Chapter 15
TO CALL THE FIRST FARM on the right a “farm” was maybe a little too generous.
It was probably a farm in a past life. The spring season was far enough underway that crops should have been sprouting.
What we found was an unplowed and seedless field covered in grass, and a smattering of roaming farm animals.
A nearby sheep bleated, and Aven surreptitiously took a step closer to my side.
A small broken fence lined the path that had brought us there.
A hinged gate swung open easily, though with a squeak that made me wince.
A long lane lined with wildflowers led to a quaint clapboard house.
It was much nicer than the house Zig and I had grown up in, with a painted covered porch and a roof that appeared to be well maintained.
“Shall we?” I asked, pushing through the gate and walking briskly down the lane. A donkey ambled close but took one look at us, a clump of grass in its mouth, and left, unimpressed.
Farrah giggled.
We climbed the small set of stairs and gathered on the porch. A two-seater swing hung on one side, lazily moving in the breeze. A woven mat was at our feet, and a horseshoe was nailed above the heavy, rounded door. Huh. The inhabitant was superstitious.
Aven stood at my back, Farrah and Zig to my left, leaving me in front to knock.
I took a breath. I had no idea what to expect.
How old would the grandson of a sixty-five-year-old man who’d died fifty years ago be?
At least middle-aged. Right? What the ancients were we doing?
This was a wild goose chase. I should’ve taken Dave up on his offer.
Screw my reputation. Zig was going to die because I’d trusted the wrong person and—
Aven reached around my body and knocked.
I glanced at them.
They shrugged. “You hesitated.”
Shuffling came from the other side, then a thump, followed by a muttered curse. The door swung open.
“Yes?”
It was a teenager. A teenager who had obviously just awoken, with a blanket draped over his boxy shoulders, a line from a pillow across one cheek. His messy brown hair fell into his eyes, and he ran his hand through it, pushing it back to squint at us.
“Hi,” I said, smiling in the most open and friendly manner I had.
“Oh shit,” he said, voice low and gravelly. Then slammed the door in our faces.
I blinked. Okay, so of all the things I had expected, that was not one of them.
“I don’t know about you guys, but I think I’m in love.” Zig clasped his hands over his heart and mock-swooned. “He’s hot.”
Farrah elbowed him on my behalf.
Aven frowned. They reached around me and banged on the door.
It creaked slightly open, and the kid gazed out from a sliver.
“Hi,” I said again.
He squeaked.
Okay. I didn’t know what was going on with this guy, but we needed answers. I shoved my foot between the edge of the door and the jamb so that the teen couldn’t close it again.
“We’re looking for Rylan Smith,” I said. “Know him?”
“I can’t believe this is happening,” he said.
Farrah twisted, looking around. “What’s happening?”
“Princet Aven and Ellinore the Brave are in Ashin, and they are on my porch. It’s a dream come true. I can’t believe I manifested this with my vision board.”
“Oh no,” I muttered.
The door opened wider. “Sorry,” he said, shrugging off the blanket and throwing it behind him.
He wore a pair of tattered trousers and a long sleeping shirt, which he hastily tucked in.
He ran his hands through his hair several times and cleared his throat, before puffing his chest out and dropping his voice. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
Zig snorted. Farrah cackled.
I was one hundred percent certain that Aven and I shared similar sentiments, in that we hoped this was not Rylan Smith.
“Uh…,” I said, eloquent as ever. “Does that mean you’re Rylan Smith?”
“Oh!” The teen took a step back, opened the door wide, then bowed at the waist, gesturing for us to enter. “Yes. I am Rylan! At your service. Please enter my grandfather’s humble abode.”
Aven bent their head toward me. “What is happening?”
I shook my head. I had no clue.
I stepped inside and immediately sneezed. The sickly sweet smell of degrading parchment pervaded everything, and it was mixed with the musty scent of dust and aged leather. Farrah raised her sleeve to her nose. Zig’s eyes watered.
Aven rolled their shoulders. “Smells just like the castle archives,” they said, voice low and awed as they stepped into the house.
The house itself was… interesting. One window was made of artful stained glass, and the other of bottles glued together.
Both cast sparkles of light across Rylan’s brown skin as he gestured to us to follow farther inside.
Every flat surface was covered with… trinkets?
Maps? Spoils from adventures? Was that a stuffed sprite cadaver?
