Chapter 3
I was used to sleeping in short cycles.
When you were a trailfinder, leading a caravan of wagons, or one single trader and his wares, you learned quickly to become the first one to wake and the last one to take their rest.
Traders and merchants were salesmen. Or, as my older brother Karlus called them, thieves.
I hadn’t seen my oldest brother in many months.
As the youngest of three children, I was taught to fight by my brothers, who showed me how to use a dagger and a short sword.
Nothing fancy, just enough to know the difference between hurting someone and killing someone.
One was a warning; the other was when all warnings had been ignored.
I’d been a trailfinder for four years now, and I’d only struck to kill once. I’d not hung around to find out if my mark had struck true.
The low height of the branches I stayed in through the night gave me a better vantage point than I would have had on the ground, but the dark, densely packed trunks still limited my visibility.
I listened to my surroundings, wildlife too small to see on the ground, rustled through the snow without fear. Birds took flight around me, ignoring me as they started their morning.
I hesitated, and then slowly, I let out a thin trickle of magic. My fingers sketched out a quick pattern, a Glyph. One I’d learned in passing from a merchant's tent two years ago, as they tried to sell wall hangings with the magical glyphs of the Verei Kahn.
I waited as I felt my magic respond to the command. Glyph magic was the foundation of magic on the continent. It was the easiest to learn, they said, for those Chosen to attend one of the four magical institutes across the four lands.
Only the Chosen could learn to develop the magic within them. Only the Chosen were fortunate enough to be born with the power of the gods.
I felt my magic return to me, letting me know no other humans lurked in the shadows of the trees nearby.
With a smug smile, I descended from the trees to the crisp snow below. Hefting my pack over my head and shoulder, letting the strap rest cross-body, I set off, eager to keep distance between me and the town of Eirhollow.
I had been born with the spark of magic, but I was not Chosen.
I chose not to be.
Instead, I lived my life on my own terms, with my own rules, and I used the magic I had been born with, sparingly and with care.
I never used it when I was leading a trader or a caravan of travelers. Too many people saw too much, more than was good for them. Any hint of magic, and I would be handed over to the nearest Watch or Guard and put on a wagon to the nearest Institute of the Verei Kahn.
Instead, I froze in the wilds of my homeland and scraped for food like everyone else who was born without magic. I lived like the others, and in doing so, I made sure I never stood out. I drew no attention to myself.
Unless I had been caught stealing a coin purse.
Typical.
The fact that he deserved more than his purse cut from him wouldn't matter to the watchmen at all.
As I made my way through the trees, the rough terrain masking my footprints naturally in the snow, I kept my magic bound, relying on my human senses to navigate the trail to the next village.
A tern flew overhead, a sharp kip to let me know I’d probably disturbed them as I passed their nesting place.
I watched it fly across the gray gloom of morning and cursed myself for not mastering the bow better. I could have been eating that for dinner.
My other brother, Derva, tried one summer to teach me how to use the bow, but in the end, we decided that close combat was better for me — and those around me — because I kept missing my targets.
The walk to the next village was long, rough, and cold.
Crystallese was always frigid, but during the coldest months, it felt like a physical assault.
Snow and hail had been battering me since I left the shelter of the trees.
The sharp wind howled, drowning out all other noise, but I knew I was making progress.
My staff dug into the snow, aiding me as I walked through the snowdrifts.
Few towns and villages in Crystallese were far apart.
We were a land that relied heavily on its neighbors.
When the cold could kill you between one and the next, you built close or you didn't survive long enough to build at all.
But surviving close together didn't mean surviving alone. We needed the south the way a fire needed air. We just didn’t have to like it.
I was close enough to Collharrow to see smoke rise from chimneys in the frozen air before I crested the next rise, but the sound of wagons had me crouching close to the ground.
The Darysian soldiers had been traveling north, so I had deliberately headed east, but from what I could hear just over the wind, there was more than one wagon and more than one traveler.
I stayed where I was. The glacial air penetrated through my many layers of clothes as I considered my options. The Darysian soldiers had been on horseback. That was not the sound of men on horseback.
It could be the traders from the market. Darysian soldiers in Eirhollow would have slowed trade, and more than one of the merchants might have decided to move to the next town sooner.
Reasonable.
I had almost decided to move on when I felt the cold press of steel between my shoulder blades.
He leaned over me and said in a deep voice at my ear, loud enough to be heard over the wail of the storm, “Got you.”
A hand grabbed my shoulder, and I was hauled to my feet.
I turned and looked at my captor, not surprised to see the man from the market and the inn.
I didn’t understand why he was here until the wind blew his cloak and I saw his tunic.
Dark gray, but with enough leather straps to hold many weapons. Few needed to be that heavily armed if they weren’t wearing the colors of their king or queen.
I met his gaze. “Mercenary?”
He grinned, and I felt stupid for not making the connection sooner. Of course, they would hire someone like him to catch me.
“Let’s go.” He nudged me gently, not hard enough to be considered a push but a clear command to move.
We didn’t speak as we crested the rise and Collhallow lay below us. I saw the wagons as the gates to the town opened. The soldiers from yesterday were now in them.
Great.
Just what I needed, round two with pricks in metal shells.
We didn’t speak as he walked me toward the large gates of Collhallow. Even if the wind had not been high and drowning out most sound, I don’t think he was the type to talk for no reason.
