The Unfamiliar, page 19
“It’s been a trying day for all of us,” Elwyn answered. Finally, a practical use for all that pity. “I’ll watch over them, in case he wakes soon.”
“They won’t be wasted, either way,” Aedyn added.
Ceramic and silverware clinked around the loft, and small talk was made of the weather and pastry recipes. Apparently, a storm would be rolling in soon, and almond pulp could replace butter in a pinch. Within fifteen minutes, the group was unraveling their bedrolls, half-heartedly complaining of stuffed stomachs and heavy eyelids. Through all of it, Brannon kept perfectly still, pretending a centipede had curled up in his ear. He maintained the ruse even when a second blanket fanned overtop him and a mournful goodnight found his ears.
The gesture might have been heartwarming had Brannon a heart left to warm.
“Even the boldest wanderers have somewhere they can hide,
It isn’t where we lay our heads, but where our dreams reside.”
Chapter 16
Where the Heart Is
ELWYN
Elwyn found a peculiar joy in dicing carrots. The same went for celery, zucchini, and potatoes, all of which were now thinly sliced and piled neatly throughout the kitchen. It wasn’t a particularly large contribution, but it was the least she could do to repay Deinua’s family for their hospitality, and it reminded her of the brief time she’d spent in the quiet, uneventful town of Amblewick.
Alas, the time for menial chores was coming to an end. Beyond the shuttered windows, the downpour that had halted the mission for two days was finally fading to a drizzle. They were now free to tackle the objectives Amatha had assigned them throughout the wait. Brannon and Tawny had already left with Deinua’s father to collect information on the Augusky palace. The assassin hadn’t looked particularly thrilled about the arrangement, but a stern word from Amatha had sent him trudging out the door. Hopefully, all three would return intact.
“Oh, goodness!” Lieri stumbled back, having nearly bumped into Elwyn for the fourth time that morning. “You’re so quiet, I forgot you were here. I was even beginning to feel lonely.” She scanned the countertop, appraising the heaps of diced produce. “This is excellent work, and efficient. Have you cooked professionally?”
Elwyn was practiced in slicing things, but food seldom entered the equation. “I worked at an inn for a short time,” she said, opting for the safest possible answer. “It was a surprisingly pleasant experience.”
“You’ll have to tell me all about it someday.” Lieri scooped some potatoes into a kettle of tepid water. “I have a weakness for stories, and that sounds like one I’d enjoy.”
“There isn’t much to tell.” Elwyn plucked a carrot from a basket and set to work on it. “I can say with absolute confidence those were the least adventurous days of my life.”
“Not all stories need be adventurous, and certainly not all chapters,” Lieri said, hanging the kettle in the as yet unlit brick oven. “I prefer odes to epics for that very reason. What good is a life spent slaying monsters and toppling tyrants if you never take time to listen to birdsong and gather daisies? Surely, constant exposure to enchantments and curses would steal the magic from mornings spent sipping tea beneath the sunrise and nights spent curled up hearthside with a good book. It’s a pity those moments are seldom memorialized in legend. What were all those valiant knights fighting for, if not home?”
Elwyn had encountered a decidedly unfair share of monsters and curses, but survival had been her only motivation for overcoming them. “Not everybody has a home, and not everybody needs one.” She slid a perfectly sliced carrot aside to start on the next. “Places are places, and only that. Any affection we feel for them is one-sided.”
Lieri smiled warmly at the gold chain on her wrist. “Now, whoever claimed home was a place?”
Before Elwyn could ask about the bracelet, the paring knife—which had been rhythmically slicing through the carrot—swept suddenly through open air, nearly nicking her thumb. Luatha cackled maniacally from atop the pilfered produce.
“I knew you’d return to your antics eventually.” Elwyn half-glared at the piskie. “You know I appreciate the occasional jest, but I’d prefer you not maim me before the mission is out.”
Luatha smirked, rubbing her purple palms together.
“Will it truly be a plague when one or two spare fingers fall?
You’ll wield your weapon well enough if you don’t lose them all.”
“Someone’s grumpy when she’s hungry,” Lieri cooed, setting a raspberry tart before the piskie. Luatha pounced on the treat, spraying the counter with crumbs and jelly flecks.
“She’s literally surrounded by food.” Elwyn waved the knife haphazardly between the produce piles. “You’re going to spoil her.”
Lieri tossed a second tart, which Elwyn caught and devoured at once. It wasn’t citrinebread, but the blend of clashing flavors were nearly as delicious.
Perhaps a little spoiling wasn’t horrible, so long as the rot was equally distributed.
“Are you ready to head out?” Deinua entered the kitchen with a flourish, a forest green cloak trimmed in ivy satin draped over his veridian suit. He’d offered to guide Elwyn back to Wiltshire so she could question the Iron Claws. Apparently, it was a formal occasion. “Dress warm. There’s no telling how long this lull will last now that your people brought your fickle skies with you.”
“Yes, we had so much say in the matter,” Elwyn said, wiping her hands on a washrag. She threw on her ratty gray cloak before following her chipper guide out the door, Luatha fluttering beside her. Before the trio could breach the toadstool hedge, Aedyn rushed out from the woodshed, calling after her.