Dragon bones? Dave would not be happy about that.
And not only was there clutter all around us, but all manner of things hung from the ceiling—more horseshoes, for one, as well as strings of vibrantly painted rocks, wheatgrass woven into certain shapes, coins with holes bored in the middle, and the spine of some kind of creature.
Stacks of parchment with writing or sketches of various things wobbled with our footsteps.
Rows of salt and ash lined the windowsills, and the shutters were hammered into place with iron nails.
“Oh, my Lady in the Sea,” Farrah whispered. “We are going to die in here.”
My sentiments exactly.
Rylan led us through the house—past a sitting room with a grand fireplace, a cushioned settee, and a rocking chair.
All of which were covered in items and a thin layer of dust. He guided us through a kitchen area, with a table and chairs and a hearth.
Again, all messy. And through a door to a back porch, then outside.
“Um…” Zig said. “We’re outdoors again.” He jerked his thumb back at the house as we followed Rylan down a stone path. “Should we be in there?”
Rylan hummed. “Do you want to be in there?”
“Not particularly.”
“Fair. This way.”
We followed a stone pathway through a barrier of trees that then opened up into a meadow. In front of us sat a second cottage, more picturesque than the first.
“This is my home.”
Rylan pushed open the door with his shoulder, and I let out a relieved sigh when we found the interior neat as a pin.
He brushed off imaginary lint from a cushioned couch in front of a fireplace and guided Aven and me to sit, leaving Zig and Farrah to their own devices.
In the corner, propped on a stand, holding a place of honor among all the belongings, was a lute made with lacquered wood and decorated with a beautiful design of small birds flying around the edges.
Several parchments with writing and musical notes were tacked to the wood of the walls.
A lone cushioned chair sat in the far corner, with a pair of knitting needles and a basket of yarn by the side.
“Drinks?” Rylan called from a kitchen area, hands fluttering around a cabinet next to a small, round table. “Water? Tea? Wine? I have some mead, if you’re interested.”
Zig raised his hand, and I smacked it down.
“No, thanks. We… uh… just wanted to talk.”
Rylan bobbed his head. He pulled over the chair from the corner and sat across from Aven and me.
“It’s about the letters, isn’t it?”
Aven raised an eyebrow. “The letters,” they said evenly.
Rylan winced. “I’m sorry.” He rubbed his brow, then stood and started pacing the small space. “I just think if the tales are going to be held as the accounts of authentic historical record, they should at least be accurate.”
Okay. What really was happening? Who was this kid?
“I’m sorry?” I asked.
“No, I’m sorry.” He dropped to his knees in front of me, as if imploring my forgiveness.
“I just find it hard to believe that you defeated the Golden Dragon at thirteen when knights three times your age and skill level had been trying to kill it for a century. And all of a sudden you show up with a fast horse and a shoddy sword and take down a fully grown ancient?”
My mouth fell open. My heart thudded hard. “Excuse me?”
“And the fire deity of the mountain. Are you telling me I’m supposed to believe that you”—he gestured to me—“a teenage girl, were able to wrestle a fire spirit into submission? And that statue and plaque in town? Absurd.”
I mean, I agreed with that. But he didn’t have to say it.
Great. Just great. Rylan was calling me out.
In front of Aven, no less. With Zig standing right there.
I chuckled nervously, not believing that the bard-mage kid had a desire for truthfulness in his folktales.
This was not what I had on my list for today.
“Don’t even get me started about diving down to the depths and fighting off a shark to confront the Lady in the Sea and trick her into giving you her pearl.” Rylan chuckled, shaking his head. “It’s preposterous.”
This little shit. It was one thing to question the validity of the details, but of the whole event?
He was not wrong, but still. I was Ellinore the Brave, Strong, Wise, and sometimes the Easily Annoyed.
On rare occasions I was Ellinore the Beautiful.
To be fair, that last one was more in my own head.
But anyway, the nerves of steel this kid had.
“Your objections to my feats seem to rely on sexist and ageist stereotypes that went out of fashion generations ago except in small-minded provincial individuals.”
Rylan blanched, his amber eyes growing wide and horrified. “No! That wasn’t what I meant.”
“It sure sounds like what you meant.”
“No! I was merely pointing out that since the dragon was only your second quest and you were barely trained, it was a skill issue.”