The Amber Owl (Heartwood #1)

Chapter 12 Stasya

12

Stasya

Vita’s Hope had meant noise, people, questions. But at least those folk had understood. They’d gone out of their way to help. Everyone knew what the Commander had done in Heartwood, though the arrival of Aleksis’s party was the first they’d heard of the fire, and the first they’d seen of its terrible human cost. Father Mikelis had seemed a good soul, capable and skilled. She’d wished Lukas would stay there to be looked after properly. As for Irina, nobody really knew how to help her. Stasya kept trying without much success. Stories calmed Irina, but there was no real sign that she understood them. Flip squeezed up close, licking her hands or face. Sometimes Irina stroked the dog, but her gaze was fixed on something beyond the camp, or the cart, or the changing land they passed through. Beyond this day, this place.

The road took them on. There were forested areas: lovely, green, full of life. Birds flew overhead, calling. But it was not Heartwood. It was not home. There were broad lakes, shining in the spring sun: sky captured in water, sheer magic. Fields with cattle, sheep, sometimes goats. Miles and miles of road.

Other stops, other settlements, larger even than Vita’s Hope. Sometimes they were halted before they could ride in. Men in uniforms threw questions at Aleksis: his purpose, his destination, the strange cargo of damaged people in his carts. He didn’t offer much in the way of explanations, simply identified himself as the Ruler’s adviser and showed them some sort of token he wore around his neck. The men waved the convoy onward. That brought back a memory: the Commander ripping off her amber owl as if it were his to take. He’d never given it back. Did he not understand that had been like tearing away part of her very self, something that made her whole and strong and hopeful? And there’d been all those questions. She wished now that she hadn’t told him and Aleksis the story. How could men like that understand? Now, every mile of the journey took her further from Heartwood, further from her home and haven, and further from the amber owl. Perhaps it had been burned in the fire. Wouldn’t it have been in the Commander’s quarters? If only she could perform a ritual. Questions were building up inside her, more each day. Questions she couldn’t ask Aleksis, or even Matiss.

She learned a little from listening to the guards talk when they were camped for the night. Dragon’s Keep was the Ruler’s home and headquarters. Not a house, a fortress. Many folk lived there, not only the Ruler and her household, but guards and serving people too. There were stables; kennels for dogs; space for farm animals. Someone spoke of prisoners, but when they realised she could hear them they started talking about something else. Dragon’s Keep had a wall around it, and a settlement beyond the wall, and the whole thing was on the shore of a lake called Brightwater. That settlement would surely be bigger than any of those they had passed through so far. Dragon’s Keep would be full of people, full of voices and noises and activity. The idea of being stuck there turned her stomach. She wanted to be a hedgehog, able to roll into a ball and show only spikes to the world. Or a fish, to dive into that lake and swim away, her ears open only to the swish and splash and bubble of water. Or a bird, a magpie perhaps, flying in and out at will. Content within its own small tribe, unconcerned with the ways of humankind. Except, of course, for those rare and precious times when the two could help one another. When some kind of magic happened and they understood one another. The memory of that moment was still strong in her mind, when she’d lifted the bird free from the palings and felt it move in her hands. Knowing it lived. Fly free , she thought. Live your life, friend . May Heartwood stand strong and stay safe for you, and for your brothers and sisters. But as the cart wheels rumbled and squeaked, and as the passengers were jolted up and down, and as the long days passed, Heartwood was moving further and further away.

Her moon-bleeding started when they were still on the road. Awkward, even though she had those strips of linen in her pack. Aleksis did stop the convoy from time to time during each day’s journey, not only to rest the horses but so folk could relieve themselves under trees or behind bushes or stone walls, or openly in the case of some of the men. At those times, Irina would get out of the cart, and the two of them would find a private spot together, not too far off. There would always be a guard keeping an eye on their general location without actually looking at them. Should either of them have attempted an escape, they would soon have been halted. As things stood, Irina did not have the will to run, and Aleksis must know Stasya would not try; she would not leave either of her friends behind.