“I’m glad I caught you,” he said, nearly slipping on the damp grass. “I needed… Well, it’s just that…I was wondering…” He looked around like he’d lost something—his mind, perhaps—then glanced skyward, turning his palm toward the drizzle. “This weather could worsen at any moment. Are you certain that cloak is warm enough?”
“Um…yes?” Elwyn’s garment had seen better days, but it was far more practical than the frilly blouse and pressed slacks Aedyn had been stacking wood in. “It’s survived far worse than a little rain, as have I.”
“What about your dagger?” he asked. “And the piskie? We’ve already learned the hard way that one isn’t too helpful without the other.”
Judging from Luatha’s tiny huff, he’d offended her. Elwyn might have been offended, too, were she less bewildered. Since when did he question her survival instincts?
“I’m not a fool, Aedyn.” She patted Gelah’s hilt, scanning his face for signs of fever. He was looking a bit flushed, come to think of it. “Are you feeling well?”
“I just don’t think two people are enough for this job,” he said, fidgeting with his sleeves. “I know I can’t enter the city without drawing suspicion, but I could at least accompany you through the Wilds. Brannon encountered something dreadful out there, and I’m sure there are more monsters—”
“Aedyn!” Amatha emerged from the woodshed with her obsidian axe hefted over one shoulder. “We agreed to help our hosts with firewood. We being the key word.”
“Your concern is heartwarming.” Deinua shooed Aedyn off. “Wiltshire cannot have wandered far in only two days, and our errand won’t take long once we arrive. If we’re not back by supper, feel free to shine your armor, tame a mount, and charge the gates.”
Before further conversation could be had, he grabbed Elwyn by the hood of her cloak and tugged her past the toadstools. Aedyn watched them leaving until the illusory barrier hid him, possibly longer.
“That was difficult to watch,” Deinua teased, pressing into a pine grove that had been a maple grove days before. “And utterly adorable.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Elwyn said.
“Oh, don’t play daft with me!” He gave her shoulder a playful push. “Surely you’ve noticed how his eyes follow your every move, how his laughter echoes yours, how he strives to make you smile and practically melts upon success.” He sighed deeply, hands folded over his heart. “Why, if I wasn’t so invested in your mutual bliss, I’d envy every longing glance he casts your way.”
Elwyn shook her head. Of course she’d noticed Aedyn staring at her. She’d stolen several glances right back, though hers were far more surreptitious.
He’d always been pretty, in an objective way—elegant and bright, like a sunset or a wildflower glade—but that beauty had taken on a new hue of late, one that made her pulse flutter whenever he drew close. As far as she could tell, his features hadn’t changed any, not that any feature had ever captured her attention. It was more like something on the inside had found its way out. Or perhaps she’d found her way in.
“His eyes wander so often it’s a miracle he hasn’t lost them,” she said, more to herself than Deinua. “They’ll move along the moment something pretty prances past.”
“Something pretty has pranced past.” He flipped his coppery hair. “Several times, and not a single stare.”
Elwyn laughed. “It’s a miracle you fae can fit in the same rooms as your egos.”
“Ah, but I’m only half fae. Thus, my ego needs only half a room to flourish.”
“I’ve been meaning to ask about that, actually.” She scanned him from the corner of her eye. With his lips pressed shut and that crimson eye covered, he was basically a fancier, redheaded version of Brannon. That human appearance—coupled with technical half-truth of his heritage—explained how he made it past Wiltshire’s city guards so easily. “I’ve spent quite a bit of time around the fae lately, but I’ve never met a half-fae before.”
“Didn’t you mention meeting the Undine Queen?”
Elwyn stopped in her tracks, knee deep in shivering brackens. “Mearalas is half-mortal?”
“On her father’s side. Haven’t you heard The Ballad of the Sea Queen?”
Elwyn had, and the memory was a knife to the heart. In the days before the Confluence, Lydia had often begged Aedyn to sing her to sleep. That ballad had been her favorite.
“Her mother was one of the Eternal Rulers of Spring.” Deinua stepped onto a game trail, holding an evergreen bough aside. “She was supposed to live the same life over and over—wearing the same form, marrying the same man, ruling the same people—and she did, until about four centuries ago. According to the song, she spurned her Creator-appointed husband for a mortal man who later betrayed her. The tale ended with her removing herself from the cycle and throwing her entire kingdom into chaos.” He released the bough once Elwyn stepped safely out onto the clay. “The era that followed is known as the Chorialan Cold Years, and it was worse than it sounds. It ended only when Mearalas wrenched the crown from her tyrant uncle and took her rightful place upon the Coral Throne.”
That certainly helped to explain her treatment of mortals, but it didn’t excuse it. “You’re certain she’s an improvement?”
