through the eaves like a warning. Tomorrow, the virkin would fly.
And if what they found confirmed Kurt’s fears, the true danger would begin.
The night had grown colder as they finished their meal, the wind slipping down from the mountains with a sharper bite.
The tavern door closed behind them, muting the sounds of conversation and clinking mugs.
Malea tugged her cloak tighter, her cheeks still warm from the fire, and from the way Kurt had looked at her across the table, his eyes shadowed and intent.
They walked side by side through the narrow lane leading back toward the wagons.
The path was quiet, the village asleep, save for a few flickering lanterns in shuttered windows.
The moon peeked through clouds overhead, casting silver across the dirt road and the pine trees that lined its edge.
She was just beginning to relax when Kurt suddenly stopped.
Before she could ask what was wrong, he reached out, gently but firmly taking her hand and drawing her off the path, into the deeper shadows between two buildings where the wind couldn’t reach.
“Kurt?” she asked, heart kicking up a beat.
He didn’t answer right away. He looked at her, his expression conflicted, carved with restraint and something more dangerous beneath.
“I need to say this,” he said, voice low and rough, “before I lose my nerve.”
Her breath caught.
“I can’t bear the thought of putting you in danger,” he said. “Not for this mission. Not for the crown. Not for any of it. Every part of me wants to keep you safe, to shield you from what we might find up there.”
She opened her mouth to argue, but the words caught as he stepped closer, so that their foggy breaths mingled in the chill air.
“I know you’re strong. I know you’re smart. But you’re also you. And that matters to me more than I expected it to.” His hand came up to brush a strand of hair from her face, fingers trailing against her cheek. “And that’s a problem,” he murmured.
Then he kissed her.
There was no hesitation this time, no calculated move for appearances.
It was raw and real, heat flaring between them like a spark to tinder.
His arms came around her, pulling her close, and she melted against him before she could even think.
She responded instinctively, her hands gripping his coat, her heart beating like wings in her chest. The world narrowed to the press of his mouth, the taste of him, and the tension he held barely leashed beneath the surface.
When he finally pulled back, they were both breathless.
“Damn it,” he whispered, forehead resting against hers. “That wasn’t part of the plan.”
“No,” she whispered back, voice trembling, “but it was really nice.”
He cupped her face in both hands now, brushing his thumbs along her skin with surprising gentleness. His eyes searched hers, full of fire and something far more tender.
“I want you to be safe, Malea. That doesn’t mean I want to push you away. I just don’t know how to do both.”
Her voice was barely audible. “Then don’t push. Just let me stand with you.”
A long pause. Then he kissed her again—softer this time. Lingering. Finally, he stepped back with visible effort, exhaling hard as if wrestling something back into place.
“We should get you to the wagon,” he said roughly. “Before I forget how to be noble.”
She nodded, throat tight, and they walked the rest of the way in silence. Not awkward silence, but a shared one, dense with everything unspoken. When they reached the Rasim wagon, he paused beneath the lantern and looked at her one last time.
“Goodnight, Malea.” His words were barely a breath of a whisper.
“Goodnight, Kurt.” She wanted to say more, to make the moment last, but she had no idea what to say.
He didn’t touch her this time. Just looked at her like he couldn’t forget the feel of her, and then turned and disappeared into the darkness. She watched him go, hand over her heart, knowing nothing would ever be the same again.
The next morning broke pale and cold, the sun rising sluggishly behind a shroud of high mist. Frost clung to the wagon wheels of the caravan and the rooftops of Balen’s Ford, glittering faintly.
Most of the people were just beginning to start their day, the air filled with the smell of cooking oats, wood smoke, and the distant clatter of pots and pans.
Malea stood outside the Rasims’ wagon, wrapped in her cloak, hands cupped around a mug of steaming tea.
Her thoughts hadn’t settled since last night.
She spotted Kurt as he emerged from the front of the wagon train, already ready for the road.
His leathers were buckled, his hair still damp from washing.
He moved toward her with purpose but slowed as he drew close, his eyes seeking hers.
“Morning,” he said, voice low.
She nodded. “Morning.”
Before either of them could say more, a gust of air stirred the loose strands of her hair, and the virkin arrived.
Sir Arch landed first, his wings folding smoothly as he touched down on the low fencepost nearby.
Lady Keera fluttered down a heartbeat later, blue wings shimmering with faint frost as she perched beside him.
“We’ve seen it,” Arch said without preamble, his voice crisp.
“The settlement past the ridgeline,” Keera added. “It’s real.”
Kurt and Malea stepped closer, the world narrowing to the words inside their minds.
“Tell us everything,” Kurt said.
“It looks like it was once a mining camp, just as the blacksmith said,” Arch reported. “Most of the original buildings are gone, but the forge has been rebuilt. It is modern, very large, and well-stocked. Smoke was coming from the chimney.”
“There are people,” Keera said. “Maybe a dozen men, dressed plainly, but in leather with some small bits of armor. They were all armed, mostly with swords and other lengths of blade.”
Arch took up the report. “They did not see us, but they were alert and watching the paths into the settlement. The forge itself was guarded too, and the scent of magical wards was thick in the air. It feels like a mage set up the place, even if he’s not there now.”
“Did you see what they were making in the forge?” Malea asked, voice hushed.