So, blood on her clothing, and several more days of bleeding to come. Somehow, she had to deal with it. They seldom stopped long enough to wash anything, though they’d spent two nights in Vita’s Hope and managed to get some items clean and dry. She’d have to talk to someone, ask for privacy, ask for an extra stop, maybe. She wasn’t going to strip off any clothing while riding in the cart, in full view. Matiss was probably the best choice. And the right time was now, with the convoy halted and the horses unharnessed and led to a nearby pond to drink. She helped Irina down off the cart and rummaged in her bag for what she needed. Where was Matiss? Ah, over there near an old stone building that might once have been a pigsty. It looked as if he was on his own.

Stasya whispered to Irina. ‘Wait here for me. I have to talk to Matiss.’ She remembered how Irina had helped her when she had her first bleeding at twelve years old. By then, Grandmother was gone, and although Stasya had understood what the blood meant, she’d struggled to cope with the mess and the awkwardness and the sore belly that came with it. Irina had explained everything calmly; helped her have a warm bath; provided a supply of the linen bindings and pads, and made sure she knew to use them. Stasya wondered, now, if Irina had longed for a daughter of her own.

‘Matiss? May I speak to you privately?’

She explained as best she could, using plain words rather than referring to women’s troubles as she’d heard some folk do. It felt strange to be telling him something she would have hesitated to tell Lukas.

‘We should be there the day after tomorrow, or the next day,’ Matiss said, as if such requests were not at all out of the ordinary. ‘I’ll make sure you aren’t disturbed unduly. We can give you some linen bandages, if those will suit the purpose.’ He scrutinised her, as if to judge whether she might suddenly faint or be sick. ‘You look a bit pale,’ he observed. ‘More stops tomorrow, and for longer. There’s a place we know, not so very far off. A farmhouse. You should be able to wash out a few things and dry them by the fire. And take a bath if you want.’ A pause. ‘I’m sorry. Awkward timing for you.’

‘Please make sure nobody watches us when we’re … attending to matters. We won’t bolt. I can promise you that.’ She glanced back. Irina was still waiting by the cart, with Flip in close attendance. Pavel, whose golden hair made him easy to recognise even at a distance, was helping Lukas down. The men had been good with Lukas, taking it in turns to make sure he relieved himself, stretched, walked a little. Pavel in particular had taken time to talk with him. For that she was grateful. Maybe, just maybe, when they reached Dragon’s Keep with its court physician, Lukas could be made well again. Along with the burns, he bore many bruises, and that was not to mention the dimming of his brightness and the loss of his hope. His old self was all but gone. The Commander had much to answer for. ‘And, thank you,’ she made herself say. In another world, in another life, this man might have been a friend.

‘I’ll need to mention it to Aleksis,’ Matiss said. ‘Not the men; they’ll be glad of a slower pace, as will the horses, and never mind the reason for it.’

There was a stream not far off, and plenty of cover. Matiss himself kept watch while the two women performed their basic ablutions. Flip disappeared into the bushes; with luck, she would catch herself a meal of some kind. For a little, Irina watched as Stasya struggled with the linen strips. Then, abruptly, her trancelike state broke.

‘Not like that, Stasya – here, let me help.’ The baker’s fingers shook a little as she folded and twisted and knotted the cloth, then helped Stasya make the necessary adjustments to her clothing. Today she was wearing the borrowed, too-small gown. There was a bloodstain on the skirt. Irina ripped off a short length of linen, dipped it into the stream, and sponged the stain hard until the mark was all but invisible. Now her hands were steady. ‘There,’ she said. ‘Not perfect, but it’ll do. If anyone asks, tell them you slipped in the mud.’

Stasya had tears in her eyes. She had thought her friend lost forever in the shadow of her grief. ‘Thank you, Irina. Matiss said they might stop for a while at a farm, so we can get things washed and dried.’

Irina looked her up and down. ‘Your hair could do with a good wash,’ she said. ‘And isn’t that gown one of mine?’

Stasya didn’t want to think of that rushed departure, the hasty stuffing of items in her bag, the leaving of Heartwood without any sort of farewell. She didn’t want to think of Tomas, let alone speak of him before Irina was ready. ‘I didn’t get the chance to go home that night,’ she said. ‘They told me to borrow what I needed and take some things for you. Oh.’ How could she have forgotten something so important, so vital? Something as precious to Irina as the amber owl was to her, if not for the same reason.

‘Oh, what?’

‘I have something else of yours. In my bag … let me find it for you.’ She knew exactly where it was: right at the bottom, wrapped in a beautiful silk scarf she’d seen Irina wearing on special occasions, a splendour of swirling blue and green and violet that made the baker look like a lovely flower. ‘I should have given you this earlier. Here.’ She put the ring in Irina’s hand.

