Chapter two
My boots crunched over icy patches of frozen leaves and pine needles as I navigated the sloped path towards the forest. I readjusted the pack on my shoulders. It held only the essentials—a map, a canteen, a bedroll, and some ointments. I planned to buy a few other pieces in Craven’s Rook.
The crystal shards of adamyte in my satchel were lighter than a bag of feathers.
They grew like fingers reaching from the rock, long, needy and milky white, but were as fragile as glass pendants.
The five I carried were enough to buy an army to escort me across the Four Corners.
The shards were so rare that the traders often asked where I got them from, but I never told them.
Forcing a steadying breath into my lungs, I tugged my sleeves down and pulled my hood up over my ears.
I wanted to belong. Somewhere. And it wasn’t here.
Branches creaked, and the forest groaned as the rays of the day were swallowed by the canopy.
My footing was sure as I hopped from felled tree trunks to soft soil. Years of climbing, hunting, and foraging had left me nimble on my feet. I had picked my way through the branches and soft glades of the forest many times.
The trek to the outpost of Craven’s Rook would take less than four hours, and by the time nightfall came, I would be gone from this place.
The distant sound of a jade warbler echoed through the trees, its chirps sweet in the hazy green dream light of the forest. Around me, low to the ground, were blue-capped mushrooms that would glow once night fell. A bioluminescence that gave the forest its own natural lights.
I hadn’t made it far into the tangle of the woods when I heard the slap of boots on the soft earth before he spoke.
“Heading to The Fern?” Bray’s voice was light and jovial, like he hadn’t just come upon me in a silent forest. I suppose he didn’t know I was trying to leave. Alone.
What was he doing here? I looked at his attire. A shearling coat and pants with worn-out knees. He hadn’t dressed for a trek, let alone a journey across the Four Corners.
I enjoyed his company most of the time. It was easy.
We sometimes talked about nothing at all.
It wasn’t always comfortable silence, but it had been better than the other company in Shadowfall.
But things had grown more complicated as we both got older.
Bray’s instincts and urges became apparent once he left boyhood and grew into a man.
And I’d felt lonely then too. Maturing from a girl into a woman hadn’t shored up the holes in my heart, and I’d tried more than once to feel a connection with Bray.
Like everyone else, I needed physical connection every now and then.
And Bray was there.
I just didn’t feel anything more than our bodies moving against one another.
Refocusing my attention back to him, I answered his question with a little more bite to it than Bray was expecting. “I’m not going to the pub.”
I hadn’t managed to actually tell him I was leaving, and he was here now. Gods damn him for being nosey, for sticking himself where he didn’t need to be. My gut twisted, and I contemplated telling him right then.
“But you’re going to Craven’s Rook?” We’d been there many times before. Separately, together. Alone.
“I am.” There was more life in a lamb chop than in my words.
Tell him. Tell him now.
“So …” he drew out. “Time for a few drinks, I think. Before trade tomorrow.” He eyed my satchel, and I grasped it a little too defensively.
But he just smiled, and those dimples appeared.
There was something sweet in his face, but I struggled to see more than the boy I’d grown up with, even if he was a man now before me.
“I’ll come to make sure you don’t snag your ankle on the first fallen branch or make a terrible deal tomorrow with the first merchant you see. ”
“Wholly unfair,” I scoffed. Bray knew I was always surefooted. Not fae grace by any standard, but enough to keep me out of danger.
I didn’t mind the company in some way.
I would just have to figure out how to get rid of him before leaving tomorrow.
The houses here were larger than those in Shadowfall, made of whitewashed solid stone, some with panels of wood like patchwork.
And they all had the same small diamond-shaped windowpanes.
We’d arrived at Craven’s Rook as most merchants were closing, just as the streetlights were lit.
Our noses led us to the town centre until the weather-worn wooden sign of The Fern swayed over the tavern before us.
Bray pulled open the creaky door, and the aromas of sticky meats and juicy pies filled every part of the sooty room, permeating the wood, the floors and even the few soft throws on the benches. The floor was tacky with spilled ale and caked mud, but the heat and sounds of the place were welcoming.
It was far darker in here than outside, like permanent night that you’d lose yourself in.
