Chapter 35
Roderick Bryson
“Well? How do I look?”
Roderick’s heart stuttered as he took Anya in.
She did a quick spin, flaring out the skirt of her dress.
Her wavy hair was slightly damp, making little dark spots on the cotton overdress and dandelion bodice just above her chest. The dress hugged her hips, and without the bustled skirts of her old clothes, revealed an endearing, ever so slight press against the fabric from her lower belly that would make any good man feral.
How could Anya be so soft, but so tough all at the same time? She was a rose, and he was all too happy to hold her by the stem with both hands.
“Roderick?”
“Dress.”
“What?”
“Yes! I mean yes.”
He shook his head. He was lucky the bath across from Anya’s had opened up, but now he wondered if the near-boiling water had cooked his mind. But it could be Rhodias withdrawal. It had been two days since he last took it.
“I look…yes?”
“Yes.” An exasperated sigh rushed from his chest, punctuated by a chuckle. “You look lovely.”
They started toward the town, which they now knew as Traansa. The market threw them headfirst into Aquillan culture, from colorful dresses with ruffled sleeves and elaborately braided hairdos to berry-based treats and roasted reindeer.
“Books! Tomes! Scrolls of magic!” a Were merchant called in a scratchy voice.
Anya’s pupils widened at the sight of the towering tomes. He could practically see the academic cogs in her mind turning already. And in perfect time too. The apothecary was a few doors down from the book-laden wagon and surrounding tables.
“Roderick, I’d—”
“—like to look at the books?”
Anya nodded.
He smiled. “You should. I will go to the outfitters while you look to your heart’s content.” He pressed a copper coin into her palm. It was usually enough for a book. In Valeria, at least. And if it wasn’t, he’d haul a hundred nets to get it for her.
While Anya started rifling through the stacks, Roderick slipped away to the apothecary. A little bell chimed as he entered. He looked back to see if Anya noticed, then exhaled. She was literally nose deep in a book. She might even be sniffing it purely for the thrill of it.
An Elf with dusty-rose hair waved to him from behind the counter, with a granite pestle in hand.
“Let me know if you need any help.”
Iron letters mounted to the walls separated each section alphabetically. He quickly found a jar of Rhodias with a cork top, then flipped the parchment tag over.
Two copper.
Are you really going to spend what little hard-earned money you have on this? Anya didn’t get covered in fish guts just so you could coddle your mind. This is pathetic. You’re supposed to protect her, and you can’t even fend off your own thoughts.
He set the jar back down but didn’t release it from his fingers. The skin-deep memory of Anya’s cheek on his chest made a gentle glow warm his heart. He was important to her. She cared about him. Nothing the voices said could erase that.
If the situation were reversed, and two measly copper coins could bring Anya a little peace, he wouldn’t hesitate. Was it so crazy to believe she’d do the same for him?
He ignored his inner protests and paid for the Rhodias. Chewing and swallowing one flower before he could change his mind, he tucked the jar into the inner pocket of his vest.
“Roderick!”
He froze in the doorway as Anya bounded up to him, holding the skirts of her dress up over her ankles as she ran. He feared she would question him, but she merely chimed, “You have to see this!” and tugged him toward the book wagon, paying no mind to his presence at the apothecary.
She stopped pulling him only once they reached the table, where the Were merchant sat on a stool, picking at his fingernails.
“This one,” Anya said, sliding a heavy, maroon tome titled Advanced Maladies - Volume 1 toward them. She was practically vibrating with excitement.
“We need this book.” Anya flipped through the index. “Look!” She jabbed a claw at the page, sending his eyes flying down the list of ‘B’ symptoms:
Black Fluid - see holler mushroom, page 573
Anya started to flip to page 573, but the merchant growled at them and slammed the book shut. Her fingers barely made it.
“You’ve looked long enough. If you want to read it, you gotta buy it.”
“How much?” Roderick fiddled in his pockets for their few remaining copper coins.
