29. Mariana’s Friends
Mariana’s Friends
Faren
Mariana barely acknowledged their pleasantries. She strode for the bar and—to Faren’s shock—leaned over the counter and brazenly poured herself an ale. “Let’s not waste time,” she said. “Where’s the alchemist?”
“I have a name, you oaf,” said another woman, appearing from upstairs.
She was blonde, freckled, taller than Anya, with a pert nose and mouth.
Faren had met her before, this past spring.
He would recognize her royal coloring anywhere, the rather uncanny—but most certainly meaningless—resemblance to Queen Yvira, whom Faren had gotten a glimpse of when he was a boy on a visit to Marona with his family.
When he’d last encountered the alchemist, she had been looking for Mariana. At the time, Faren had written her off as a Collegium student who’d been in way over her head, but… Was she Mariana’s source for potions?
She folded her arms, scowling at Mariana. “Do you not remember my name?”
Mariana sprawled on a bar stool and slurped the foam from her ale. “Hattie,” she enunciated. “You know what I’m here for.”
“Do I?” Hattie descended the rest of the stairs, her blue eyes sweeping over Faren. “You aren’t a Valiant Knight.”
Faren dipped his chin, bracing for what would come next.
Hattie’s expression broke open, eyebrows shooting up, mouth parting. “Faren?”
“You know him?” Anya asked.
Hattie nodded. “He’s the Mighty Knight who tried to kill—”
“Me,” came another voice—this time from behind Faren.
Two men stood in the doorway: one light skinned, huge, and muscular; the other lean, with wavy hair and rich brown coloring. The second was the one who’d spoken, though Faren had no recollection of him.
“I—excuse me?” Faren asked, startled by Hattie’s accusation. “You must be mistaken, I don’t recall—”
“I intervened by threatening you,” Mariana piped up helpfully. “Do you recall that?”
“You’ve threatened me numerous times,” Faren pointed out tightly. “You’ll have to narrow it down.”
Mariana bounced her eyebrows. “Fenrir City. This past spring. My boot on your neck.”
Realization strangled Faren almost as much as her boot had.
The last time Faren had seen this man, he’d been obscured by a cloak and doubled over in an alley, shaking and groaning, on the verge of succumbing to what Faren had assumed was a monster bite. Phina Farkept and Mariana had intervened before Faren could put the man out of his inevitable misery.
Faren studied him now, standing tall in the doorway, arms relaxed at his sides, appearing healthy and entirely normal. “I thought you were beyond saving.” Faren’s voice was a murmur, rough and apologetic. “But you survived.”
“No thanks to you,” Mariana quipped, already halfway through her ale.
He glared at her, then turned back to the man. “My sincerest apologies.” Faren did not regret his actions—it was his duty to protect the citizens of Fenrir, and a monster running loose would’ve been a disaster—but he was mortified, nonetheless. “I thought…I mean, I’m glad to see you…”
“Alive and not a monster?” the man replied.
Faren nodded. It wasn’t often he felt tongue-tied.
“Duty blinds even the best knights,” the man said forgivingly. He walked over to Hattie and snaked his arm around her waist. “Besides, it all worked out in the end.” She smiled up at him, lashes fluttering.
Faren remembered more of that night. Hattie had interrupted the standoff, proffering a bottle of Hylder tincture, which was known for combating the spread of the disease.
“That’s generous of you.” Faren put some amiability back into his voice, finding his social footing once more. “Faren Hayward.” He held out his hand for the other man to shake.
After a beat of hesitation, he did. “Noble.”
Faren stifled a cough. “Noble…Asheren?”
Noble winced, as if the name was not the honor Faren knew it to be.
“Your father—”
“—is General Asheren of the King’s Mighty Legion,” Noble finished for him.
“Fucking Fates,” Faren swore. “I almost killed General Asheren’s son?”
“I appreciate whatever sense of celebrity you feel toward him,” Noble said, “but we are not on good terms. You attempted something even my father has considered on more than one occasion. I do not begrudge you for adhering to your Oath-bound duty.”
Faren opened and closed his mouth, faltering once again.
Mariana snickered.
“You know Oderin, then?” the other man asked, coming deeper into the room. His blue-green eyes were sharp, and he carried himself like a fighter: strong, sure-footed, but a little stiff, as if he were favoring an old injury.
Breastplate or no, there was no hiding it now. “He’s my Major,” Faren said. “Are you well acquainted with him?”
“I am.”
“He’s a great man.”
A smirk. “He’s soft.”
Mariana snorted.
“Idris,” the man introduced himself. The wolfhound plopped down at his feet, and he patted the dog’s head. “Oderin and I go way back.”
“Idris Togren,” Faren realized. “Oderin told me you retired in Waldron, but…”
“You didn’t expect to find him here?” Anya piped up.
Faren shook his head, bewildered. It was an honor and a surprise to meet his Major’s closest friend. “Soft. Is that a common refrain among the Valiant?”
“It’s a common refrain among all knights who aren’t Mighty,” Idris said with a good-natured laugh. “Except the Lawful, no one likes them except themselves. Right, Noble?”
Noble chuckled. Faren did, too. It was true.
“Are you a knight as well?” Faren asked Noble, unable to see an Oath tattoo peeking out from the other man’s collar. “What’s your Order?”
“Morta,” Noble replied.
Faren laughed at the joke—General Asheren’s son must’ve been Mighty, perhaps in Marona—but no one else seemed amused. His off-balance feeling returned.
“Alright,” Anya interrupted at length, resting her hands on her hips. “Now that we’ve all introduced ourselves and made Faren properly uncomfortable, I’d like to know why Mariana has darkened our doorstep with a Mighty Knight in tow?”
