Chapter 3
THE KINGDOM OF AVOURY COVERED the entire continent—from the mostly uninhabitable western coastline to the mountains that spat fire in the northeast to the plains and forests of the midland to the almost always warm southern coast. It hadn’t always been so expansive, but centuries had passed since Avoury was formed and the current succession of monarchs had come into power.
It was a diverse kingdom that encompassed a wide range of communities—small farm villages, bustling trade towns, fishing settlements along the coasts, castles and keeps, thick forests (at least one of which was haunted), and rivers that connected them all.
And while the entire land was solidified under one banner, life wasn’t as harmonious as it could be. Most often because humans were jerks.
My home village sat exactly in the middle of the kingdom.
Though it wasn’t as large as the city that abutted the castle walls, it was a popular spot for travelers and traders due to its location along a river and a main road.
As such, Traveler’s Rest boasted three inns, four taverns, and a shrine to the white hart, our local deity dedicated to the safety of explorers and adventurers.
A colorful market teemed with residents and visitors on most days, hosting wares from the local craftspeople and food from the outlying farms. Festivals with music, storytelling, dancing, and other forms of entertainment were held nearly every week. The town was a tourist haven.
In the late days of spring, it was positively hectic. And unfortunately, the quickest route from Dave’s cavern to my family’s small cabin on the outskirts was through the main square.
I lingered in the grotto overnight, choosing to eat and sleep in relative safety rather than risking it on the road.
I even spent hours detangling my hair with a fine golden comb from Dave’s hoard.
The next day I hoped to time my ride so that I passed through town in the late afternoon, when everyone was either napping after their midday meal or preparing for the evening.
I tied my armor to the back of my saddle and pulled on a sturdy pair of trousers, a large, frayed tunic, and my boots.
I wrapped myself in my tattered cloak with the hood pulled over my head in an attempt at anonymity.
With my legendary quest record, I was the closest thing to a celebrity many of the townsfolk would ever see.
And the last thing I wanted was a repeat of the badgering I’d received from Aven, once everyone learned of my retirement.
I curled my shoulders and slouched as I rode.
It was one thing to have spent my teenage years fooling royalty and taking their gold—they had enough to hand out, and other than their riches, I held no love for them.
But to have fooled the folks of my hometown into believing I was some manner of local hero—that guilt was a far heavier burden.
I deftly guided Bluebell over the trail leading in from the stretch of family farms on the periphery, down the main thoroughfare of hard-packed dirt, and into the center of town.
She danced around muddy wheel ruts filled with this morning’s spring rain as we traveled the thatched-roof-lined streets.
My plan seemed to be working, as the canopied tables of wares were shuttered for the day, but I wasn’t out of the woods yet.
When I passed the local magistrate’s office and found the pillory empty, I breathed out a sigh of relief.
“If I have told you once,” came a voice from down the road, “I’ve told you thousands of times.”
I snapped my head around and nudged Bluebell forward. The doors to the Winter Hart banged open, and a figure stumbled out. A short, balding man followed, shaking his fist and yelling. “No swindling in my place of business!”
“I wasn’t swindling!”
The person gained his feet, and my stomach plummeted. I’d recognize that lanky frame anywhere.
Zig was my twin, younger than me by only a few minutes, though he acted as if the gap were much bigger.
We looked alike, sharing the same brown hair and brown eyes.
His was cut short, though, with bangs that fell across his forehead, and he was slightly taller than me, with the slim build of someone who hadn’t ever held a sword—or worked a day in his life, for that matter.
My shoulders were broader, my muscles thicker from all the questing, while he was lithe from running away from his problems.
Zig huffed as he straightened his vest and tucked his shirttails into his trousers.
“I was merely engaging in a game of cards with fellow patrons. It’s not my fault that they were so severely unlucky as to lose most of their coin and three of their prized sheep.
Which I will promptly and kindly sell back to them once they have the means to purchase Bleep, Bloop, and Rainbow. ”
The tavern keeper scowled. “Unlucky, huh?”
“Yes,” Zig said adamantly. “Pure, unadulterated bad luck. They must have broken a mirror.” He snapped his fingers and pointed toward the door, beyond which the poor suckers were probably drowning their sorrow in ale.
“Or a black cat crossed their path! I heard there was one prowling about the other night. Or maybe”—he leaned in and dramatically dropped his voice to a near whisper—“they were cursed by one of our many regional deities.”