Irina slipped the ring on her finger. Closed her eyes. Stood there perfectly still for a few moments, then put her face in her hands and burst into tears. Her body was wracked with sobbing, as if the sorrow held back for the weary days of the journey had now, at last, been set free. Stasya put her arms around her friend; Irina wept against her shoulder. At a slight distance she could see the tall form of Matiss, standing under a tree, unmoving. She had never considered that the Ruler’s men must have homes, families, lives beyond the cruel work they did. Now, the thought came to her that Matiss might have a wife, daughters, sisters. ‘It’s all right, it’s all right, cry all you want,’ she murmured, knowing it wasn’t all right, not for Irina, not for herself, not for the folk of Heartwood or for the forest. Who could mend the wrongs that had led to this? Who could change the greed and cruelty, the disregard for what was right and good? And yet, in the middle of it all, there was one man who practised kindness.

‘You’re a true friend, Stasya,’ Irina said between sobs. She scrubbed her cheeks and pushed her hair back from her face in an effort at control. ‘Henrik – my husband – had this made especially for me.’ She touched the ring; took a steadying breath. ‘Do you think … do you think they are together now, somewhere, my son and his father? A comfort to each other in the next world? If I could believe that, if I could … It might not feel so wrong to go on …’

Flip chose that moment to emerge from the bushes, licking her lips. Clearly her mission had been accomplished.

‘I do believe it,’ Stasya said. ‘None of us can know what form that world takes. But I believe they are watching over you, Irina. Guardian spirits, who might be anything. A bird in flight. A ripple on the water. New leaves opening on a tree. A smile of welcome. They are always with you, if you know how to look.’ She had often felt this about Grandmother, whose wisdom had still seemed close even after she was laid in her grave. ‘We’d best go back, if you’re ready.’

As they walked back, she wondered if Aleksis had a family. She could not imagine it, though he must have had parents, as she had. Perhaps, like her, he had no memory of them. Were they watching over him now, as Irina’s lost ones surely were over her? And if so, what would they think of their son? He was the Ruler’s personal adviser, young as he was. That might be seen as some kind of achievement, at least in the world of courts and armies. But in the end, hadn’t he been in charge of the whole sorry situation at Heartwood? That would make the shades of his family turn away from him. Surely, such a man would always walk alone.

—

She had imagined that the whole convoy would camp at the farm Matiss had mentioned. But it wasn’t like that. They stopped in early afternoon, by a stream, and the men dismounted, tethered their horses and began to set up camp. The man who was driving their cart got down, and so did Stasya, ready to help her friends. But Aleksis was suddenly beside her. ‘I’ll take you on to the farmhouse,’ he said in a voice held deliberately low. ‘The three of you. It’s not far. Get back up.’ Too surprised to respond, she did as she was told. Aleksis climbed onto the carter’s seat, flicked the reins, and drove the two horses quickly back to the road. For someone whose work involved a lot of talking and giving orders, he seemed surprisingly expert.

True, it wasn’t far; not as the crow flew. But the way was neither straight nor simple. Aleksis drove the cart around many turns, onto more than one branching way, and Stasya began to wonder if it was all some kind of trick, and he was taking them, not to a comfortable farmhouse, but to some other, darker place. Flip seemed unperturbed, though she sent Stasya some mind-pictures that worried her. It was clear she wanted to be a bird, to fly ahead through this wooded area and investigate. Stasya responded with a picture of her own: Flip the dog securely in the cart, exercising patience. The last thing she needed right now was for Aleksis to see Flip change.

The farm gates were closed. Stasya got down and went to open them without being asked, and Aleksis drove the horses through. She was still fastening the loop of rope that held the gate secure when a large dog came hurtling down the track toward her, barking an ear-splitting challenge. Flip jumped onto the seat beside Aleksis, hackles up. Aleksis was saying something, but the farm dog’s voice drowned out his words. Stasya turned to face the hound. She opened her mind to its thoughts, which were full of the duty to guard, to protect. It was doing its job, and doing it well. She raised her hands, palms forward: a slow gesture of peace. Sent an image of herself and the big dog together, sitting on a mat before a hearth fire, her hands stroking its shaggy pelt. Pictured it laying its head on her knee, licking her fingers, sighing and falling asleep. I will not hurt you. You are a good dog. She did not look the creature straight in the eye. Neither did she turn away. The dog quieted but held its ground.

