Chapter 33 Sage
Sage
In the stables of Briarwall, Sage runs her palm down Reaper’s powerful shoulder as the horse bumps his muzzle against her, sniffing. “I’m sorry to leave you here so long,” she murmurs. “Perhaps you’re as anxious to ride again as I am.”
His liquid brown eyes are unafraid as he nickers softly, then lips the collar of her shirt.
After everything that’s changed over the winter—after all of the ways Sage has changed—it’s comforting to still be recognized.
“I suppose you’ll be leaving in the morning?” Remy asks, coming to lean against the door of the empty stall beside Reaper’s.
“We will.” She eyes his pack, heavy on his back, and the knit cap pulled low over his tight curls in anticipation of a cold night’s travel. “I suppose you won’t be there to say goodbye?”
“Alas, the road waits for me. Like a lover, she gets anxious when I’m gone too long.” He grins. “Where are you off to tomorrow, then?”
Sage gently shoves Reaper’s muzzle away as he sniffs her, his whiskers tickling her ear. “I’m not sure, exactly, though we thought we’d make our way toward Bramble’s village, to see if we can do something to help them.”
Remy raises one brow. “You’re awfully generous in victory. It’s as though you’ve learned nothing from me at all.”
“It was Araphi’s idea. She says Bramble made a mistake, but it was for love of their home.
The crown abandoned their village, as it has a number of its people.
Perhaps we can be of use to them.” Sage looks away from the Agent as she shares the dream she confessed to Araphi just hours ago, after her mother had left with a much-chastened Menorath.
No more anonymous clients, Bard. No more merchant princes or mine owners or privileged wizards in their locked towers, commissioning me to collect magical items and specimens from every far-flung corner of the kingdom that could better help the people who live there.
If my name is to be spoken of as a quality adventurer, maybe it could be in places like Bloomfield, or even Hexham, rather than in the capital.
Araphi had leaned in to press a kiss to the corner of Sage’s jaw that left her blushing, then whispered in her ear, “That’s my ranger.”
She doubts the Agent will understand her choice.
But he considers this as he pulls out his pipe, packs it with a bit of tobacco from a pouch at his hip, and strikes a match to light it.
At last, he says with unexpected solemnity, “I’ll speak well of you, Sage Wilderstone.
I might even pass back through Hexham myself to remind them, and settle some of my old debts before the next job. ”
“Oh?”
Remy stands, clapping her on the back so that she nearly stumbles into Reaper. “Farewell for now, boss. And if you’re ever in need when passing through Kingfisher next, ask around for Enzo.”
Now it’s Sage’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “Who’s Enzo?”
The Agent only smiles, scrubs a hand down his graying beard, and walks away, ashing his pipe on the floor of the stables as he goes.
Wren is the next to leave. With her birds returned to the Northlands—all but Goway—she says her goodbyes to Araphi and Sage.
“You’re sure you won’t stay?” Araphi asks.
“I don’t think I fancy my first night in the south at a military outpost,” Wren says, glancing around the barracks with distaste. “I might flee back to the Northlands in the night. Better to leave now, before I’m tempted.”
Sage can certainly understand that. “And you know where you’re going?”
She hoists her rolled map, copied over from one of many in Briarwall’s records room, then yanks it back as Goway pecks at the edge.
“I should reach Shearwater in two weeks, traveling by woods instead of the Queens’ Road.
Hopefully I’ll be ready by the time I do.
I’ve already met more people than I have in my whole life, and not very many have been pleasant. ” Wren frowns.
“There are all sorts of people in the kingdom,” Sage reminds her, “and all sorts of places. Kind ones included. But send a message to find us if you get into trouble, all right?”
“I will, I promise. But you needn’t worry about me.” She touches the pouch at her neck that holds the dragon’s tooth, and Sage can’t help but agree.
“Good luck finding your friend.” Araphi winks, then grows serious. “You know, I’ve been thinking. Sage, didn’t you once say that Remy’s evidence of the Swallow’s existence included a sailor’s ballad overheard in a tavern in Shearwater, about a deadly little river and secluded mountain folk?”
Wren’s eyes grow wide. “ ‘The Song of the Swallow.’ It has to be. Who could’ve known it but Jasper?”
After that, she can hardly wait to set out, and Araphi and Sage walk her to the edge of camp.
They watch Wren fade into the trees as she trods over the earth instead of the cobbled road, until she’s nothing but a spot of bright red in the far woods, like the flame of a struck match.
Soon she’s out of sight altogether, and the two of them stand alone.
As the first blush of sunset colors the sky, Araphi breaks the silence. “Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer to do the same?” she asks, leaning in to wrap her arm around Sage’s waist. “Just melt into the trees and keep on walking?”
Sage slings her arm across Araphi’s shoulders, holding her close. “That depends. Would you be walking beside me?”
“But of course. You are the party leader.”
Sage laughs. “I’m fairly certain a party of two doesn’t need a leader, but as I said, I’ll follow you anyhow. So then, where shall we go next?”
“Well.” The bard turns her face toward the road, and the breeze tosses strands of her loose-flowing hair into Sage’s face, which she discreetly spits out. “Traveling that way, we’ve got to pass through Ashaway to head toward Tule—unless you’d prefer to travel by the Willowthorn?”
“No rivers for me in the immediate future, thanks.”
“The road, then.” Araphi nods decisively.
“But are you saying you want to walk willingly back into the capital, after all this fuss?”
“For a day or so, yes. I’ve a fiancé to break up with, you see, and I suppose I owe him the courtesy of doing it in person.”
Sage frowns. “If you really must.”
“Besides, I’d like to see my dads and siblings before our next adventure.” She looks at Sage, the pink-bellied clouds above reflected in her beautifully dark eyes. “Is there nobody you might like to visit in Ashaway?” she hints, and Sage recalls her confession in the hunting cabin.
My ex-wife is alive and well in Ashaway, last I heard.
“I suppose there’s a part of my past I ought to make peace with too,” Sage concedes.
Araphi presses her face into the crook of Sage’s neck, sighing happily, and the breath across Sage’s collarbone sends a pleasant shiver down her spine. “Shall we return to the barracks, then, and get a good night’s sleep before our days of travel begin?” Araphi asks.
“Oh, we aren’t sleeping in the barracks.” Sage lifts Araphi’s face with a finger beneath her chin, and kisses her deeply, then whispers, “We are absolutely claiming the tent.”