The tavern keeper’s eyes narrowed. He stomped forward and grabbed Zig’s wrist. Zig squeaked.
My brother might be a nuisance, but I wouldn’t see him hurt. I urged Bluebell forward, hand on my sword, while Zig struggled in the other man’s hold.
The tavern keeper shoved his free hand into Zig’s sleeve and, after a moment, yanked something out, before releasing Zig with a push. He held up a bent card—the eye of newt.
Zig blanched, then let out a nervous chuckle. “How did that get there?”
“You are banned, Zig! Don’t come into my tavern again for another month!”
“A month?” Zig whined. “But you have the best ale in town.”
“A month!” the man said again, wagging his finger.
“Why can’t you be more like your sister?
The pride of Traveler’s Rest shouldn’t have to endure a brother like you.
You are lucky I don’t take you to the magistrate.
She’d likely throw you in Lord Henley’s dungeon instead of just the pillory this time. ”
Zig lifted his chin, his lips pressed into a thin line, his brow drawn. He spread his arms and bowed. “Don’t you know, I’m a twin. I’m inherently lucky. Born under fortunate stars and all. Luck will follow me all my days.”
The tavern owner snorted. “You’re a cheat.”
“Well, even twins have to make their own luck sometimes.” Quick as a hummingbird, Zig straightened and snatched the card from the owner’s grasp. With a flourish of his fingers, it disappeared. “Fine,” he said sharply. “A month.”
He turned and stopped short. He narrowed his eyes, focusing on the spot where I’d paused to watch. “Sister,” he said.
I sighed and tugged back my hood. “Brother,” I replied.
“You’re home.”
“I am.”
The tavern owner gasped. “Ellinore the Brave,” he said with round eyes.
I winced.
“It would be an honor to have you drink in my tavern this afternoon.”
I glanced at Zig, who crossed his arms over his chest. Try as he might to exude an unbothered appearance, the tavern keeper’s words had poked at the only sore spot Zig possessed.
I tossed my braided hair over my shoulder. “I’m sorry. I would love to, but I’d like to have a celebratory drink with my brother, and well, sadly, he’s banned.”
Zig cocked his head to the side, his eyebrows raised in question.
“I will lift the ban!” the tavern owner said quickly, while waving his hands. “For the rest of the afternoon. Then he’s banned again for a month.”
“Zig?” I asked.
He sighed dramatically and turned slowly to face the owner. “I can’t deny my sister the best ale in town, now can I?”
I dismounted from Bluebell, grabbed my sword from where I’d kept it near the pommel, then tied her off on a hitching post outside. I followed Zig into the tavern.
Despite the afternoon sun, the interior was dark, with scant natural light filtering in through gaps in the worn planks that made up the walls.
The few windows were covered with cloth to keep out the flies, and candlelight flickered from waxy tapers that had melted to the tables.
A banked fire glowed in the fireplace at the other end, keeping a kettle warm in the coals.
The heels of my boots thunked against the wooden floor, the scattering of sawdust slightly muffling the sound.
The air was thick with the smell of ale and pipe smoke and the unique pub scent of regret.
A low hum of chatter arose as we entered.
We settled at a round table in the corner, and I propped my sword next to me as I tucked my back to the wall, giving myself a clear view of the room. Zig sat beside me, and I raised an eyebrow.
“I may not be a great adventurer or have an impressive sword gifted to me by royalty, but I know better than to turn my back to a crowd who have just lost a significant sum to me.” He nodded toward a trio on the other side of the room who shot baleful glares in our direction.
“Bleep, Bloop, and Rainbow’s previous owners. ”
“You’ve somehow managed to add a whole new level to the term ‘fleecing,’ ” I said with a roll of my eyes.
“I know. Impressive, right?”
“What are you going to do with three sheep, anyway?” I drummed my fingers on the table while I cast glances around the crowd. They stared at us, some sly, others bold.
The scrutiny did not bother Zig at all, but it made my skin crawl.
Zig shrugged at my question. “Sell them, I guess. Or keep them. I don’t know. Winning sheep wasn’t on my list of things to do today.”
“What was on your list?”
“Occupy myself,” he said with a grin. “In ways that I know Mom and Pop would not approve of, and neither would you, apparently.”