Aleksis got down from his seat. Flip jumped down too, running up to the farm dog without hesitation, though it was many times her size. ‘Good boy, Rusty,’ Aleksis said. ‘Remember me?’

It seemed Rusty did. Perhaps it was the combination of Stasya’s mind-pictures, and Flip’s confident trust, and the dawning recognition that there was someone here whom the dog had met before, but Rusty stood calm and quiet while Aleksis walked forward and offered his hand to be sniffed. Flip, meanwhile, had been distracted by some interesting smell in the long grass nearby. And now, coming down the track from the farmhouse was a sturdily built woman clad in a homespun gown with a bright red apron over the top. Her greying hair was pulled back in a scarf both practical and decorative; its vivid stripes of red, yellow and blue suggested an exotic bird. ‘Aleks!’ she exclaimed, beaming. ‘This is a surprise.’ Her gaze moved from Aleksis to Stasya to the waiting horses and the cart with its two occupants. ‘You’d better come on up. Is the gate secure?’

Stasya nodded. Aleks. These must be folk who knew him well. Family, perhaps? That seemed unlikely. Did a son of farmers get to become the Ruler’s senior adviser? Maybe, here, she would find answers. Maybe what she discovered would help her when she had to face the Ruler in person. That prospect terrified her. How would she know what to say or how to say it? What if she said the things she really felt, the way she had when the Commander confronted her in the village hall? What if her words dried up altogether?

The woman was called Laima. Stasya liked that; it was the name of a forest spirit in an old story. Her husband was Ivo. Aleksis gave them the briefest of explanations – they were heading for Dragon’s Keep, they all needed rest and an opportunity to wash themselves and get some clothing clean and dry – and both Laima and Ivo accepted it without further questions, other than to ask for the names of their unexpected visitors. Laima took Stasya and Irina into a kitchen area and sat them down beside a big warm stove, then bustled off and was heard giving someone directions about hot water, cloths, salves. Ivo and Aleksis guided Lukas away to some other part of the farmhouse; Stasya had to trust that he was in good hands. It was, at least, better than the constant jolting of the cart. She felt as if she had bruises on bruises. How much worse must it be for Lukas, injured before they even began this journey?

It was so wonderful to be warm. It felt blissful to be out of the cart and off the road. But Stasya knew she must not drop her guard, tempting as it was; she could not waste time simply enjoying the comfort of this place. A bath, yes. That was entirely necessary, and after two younger women, perhaps Laima’s daughters, carried in a tub and filled it with deliciously warm water, she did allow herself to stay in a little longer than was strictly required to get clean. Irina had her turn. Laima returned with garments which, if not a perfect fit, were perfectly adequate for both women to wear, and she provided Stasya with further materials to deal with the bleeding and a bag to keep them in. They brushed and braided each other’s hair. One of the young women brought hot tea and pastries on a tray, then the two of them left. Perhaps they were farm workers, not daughters. Stasya did not ask.

‘And you’ll want these things washed and dried, mmm?’ Laima asked as they ate and drank. The dirty clothes lay in a heap in the corner. Stasya could hear no sound from elsewhere in the house; where had they taken Lukas?

‘I’ll do that,’ she said. ‘As soon as I’ve finished my tea. You just need to show me where. The sooner I can get them hung up, the sooner they’ll be dry. There’s a good breeze today.’

Laima gave her an assessing look, then nodded. ‘If you’re happy to do the job, I’ll show you where everything is. But you must be tired. Rest first if you like; there’s a room where you can both lie down for a while.’ She glanced at Flip, who was cleaning up stray crumbs of pastry from the tiled floor. ‘And your little friend, of course.’

‘Irina might like a rest.’

‘No, I’ll help you with the laundry. You don’t need to do everything. But I wouldn’t say no to a sleep after that, unless there’s some other way I can be helpful. It would be bliss to lie down somewhere comfortable.’