“More importantly,” Noble said, “can he be trusted?”
He’d directed the question at Mariana, and Hattie wrinkled her nose. “The irony of asking her that question,” she muttered.
“I trust him, and that should be enough for you lot,” Mariana said.
“Did Oderin pair you?” Idris asked.
Faren nodded, still eyeing Noble, thinking of the Morta transformation he’d witnessed in Brine. The potion Mariana sought from Hattie. The incident in Fenrir City. Connecting the clues but not believing his own conclusions. Not believing what Noble had said.
“Trusted by Oderin and Mariana?” Anya asked. “I’m not sure what to make of that.”
“Neither do I,” Faren muttered.
Idris, to Faren’s surprise, clapped an amiable hand on his shoulder. “At the Possum, you’ll take it as a compliment. Anywhere else, I wouldn’t mention it.”
Mariana finished her ale and set down her glass with a clatter.
She reached into her pack and procured a clear bottle that Faren hadn’t seen before.
In it, an opalescent blue liquid glinted like moonlight.
“I need more cure,” Mariana said flatly, looking again to Hattie.
There was no warmth in her expression—in fact, she appeared rather threatening. “Now.”
“I don’t have time now.” Hattie arched a brow, unruffled by Mariana’s posturing.
Faren recalled his brief conversation with Hattie in Fenrir’s Ire.
She’d been searching for Mariana at the time, and he’d thought her naive—reckless, even—to seek out such a volatile individual.
He’d tried to warn her off, but now, he sensed a strange sort of familiarity between them.
A mutual understanding forged through some shared history.
Mariana could growl all she wanted, but Hattie seemed confident that it was only for show.
“In case you didn’t notice,” Hattie went on, “Waldron has an event happening tomorrow.”
Mariana folded her arms. “Whatever Fates-forsaken festival is afoot—it can wait.”
“Surely we can linger a day?” Faren appealed to her.
Mariana was frowning, dark eyes flicking from person to person.
“She never stays,” Hattie said.
“How often does she come here?” Faren asked.
Anya waved a hand. “She’s been gracing us with her menacing presence and vague, riddle-like threats for over a year now.”
“A year?”
Seeing the amusement on his face, Mariana was quick to protest. “It’s not like that.”
“Like what?” he teased.
In spite of her snarling, Faren recognized a rapport among the folks in this dark pub—he recognized Mariana’s callous demeanor, too.
It was the same coldness she’d used at first with the homesteaders.
He knew immediately that she cared about these people.
That underneath the gruffness was a fierce, tender protectiveness that even Mariana was perhaps not fully aware of or willing to admit.
“Ana,” Faren enunciated. “You didn’t tell me you have friends.”
“Ana?” Hattie repeated.
“Friends?” Anya asked.
Mariana let out a frustrated growl. The mood in the room changed, everyone jumping on the opportunity to give her a hard time.
“You know, now that I think of it,” Anya went on, “if you take away her brutish manner, and think only of her warnings, it seems she’s been looking after us.”
“Could that mean that Mariana cares?” Hattie asked the group.
“Seems so,” Noble said.
Faren was quick to pile on. “Why else would she bother to come all this way?”
Idris was smothering a grin. Hattie giggled.
Mariana scowled. “I’m here for more cure.”
“But you’ve been visiting since before I created it,” Hattie pointed out.
“Not to mention her assistance in rescuing you,” Noble said to Hattie, then to Anya, “and you.”
Hattie brightened. “That’s true!”
“Rescue?” Faren asked Mariana. “How gallant.”
“I had ulterior motives,” she muttered.
“And now it seems she’s made a new friend,” Anya said, jutting her chin at Faren.
“Friend, or more?” Hattie teased, sidling up to Mariana and elbowing her in the side.
“He is of no consequence,” Mariana grumbled.
“Then why did you bring him here?” Hattie asked.
But Anya’s expression had turned thoughtful, serious. “So your warning about folks with blank Fates was…a kindness?”
Blank Fates?
That piqued Mariana’s interest. “Has anyone come?”
“I saw two,” Noble said. “They came for the Mirror Ceremony, about a fortnight ago.”
Mariana’s cantankerousness gave way to curiosity. “Describe them.”
“One had a chipped tooth and patchy beard. He was accompanied by a shorter man, bald.”
“Castor and Brom,” Mariana said. “I had a suspicion.”
“Which was?” Anya asked.
“The Valiant are monitoring us,” Idris supplied. “Making sure we don’t divulge too much about…” He spread his big hands, leaving it unsaid.
“They’ve also been experimenting with the Well of Fate with…mixed results,” Mariana said. “I had a hunch that if they came here to check up on Idris, they’d be tempted during the Mirror Festival to glimpse their altered Fates—or, rather, non-Fates. I didn’t want you to…”
“Cross paths with dangerous knights?” Anya put in.
“Faren was right, she does care,” Hattie exclaimed.
“I care about acquiring more potions.”
“No alchemy tonight. I don’t have time.”
“Make time,” Mariana demanded. “Delay whatever silly event distracts you.”
Hattie folded her arms again. “The wedding of my best friend will not be delayed by anything—least of all, you.”
Anya was smiling. So was Idris, who stepped closer to the innkeeper and planted a kiss on her temple. The garlands. The ribbons. The town in a fluster. It wasn’t the Mirror Festival, after all, but their wedding.
“Mariana,” Faren said, breaking the standoff between her and the alchemist. “We can spare a day or two. It’s no trouble.” He turned to Anya. “I hate to ask anything of the bride-to-be, but do you have any available rooms we could occupy while we wait?”
“Yes.” A slow grin spread across Anya’s face. “But I only have one. You’ll have to share.”