Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
To call this establishment an “inn” or a “pub” would be an insult to both.
Neither tended to be especially nice these days, and this one was out in the middle of nowhere, with fewer resources.
Still, it had beds, and rooms, and food, and even one musician, a thin, scraggly man bent over an out-of-tune guitar that sounded to be missing a string.
Practically luxury, as far as we were concerned.
We had traveled for nearly six hours in the opposite direction of Yiferis to get here, which maybe made the sight all the sweeter.
But considering the shit show that was our hunt, and Valentina’s injuries—coupled with her weakness after days with no hixis—I wanted a guaranteed place to collect our bounty.
And maybe, even if I refused to admit it to myself, Septimus’s warning had affected me. The last thing I needed was a bunch of Shadowborn turning up when we were so exposed.
I didn’t tell the others why I insisted on the detour. But Mirie had given me that look. The woman could speak volumes without saying anything at all, and right then she had been saying, This is not a wise idea.
Perhaps not. Shiket wouldn’t be happy with the delay.
I was lucky that gods were easily distracted.
Time moved differently for them, and in the midst of war, they were inundated with slights and rivalries to seize their attention.
Shiket didn’t really care what I did with my time as long as I devoted a sufficient amount of it to her.
But it had been over a month since I last brought her an offering.
I already knew I was testing the limits of her distraction, and if I hadn’t, Zefiah had helpfully reminded me at least a dozen times on the journey here.
But every time I looked at Valentina’s wobbly posture, her dull eyes, the choice wasn’t a choice at all.
As soon as we arrived, I went to the back office. Money—and hixis—before food.
The innkeeper was a short, middle-aged woman with streaks of grey running through a bun of chestnut hair.
Despite the fact that she lived out in the middle of nowhere in the depths of the apocalypse, she clearly took great pride in her appearance—her face done up with cheap, powdery makeup, her threadbare clothing impeccably fitted. I respected that.
The tarnished pin at her lapel, a silver bird, denoted her as a Shepherd of the Court of Vultures, a network connecting bounty hunters with clients.
The position held some cachet—no one stumbled into it—but everyone was capable of betrayal.
I’d been stolen from by Shepherds before, and the last thing I needed was Duke Vinwest chasing us around because he thought we took his money and ran.
We assessed each other, icy stare to icy stare.
What do you think, Zef? I asked silently. Will she fuck us?
{Perhaps if you ask nicely and her standards are low.}
And you accuse me of being crude.
{You have been tainting me for a decade now, Vindica Ultis.}
The title, as it always was when Zefiah spoke it, was drenched in sarcasm.
Finally, the woman said, “You’re shorter than I expected.”
“You’re older than I thought a Shepherd could be,” I replied with a bright smile, then hoisted my pack onto her desk with a wet thump, not bothering to avoid the stacks of parchment.
Despite my attempts to wrap the head well, blood had soaked through the burlap and now smeared over the Shepherd’s record book.
She wrinkled her nose accordingly. “I see you’ve brought gifts.”
“Gifts? I brought wares.”
“Same difference, to those of us who enjoy doing business. Got some I can offer you, as well.”
I chuckled. “Oh, maybe I like you after all. Businesswomen understand each other. I’ll need supplies, too. Food. Hixis. Materials for a machinist, if you have them. But in the meantime . . .”
I reached into the pack and grabbed a fistful of hair, dragging out Gaveer’s head. It was hot out, and the flesh already reeked. One eye was half closed, the other wide open and cloudy.
“Gaveer Iron. A bounty for Vinwest. Five hundred. Tattoo here.”
I pulled back his ear, revealing the clumsy flower rendered in greying, blown-out ink.
The Shepherd examined the face, then flipped through her record book, now stained with head-juices.
She withdrew a drawing, compared it to the head I presented to her, and, satisfied, took the head and tossed it unceremoniously into a crate behind her.
Doubtless not the first one she’d been presented with today.
Before long, a spellcaster would come along to have the heads sent back to those who had originally placed their bounties.
If they were satisfied, all would be well.
If not, I’d likely find another hunter on our tail.
It wasn’t uncommon to attempt to pass off random corpses as marks—especially given that corpses were in such bountiful supply.
I’d tried, once, and learned the hard way that it was not worth the trouble of getting on a sponsor’s bad side.