In the end, all three women dealt with the dirty clothes, soaking, scrubbing, rinsing, wringing and hanging the garments from a line strung between two trees, where they would catch both the breeze and the spring sunshine. Then Irina retreated to rest, and Stasya, looking out over green fields dotted with grazing sheep, and copses of birch and elder, and a narrow winding pathway that ran beside the stream, knew there was one thing she really needed to do. ‘I’d like to take Flip for a walk, if that’s all right. I won’t disturb the stock. I grew up in a farming settlement.’ Why was it that with some people, like Laima who was a virtual stranger, it was quite easy to talk and with others almost impossible?

‘Go ahead, Stasya. Keep to the pathways and make sure your dog doesn’t go near the bull; he’s rather edgy at present.’

‘Laima? You saw Lukas, who came in with us. He badly needs his injuries tended to. Burns and other things. I’ve been doing my best, but it’s not enough. Where did they …?’

Laima put a reassuring hand on Stasya’s shoulder. ‘Ivo’s good at these things. You can trust him. He can mend animals when they’re hurt, and he can do the same for his own kind. No magical cures, sadly; just good common sense and years of practice.’

‘Thank you.’ She wanted to ask how they knew Aleksis; what the link was. But that would be one question too many. ‘I’ll be back in time to help with anything else that needs doing.’ A treacherous part of her wished they could stay here for longer than one night. The place felt like a safe harbour, a refuge from the storm. But she had to go on. Even supposing she could escape from the convoy, there could be no returning to Heartwood, not while the Commander’s forces were there. And these people, good souls as they seemed to be, were not offering her a home, a place in their household, work for her hands, even though she could be genuinely useful on a farm such as this. She didn’t belong among folk. She never had. She’d always be the odd one out. ‘Keep moving,’ she muttered to herself as Flip ran ahead along the pathway. ‘Keep on going, even if you’re scared and mixed-up and nothing makes much sense.’

A walk. The simplest of things, and yet it could lift the heart so. This was no great forest. There were no rocky outcrops to climb, no streams to leap over or wade through, no trees the equal of the Ancestor. But it was beautiful. So many small and wondrous things: sun on the pale trunks of the birches; the rustle of the breeze in their silvery leaves; a warble of birdsong from above, a greeting that had her smiling and waving a hand toward the singer. Flip was here, there, everywhere, intoxicated by a multitude of new scents. That was no surprise after the long days in the confinement of the cart. She tried to convey to the little dog that it was still best she not change her form. Aleksis must not know. Nobody must know. But perhaps, now, just for a little …

The response was quick. Flip dived into some bushes, and a very small bird, a tawny-feathered brambling, flew out almost immediately. Stasya showed Flip an image of herself calling and the bird flying straight to her, a dog again the moment she landed at Stasya’s feet. ‘Make sure you don’t forget,’ Stasya murmured.

The bull was by the gate of his field, separated from his cows and looking far from pleased with the situation. The brambling flew to him without hesitation, alighting on his back. Stasya sucked in a breath, wondering if Flip had interpreted the warning as applying to her dog form only. As it was, the bull did not seem especially disturbed by her presence, only twitching his ears a little, and that made Stasya bolder. She was under the trees, at some distance from the creature, and had intended to back away and seek another path. Instead, she opened her mind, not only to the bird that was Flip, but also to the powerful animal she had chosen as a temporary perch. You are such a handsome boy. Strong and fine. Soon they will let you go to your wives. Wait only a little. The bull raised his head and let out a bellow. Not anger. Not distress. Pure pride. And longing, a deep and powerful physical longing that was uncomfortable to share. Stasya closed her eyes, making herself breathe slowly, then gave the bull a nod of recognition and went on her way. A moment later the brambling alighted on her shoulder, its weight so slight she hardly felt it. They moved through the birch grove, and there, under a patch of open sky, was a perfectly round pool, bordered by pale stones. The brambling flew down to the water’s edge. By the time she landed, she had become a small owl.

‘Mmm. You and I have the same idea,’ murmured Stasya. For a ritual did not need fire; it could be performed in many different ways, and this pool was surely a place of wonder. There was time. Aleksis was occupied at the farm and Irina was resting. Laima knew where she was. Lukas was not yet capable of such a walk. Time to risk it, even if there were no insights to be had. Even if what she saw was as alarming as that vision of fire and death, a horror that had later become truth.

First she must gather some items to assist her. She must find tokens for the four elements, and somehow show what wisdom she was seeking. No amber owl this time. That most powerful and beloved of symbols might never return to her. But there was the real owl, big-eyed, feathered in patterns of fawn and brown, her small form neat and complete. As Stasya regarded her, Flip plucked out a single breast feather and held it in her beak, fixing her eyes on her companion. ‘Thank you,’ Stasya said with a grave nod.