We took up a small round table with a wobbly leg, which moved when Bray leaned his elbow on it.
A cluster of dripping candles danced, their flames like handkerchiefs in the breeze as the table settled.
I kept my hood up and my sleeves gripped in my palms.
The tavern was alive with traders in for the evening and card games that had been going on for hours. Tables were littered with nearly spent candles, giving the room a soft glow.
There were no fae lights here. I didn’t know how far I’d have to go to find fae magic.
But it wasn’t in Craven’s Rook. Magic had been the epicentre of the war, and it hadn’t died when the fighting had.
Before the war, fae and humans had inhabited every part of the Four Corners.
But, by all accounts, fae and their magic lived in smaller pockets now, confined to the larger cities where their influence was greatest. Whether that was because humans moved from the cities or fae flocked to them, I wasn’t certain, but the landscape of the Four Corners had changed.
Humans and fae alike had suffered through the Two-Hundred-Year War, but humans maintained they’d come out worse.
Only in the past couple of years had things begun to heal.
Trade routes across the Four Corners had mended with the last Crown now in the North.
Now, all trade was fed out from the fort of the king, and we were all beholden to the Crown’s decisions.
I often wondered what my part would have been in a time like that. Fae but no magic to offer.
Seemingly, magical abilities manifested around the time a child could speak. You were either born with magic or not; it could not be learned. More than once, I’d wished I had it. I would sit and concentrate on a rock or a feather, my palm and fingers flexing against the strain of nothing.
That’s all there was. Nothing.
And maybe that was part of why I was leaving. There was something crucial lacking in me. Maybe if I found my real parents, they could explain why. Fill in that part of me that always felt empty.
For all intents and purposes, I was human, as my body was deprived of magic.
At least if I had magic, I could have changed things in my life.
Cloaked myself in shadow to leave without someone trailing me.
That might have been a useful thing to be able to do, I thought as I looked across the table at Bray.
There was no music here in the smoky room, but the place thrummed with the rumbles from everyone around us.
Bray looked like he was enlivened by it all, his leg jigging up and down under the wobbly table.
“Hey,” I said, settling my hand on his as it shook a little. “Are you okay? You’ve been fidgeting since the forest.” I dipped my head to get a look at him.
“I’m fine, Gen. Just excited to be here. With you.”
A half smile tried to pull at my lips.
This wasn’t going to be easy. I should have told him already. Instead, I’d allowed him to tag along because I wasn’t ready to face this journey alone. The slither of guilt left my insides uneasy.
Around us were dozens of patrons, all in varying stages of inebriation.
The central tables were filled tonight with traders heavy with exhaustion and bags of gold after the day.
Wealthier merchants sat in concealed booths around the edge of the room.
To our left was an ongoing card game. A man with greasy hair and gold teeth took up the main seat across a booth, a hound asleep at his heels.
Around him were four others with shaved heads, tattoos and fiendish-looking blades at their hips.
I took my gaze elsewhere in the heaving room, not wanting to find my stares matched by any of theirs.
But looking at the sort of people who sat around us, Jon’s warning rang through me, and I suddenly felt very naked without any sort of weapon.
I had used swords before, when Leesha’s father made them.
I’d snuck into the small forge when he’d finish his work to pick up some of the blades.
I had some basic knowledge of holding a weapon, but no one ever trained me.
Hunting and foraging had made me better with a blade than I had any right to be.
The people of Shadowfall didn’t deny Leesha or Jon trade, but they were loath to interact with me. So I hunted my own game, my skills honed by need and prejudice.
Seeing some of the people around us now, I’d have liked something to defend myself with.
A woman with a smeared apron found us and, without asking, placed two frothing mugs of musty ale down on our rickety table.
“Food?” She asked with a tired look on her face.
Bray looked at me for a beat, then back at her. “Two.” He held up his fingers so there was no mistaking his request in the clamorous room.
She left as if we had just been the worst part of her day.
“Two what?” I leaned in once she was out of earshot.
“No idea!” His laugh was a little loud for this cramped space, and more than one set of eyes found us after his outburst.
Pies. Two pies arrived, dripping some sort of delicious syrup and steaming through two slits in the pastry top.