The Shepherd eyed my bag as she wiped her hands with a stained towel. “What else do you have for me? I have traders passing through soon. I’m willing to take a look at whatever else you’ve got.”
She would sell whatever I gave her at double the markup whenever the traders passed through.
But I was in no position to be choosy. Not when I knew just how long Valentina had gone without hixis.
So I rummaged through my bag, pulling out the paltry trinkets I’d stolen and collected these last few weeks—rusted silverware taken from the manor, leather fabric stripped from dead bodies, a mismatched set of earrings, three daggers, and, most valuable of all, a few silver-tipped arrows.
The Shepherd hemmed and hawed over these items, then said, “A hundred for all of it.”
Anger lit in my veins, making Zefiah flare. “Bullshit.”
“You are welcome to go elsewhere,” she said smugly. “But your payment won’t cover your supplies.”
Because she knew I needed hixis.
Only now did my mistake crash over me. Idiot. Never mention that first. Because everyone knows that anyone who needs it needs it desperately. And desperation was the most valuable currency of all.
My pack was now empty. I reached into my pocket.
My hand closed around a gold pendant. My thumb pressed to the imprint on it—a strong profile, framed by six swords.
In my blink, I saw the face of the man who had given it to me.
The hope in it, the kind that could only belong to someone who truly believed they had met their savior. Followed, so quickly, by such betrayal.
I didn’t know why I hesitated. A part of me—no, most of me—was eager to get rid of the thing. I pulled out the necklace and held it up, the gold glinting in the candlelight.
The Shepherd observed it, lips pursed, unimpressed. “Pretty. Useless these days.”
“There’s being a shrewd businesswoman, and then there’s expecting me to be stupid. This is gold.”
“So what? What use is gold out here? At least if it were silver, we could melt it down for arrow tips.” Then, after some consideration, “I’ll give you ten for it.”
Ten. Someone’s treasured possession, likely passed down for generations, traded away for ten shitty pieces of metal. Practically worthless.
But it would be enough, barely enough, to pay for the hixis.
“Fine,” I said, and tossed the pendant across the table. It landed lamely in the pile, one more trinket traded away to be someone else’s useless junk.
“This is the best food I’ve ever eaten,” Val said, shoving another bite of grey mashed potatoes into her mouth. “Ever. Ever ever ever.”
“I’m not sure if I would go so far as to say that,” Mirie said, letting a slimy glob fall off her rusted fork onto her plate, but there was a good-natured smile of amusement at her lips. I was sure that, despite my best efforts, there was one on mine, too.
Valentina had insisted she didn’t need the hixis.
But when I’d pressed the vial into her hand, wordlessly, upon concluding my drawn-out negotiations with the Shepherd, she hadn’t been able to hide her sigh of relief.
The medicine worked fast. By the time she joined the rest of us at the pub downstairs, the lethargy had already ebbed. The light was back in her eyes.
We had all changed and cleaned ourselves up as much as these poorly stocked rooms would allow.
I only had one pair of leather trousers, but I wore a fresh white shirt, left unbuttoned just low enough to reveal cleavage.
I’d redone the kohl around my eyes. My hair, usually bound in a braid, now hung free down to my waist in loose gold-copper waves, one streak of silver—from an old scar on my temple—intertwined in them.
It was an impractical length, as Zefiah reminded me often.
Easy to grab in a fight. Difficult to care for.
{Humans,} she’d grumble. {Slaves to their vanity. }
I wouldn’t argue with that. I was absolutely vain. There were so few beautiful things left in the world these days. The way I looked at it, it was a public service to try my hardest to be one of them myself.
Valentina, Mirie, and I sat at the end of the bar. Marko promptly got involved in a card game in the corner with a bunch of seedy looking individuals—a ballsy move, considering the recent fate of our unlucky healer. Then again, Marko was never exactly known for making measured decisions.
I took a long drink and relished the bitter bite of alcohol over my tongue.
There was nothing—nothing—better than a drink after what felt like several very long days without one.
I watched Valentina’s refreshed zeal, and a potent warmth bubbled up in my chest. I chose to attribute that, too, to the wine.
“Look at this.” She pulled out a burlap pouch and opened it, revealing a collection of twisted metal pieces. Most were rusted or broken. It really did look like junk, but Val cradled the bag like a slyvik hoarding treasure.