One element they had in abundance. And among the stones by the pond, there was one with a shallow indentation at the top. She scooped up water in cupped hands and poured it into the hollow, making a tiny version of the pond. ‘Thank you.’ Air. Water.

Now Earth. She took off her shoes and stockings and moved barefoot back toward the trees, stepping with care lest she crush some beetle or hopper or many-legged wriggling creature. She took a small handful of soil, a fallen leaf, and a birch catkin, whose seeds might perhaps be planted later. ‘Thank you.’

She would not make fire. How else to honour its blessing? Without the recognition of all four elements, the ritual would be incomplete and there might be no insights. Stasya arranged her items the way Grandmother had shown her. Water in the west; earth in the north; air in the east, where Flip stood by her feather gift as grave and still as an owl of stone or wood. Stasya paced a small circle around the offerings, and for each she spoke words of greeting and welcome, acknowledging the elements’ blessings. As she came to the south, whose quarter bore no symbol, the clouds parted and a ray of sunshine struck down between the birches, casting a warm blessing on the ritual and its participants. Acceptance. Acknowledgement. Stasya bowed her head. ‘Thank you.’

Then a time of slow breathing, of opening the mind to visions. And when she was ready, the request. ‘I am troubled by this journey. I fear what lies ahead for me and my friends, and for my beloved forest of Heartwood. And for all forests, for all the years ahead. I am only one person. How can I be strong enough? How can I stand up for what I know to be right?’

She waited, listening to the music of grove and pond. Birds chirping; the gurgling call of a frog; the whisper of leaves. The air was sweet with the scent of flowering chamomile, and the sunshine hinted at the summer to come. Where would she be then? Focus, Stasya. Make your mind still.

A ripple on the pond’s shining surface. Then, shockingly, the image as before: the fire, the screams, the smoke. She forced herself to hold still, to keep her eyes open. It was blessedly shorter than last time. Images of Heartwood in the aftermath. Nothing of herself, or Irina, or Lukas. Nothing of Matiss or Aleksis or Pavel, or any of the men who had left Heartwood with them. Briefly, there was Jurgis, looking old and weak, being tended to by his wife and daughter. At home; that was something. The Commander, up by the forest, shouting. A crew of men hacking at trees, men who looked hollowed out, as if haunted by demons. A team of exhausted horses harnessed to a huge log, dragging it down the hill. Stasya felt their weariness in every part of her body. This was beyond tears. It was beyond belief. And yet, she knew it for truth.

A shadow seemed to come over the image, as if dark clouds had filled the sky above Heartwood, though here by the pond the spring sun still painted the birches in white and silver. Then, in the water, Stasya saw the woman from her earlier vision, a crone whose face was clearer now. Not her grandmother. A stranger with calm features and clear grey eyes and long hair the colour of thistledown. She held out her hands in welcome, then beckoned to Stasya, Come, come! Behind her was a steep rock face and what looked like a cave entry. And another figure, a tall person in a hooded cape, standing so still they might have been part of the rocks. The figure turned, but before she could see their face the vision faded and was gone.

She sat awhile, breathing slowly. There must be some meaning in this, some answer. Maybe it was only, Keep on going . Maybe whatever was to be done, she must do alone, since the vision had contained nothing of her friends or of the men who had taken her away from Heartwood. Perhaps her journey did not end with Dragon’s Keep or the Ruler, Lady Elisabeta. Wherever that place of the cave was, she knew in her bones that it was far from any human settlement.

Flip was a dog again, pushing her head into Stasya’s side, prodding her to get up and go. She was right; stay too long away and Aleksis might come looking for her, thinking she was trying to escape his custody. She walked back slowly, taking time to remember some of the stories about Heartwood and, in particular, the huge rock formation of the Hermit. Somewhere in that lore were the secrets that fuelled the Commander’s quest to make a path there, even if it meant the ruination of the great forest. Among the tales of fey folk and evil spirits, of treasure and adventure, love and loss, lay the key to a mystery. Perhaps the amber owl, her own lost treasure, was itself a key.

Not long now before they reached Dragon’s Keep and people started asking her questions again. Questions she did not want to answer.