The merchant held it up. “Five silver. This is mage tower quality, folks! All the best healers use this book.”
“Five?” Roderick balked. They’d received ten copper from Juniper. “How many copper to a silver piece?”
“Twenty,” the merchant huffed. He tugged the book out of their reach, placing it on the front of the wagon. “Where are you lot from, the damn moon?”
Even if Juniper hired them every day, it would take at least ten days to buy the book, and that wasn’t considering what they would spend on food and supplies. And there was no guarantee the book held the solution, or even referenced the disease affecting the Balcott children.
“If we give you five copper now, would you hold it for us until we get the rest?” Anya asked, swiping a few pieces from Roderick’s palm.
“No holds,” the merchant said with a huff. “First come, first serve. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have paying customers waiting.” He plastered a toothy grin onto his face and recited faux pleasantries to the Elf standing beside them.
Anya fumed as they walked away. “That—that cur! ‘Mage tower quality.’ What does that even mean?”
“That there’s a tower full of mages who sniff fancy old books just like you?”
She whirled her head to him. “I am not a book sniffer!”
“I saw you.” He leaned over and caught a whiff of her hair. “Don’t worry. I won’t tell a soul.” Instant calm washed over him. It still held the faintest hint of citrus under the sage soap, and something that was uniquely her. A layer he hadn’t noticed before.
Anya pointed to a flower stand, where a hulking stag Elf stood arranging bouquets and tying them in twine. “As long as we’re in the market, why don’t we see what we can learn about Aquillas? I should like to know the name of their ruler before we waltz into the capital.”
“And how do you plan to do that without raising suspicion?” Roderick questioned.
Anya linked her claws together and stretched her fingers. “Watch and learn.”
She confidently strode up to the stand. “Pardon me,” she said.
The stag turned around with a daffodil still in his hand. “Yes? How can I help you?”
“Settle a bet for me,” Anya said, flashing a copper piece between her claws. “My companion here doesn’t believe the average folk can spell our ruler’s full name and title. Care to prove him wrong?”
“Ha! Easy as pie.” The stag stepped behind his stand and pulled out a scrap of parchment and a stick of charcoal. He wrote hastily, then paused, bringing the stick to his chin and leaving a black streak. Scribbling the last bit down, he handed the parchment to Anya.
Rune Erun Amund, the Winter Prince
Roderick peeked at the paper over Anya’s shoulder as she handed the coin over. A prince? How could a prince be the ruler?
“What about the King and Queen?” he asked. “The bet was for the highest ruler.”
The stag went rigid, squeezing the daffodil so hard Roderick could hear the fibrous structure of the stem squish and release water.
The stag’s eyes darted left and right across the market square, lingering on a pair of armored guards near the fountain.
When he looked back at them, the friendliness had drained from his face, replaced by something that looked an awful lot like fear.
“The Winter Prince is our only ruler,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “He upholds the glacial wall. We are blessed to live in his lands.” Each word was stiff, like a child’s recitation homework.
Roderick opened his mouth to ask why he was so nervous, but Anya’s claws closed tightly around his forearm.
“Thank you for your time.” She turned to Roderick. “See? I was right.”
It took a moment for him to catch on. “Ah! Yes, yes, you were. Lunch is on me, then.” He allowed himself to be shepherded away by Anya down an empty alley.
“Sorry,” Anya whispered, finally releasing him. “But did you see his face?” She glanced back toward the market. “That man was genuinely frightened when you asked about a king and queen.”
“You think something happened to them?”
“Something happened. Some kind of coup, or political takeover from the inside. Children of monarchs killing to seize the throne isn’t unheard of. But whatever it was, we can’t underestimate this Winter Prince. Especially if he has the power to uphold the glacial wall.”
“Wonderful. So how do we convince this all-powerful, potentially murderous ruler to trade with us, the very people he’s trying to keep out?”
“I know one thing. I’ll think better on a full stomach.” She pointed to a stone tavern with smoke billowing from the chimney.