6. Ash
Ash
Caspian and I waited on the porch while voices murmured from inside.
Caspian’s sun-touched blonde hair was a wild mess.
His grin was the sort that made men and women weak in the knees, trusting him far too quickly.
We had worked together for years now. As irritating as he could be, we worked better than most. I’d met him when he stood on the brink of becoming just another sword for hire, hungry enough to take any job and green enough to get himself killed doing it.
I’d offered to let him shadow me for a few contracts, nothing more than a temporary arrangement.
He never left.
We waited a bit longer. People always thought they had more time once we arrived, like if they spoke long enough, the outcome might change. It never did.
I shifted my weight, arms crossed, but every part of me was alert.
Jobs like this came with a range of reactions, from denial to anger to fear.
I’d seen mothers collapse at my feet when I came to collect sons who’d crossed the wrong line.
I’d seen men reach for blades they had no chance of using against us.
This one, Edmund Briarwood, hadn’t done any of that.
He’d just gawked at us like we were ghosts appearing on his doorstep.
I could understand why when Edmund explained that his wife was deceased.
My entire mood turned sour from that realization.
Garrick wouldn’t give a shit if she was deceased.
A debt was owed, and it would be paid, whether the person was alive or not.
Now Edmund was inside trying to steady himself, no doubt, and to fetch his youngest daughter.
I dropped into one of the porch chairs, leaning back as the wood creaked beneath me.
A breeze rolled through, carrying the scent of damp earth and wildflowers.
A pot of flowers sat beside me, petals full and bright, soil still dark from recent watering.
There was not a single leaf out of place.
The cushions beneath me were embroidered carefully, like someone had spent hours making sure each stitch was just right.
Everywhere I looked, there was something… pretty. Not showy. Not for display. Just cared for. This wasn’t a house pretending to be whole. It was whole. My gaze lingered longer than it should have.
Back home, there hadn’t been embroidery or interior decorations. Mama never spent coin on things you couldn’t eat, wear, or burn for warmth. If money came into the apartment, it went toward keeping us alive—things like food, coin for rent, boots that could survive another harsh and long winter.
Most of our clothes belonged to someone else first. Some of them looked like they’d belonged to half the city before they reached us. Sleeves patched over patches. Fabric worn so thin it felt like paper beneath my fingers.
We never had decorations, or flowers—never had anything that existed simply because it made a room feel warmer.
But this place did; it was whole.
And glancing over all the small touches of warmth, I felt the unexpected awareness of just how different that was from anything I’d ever known.
The garden stretched out beyond the porch, green and thriving.
Rows of herbs, vegetables, flowers winding together in a way that looked effortless, yet I could only imagine the work that went into that soil, day in and day out.
A willow tree loomed nearby, its branches spilling down in long, graceful curtains.
Hell, even the scarecrow in the field had been dressed with care. He wore an old hat adorned with dried flowers and a jacket stitched with faded embroidery. Who the hell decorated a scarecrow?
Caspian let out a low whistle beside me, leaning back against the wall. “This is certainly big news.”
“You could say that,” I muttered.
It didn’t matter to me, either way. A job was a job. Still, my eyes lingered on the garden longer than they should have, tracing the small details, signs of the kind of life people built when they weren’t constantly looking over their shoulder.
Behind us, the voices shifted. Then came footsteps. Caspian straightened, and I pushed myself upright just as the door swung open.
And there she was—the woman from the market.
Recognition hit instantly. Her eyes found mine just as quickly, that soft brown sharpening for the briefest moment and awareness flickering there.
But then it vanished, replaced by unguarded joy so bright it almost hurt to look at. There were actually tears in her eyes.
“It’s so nice to meet you both!” she said, already moving as she went straight for Caspian.
He blinked, clearly caught off guard, glancing at me like I might explain what the hell was happening. I didn’t; I couldn’t. She didn’t wait for permission. She just wrapped him in a quick hug. Caspian awkwardly patted her back like he was handling a fragile explosive.
“You’re Claire Briarwood?” Caspian managed.
She nodded and then came for me. I reacted on instinct, sidestepping just enough to turn it into a half-hearted side hug, my body already angling away before she could fully close the distance.
Up close, she looked even more radiant, like someone had just handed her the world she’d been quietly wishing for.
What the hell?
Did she know Garrick?
Did she know what this was? Because nothing tied to Garrick could ever be good.
“I’m Ash,” I introduced myself, gesturing to Caspian. “And this is Caspian, we—”
“How soon can we leave?” she cut in breathlessly, like she couldn’t get the words out fast enough.
I stared at her. She meant that. Gods, she meant that.
“Hold it there, Claire,” Edmund cut in from the doorway. “We need to think this through.”
“No need!” she shot back, already turning, her skirts swirling around her like an illustration out of a storybook. And then she was gone again, darting back into the house. “I shall start packing now!” she called over her shoulder.
The door swung shut behind her. Silence settled over the porch. I looked at Caspian. He looked at me.
“Well,” he said slowly.
I exhaled, dragging a hand down my face. “Yeah,” I muttered.
This was going to be interesting.
“I’ll need some time to speak with her,” Edmund managed to say. His eyes glistened with unshed tears. “Surely we can work this out.”
I shook my head. “I understand this is a lot to fathom, but we aren’t messengers. We’re mercenaries for hire.”
His eyes widened. “Mercenaries?”
“We’re here to escort Claire to Duke Halloway’s estate in Norwich,” Caspian explained. “It’s quite a journey there, out in the Wilds. Bandits are rampant, along with other dangerous creatures.”
Edmund dragged a hand through his hair, his eyes shining with unshed tears. “Gods, I—I need time to think. To understand all of this. How much time do I have?” he asked quieter. “A few days? A week?”
“You have until morning,” I answered.
“Tomorrow?” Edmund echoed, his face paling. “That’s hardly any time at all.”
“We leave tomorrow at first light,” I stated. “Norwich is a long journey, and every day we delay is another day spent on the road. We need to make good time before we reach the Wilds.”
Edmund swallowed hard and glanced toward the front door where Claire had disappeared.
“Tomorrow morning,” he repeated, as if saying the words aloud might somehow make them less real.
“Tomorrow morning,” I confirmed. Glancing at Caspian, I turned to leave. “We’ll see you then.”