The gates creaked open, their hinges freezing in the cold. Inside, many fires in large stone casks were scattered through the town. It was one of the reasons I liked this village. It was almost cozy sometimes.
The high walls around the town acted as a windbreaker, and the respite was welcome.
He didn’t push his hood down, and neither did I. I walked alongside him as he led me through streets I knew better than most. He didn’t seem bothered by the twisting, winding streets, and I kept glancing at him, trying to understand how this stranger was so familiar with this town.
My feet slowed as we approached the garish and frankly off-putting inn at the center of the town.
“Problem?” he asked gruffly.
“I’m not the most… welcome inside.” I turned slightly to point at a smaller establishment, where weathered timbers seemed to struggle to hold up the corrugated metal roof. “That one has better ale, and the meat in the pie isn’t unknown.”
He grinned, and I saw his straight and even teeth. “Aye, it’s a good pie.” He sniffed. “But they went to that one, and that’s the one they want us at.” He gave me an amused look. “Who are we to argue?”
“Your fee is to bring me here?” I leveled him with a look. “Or keep me here?”
He laughed. “Still negotiating the terms, girl.”
“Amarya,” I said through clenched teeth, walking ahead of him. If I were going to be taken to these soldiers, I’d walk in unaided and on my own terms.
“Baxley,” he offered from behind me.
“Didn’t ask,” I snapped back just as I pushed the door open to the overpriced, overdecorated, and overthought of inn.
There were others mostly seated at the dining tables, thawing out by one of the free fires in the room. Captain Marson and his idiots were in a cluster at the front desk, all taller than the owner.
I heard her protest before I saw her.
“No. Absolutely not. She is not welcome here.”
I heard Baxley’s huff of amusement from behind me, but I didn’t turn to glare at him like I wanted to. I kept my focus on the group of soldiers as they parted for her.
Her gown was of a pink so bright, my eyes blinked in protest. The skirts made a swooshing sound, the material stiff and coarse as it struggled to fool you into thinking it was silk.
Her hair was parted down the middle, pulled into high ponytails on each side, and curled into ringlets. It looked like it took a long time, and I couldn't understand why anyone would sit through that. I noticed the ribbons of her hair were just as bright as the offending shade of her dress.
“Out, out, out.” She pointed at the door.
“Okay.” I turned and headed back the way I came.
Baxley’s hand caught my arm when the captain shouted out his protest.
“Ever the popular one,” he murmured, his lips twitching as I glared at his hand.
“I hope your balls freeze off.” I turned to face her.
She was closer now. Her light-brown eyes sparked with her contempt for me, her mouth painted with a pink stain and twisted into a sneer as ugly as her soul.
“Out, thief.”
“Eilenora, how unpleasant to see you.”
She looked at where Baxley held me, and her mouth started to form a smile, until he dropped his hand, making it clear he wasn’t detaining me.
“Get out.”
“Is there a problem here?” Captain Marson had come over. He looked different without his armor on.
“She’s a thief.”
He looked at me and caught my eye roll. “A thief?”
“Thief implies I stole something,” I corrected dryly. “I paid for the meal.”
“You paid two coppers instead of four!”
“You’re the thief!” I barked back at her. “Four coppers for that pig swill you served me? You should be blushing at the audacity, you overdressed bitch.”
Baxley failed to hide his laughter beside me, and I saw the captain also suppress his grin.
Eilenora smoothed her stupidly pink skirts and turned to the captain, as innocent as a newly hatched snow sparrow.
“Sir, she is disruptive and vulgar.” She cast her hand around to the dark wooden stained chairs and tables with linens and place settings.
“The Gilded Swan is a refined establishment.” She gave me a hateful glare. “I do not want her in here.”
The captain looked at her and me.
“She still paid… something,” he said reasonably.
“I did.” I gave her a triumphant smirk.
“She took a blanket from the stables and left my kitchen door open, and the beggar boys helped themselves to two full buckets of potatoes.”
I didn’t deny it. But I also knew she couldn’t prove it.
“Potatoes are expensive,” she hissed at me.
They were. Any town or village this far from the border had to import food from the warmer lands. The farther north you were, the higher the levy.
I turned my attention to Captain Marson.
“You can try to be reasonable, but she’ll just screech for hours. Do you want to listen to that nasal whine for hours?” I jerked my thumb over my shoulder, “I’ll go to the Hogs Head instead. Come over when you’re ready.”
She was going to go on a tirade, but Baxley saved us with his next sentence.
“Got a better pie there,” he said, not giving one single fuck at Eilenora’s gasp of indignation. “Pies also have potatoes in them.” He nudged me with his elbow. “I’ll go too, keep an eye on our friend.”
I saw the gleam in her eyes. “Are you being arrested? Good.”
“I’m being hired, you miserable old bitch.”
Baxley snorted and took my arm lightly. “Come on, mouthy, before they hear you two yattering over the storm.”
The captain looked between us, his men, and Eilenora. He sucked his teeth and then called out over his shoulder.
“Men, don’t get too comfy. We’re moving.”
Eilenora’s eyes widened in alarm. “What! Why?”
The captain shrugged. “Trailfinder said there’s better food across the way. We’re soldiers, we go where our bellies will be fuller for half the price.” He gave her a short dip of his head. “Ma’am.”
In a move I would never have anticipated, I watched them pack up their gear and walk out. The sight of her fury as we left would keep me warm for many a cold night to come.
I was practically skipping as we crossed the mushy streets.