“From your accounts, she’s sterner than I’d hoped.” Deinua sniffed the air, then continued the hike. “If I’m honest, I can’t really blame her for being bitter. There aren’t many of us, and we’ve never been held in high regard. No half-fae has ever been reborn through the cycle, so the fae dismiss us as soulless abominations, and the humans…” He sighed, shoulders slumping. “I’d hoped, when the worlds first wed, that I might find comradery among them, perhaps even acceptance. But, well, you’ve seen those heads by the gate, haven’t you? Seems all I’ve found is a natural foe.”
Or a natural feast. Elwyn had heard much about Glaistigs. The stories claimed they were powerful Solitary Fae—beholden to neither Court—and that they’d been blessed with beguiling magic and cursed with a thirst for human blood. In ages past, the Rhysiens would call on them to enact vengeance against their foes, sometimes offering their own lives in payment. Then again, the stories also claimed all Glaistigs were beautiful women, so it was probable they’d been scribed by lonely men with peculiar tastes.
“People, fae and mortal alike, find the silliest things to judge others for,” Elwyn said, having often been looked down upon for her own parentage. “They think it will make them feel better about their own flaws, though it’s seldom effective. For what it’s worth, I suspect you have an overabundance of soul.”
Deinua smiled so brightly his fangs no longer seemed fearsome. “I knew there was something sweet lurking beneath those sour scowls you so love sporting,” he said. “Now, if only you would show Aedyn a little of that sweetness…”
Elwyn shot him her most acrid scowl as Luatha zipped protectively forward.
“We fae-folk do not share well, and this mortal is mine,
Stop shoving foolish sentiments into her crowded mind!”
A challenge sparked in Deinua’s hemlock eye. He popped his collar and cleared his throat.
“Oh, silly little worker bee who’s crowned herself a queen—
You think that you’re the only one to wield verse like a sword?
Despite your plum complexion, you’ve been looking a tad green.
Your jealousy is childish and, frankly, untoward.”
Luatha jarred to a stop mid-air, her ink-drop eyes flexing wide. After a moment of stunned hovering, she flitted forward with an angry whir.
“Raw angst will not make up for the inherent skills you lack,
You think yourself a lyricist, but really, you’re a hack!”
If anything, the slight emboldened Deinua. He puffed his chest, examining his nails in mock indifference.
“With a touch more talent, that barb might have stabbed deeper,
A poet is made more by threads of eloquence than rhyme,
It seems that you have only crafted couplets in your time,
Now, would it somehow kill you to attempt a change of meter?”
Luatha sputtered furiously for half a minute before quipping back, and the battle raged on for the remainder of the trek.
Petie’s Pub wasn’t the rancid latrine Deinua had described it to be. At least, it wasn’t any worse than most other back-alley taverns Elwyn had visited through the years. Sure, the smells were questionable, and the air was somehow arid and humid all at once, but the rats and roaches hid themselves well, and the patrons weren’t too numerous or rowdy.
The Iron Claws were the exception to the rule. Five burly men dressed for dock work, a twig of a girl who could swear with the foulest of them, and an unexpectedly refined young nobleman had gathered around a cluster of tables to drink, laugh, and swap tall tales. Their blue jackets were of different hues and makes, with identical silver slashes embroidered on the left sleeves.
“Again, I cannot reasonably count it toward our tally,” the nobleman said, scribbling something in his journal. “The average Augusky is six feet tall with biceps the size of gourds, and they typically wield weapons in addition to their horns. That whelp is worth a quarter-mark at most. Slay three more, and you might have cause for boasting.”
“Don’t underestimate the lil’ ones!” the burliest of the bunch barked, kicking over the canvas sack at his feet. A fox the size of a sheepdog tumbled out of it, black as coal and limp as a ragdoll. “She ambushed me out of nowhere and got a few good swipes in before switching forms, but them teeth of hers…” He propped a boot on the table’s edge and rolled up his trouser cuff, flaunting a grisly bite mark. “Smarts more’n a goat bite, that’s for damn sure!”
“Pookas aren’t even aggressive.” Deinua huffed, crossing his arms. “They’re just bad luck to the bad-hearted. Unless, of course, they feel threatened.” He examined the iron weapons that hung from the hunters’ backs and belts. “Anything might lash out when it feels threatened.”
The hunters blinked in surprise, having failed to notice anyone approaching. The nobleman offered Deinua a dimpled smile. If Elwyn wasn’t mistaken, that glint in his oaken eyes was recognition. “You wouldn’t happen to be interested in becoming our new lorekeeper?” He set his journal aside, marking the page with a striped quill pen. “We’ve had an opening for a couple weeks now, and you clearly know a bit about the local beasts.”
“I dunno’ Kade.” The twiggy girl tipped her flat cap back to better scan Deinua. “This one don’t look like he’d last as long as Barte did. Which wasn’t long to start with.”
“We’re not here about a job.” Elwyn’s interjection startled the hunters, who still hadn’t seen her thanks to the piskie hidden in her hood. “We’re looking for information on the Augusky. The gate guard said their attacks stopped a few days back. Any idea why?”
“I have my theories,” the nobleman said, his smile shrinking. “Why, pray tell, should I share them with the likes of you?”
Having been remarkably unremarkable for much of her life, Elwyn was used to evoking surprise upon “appearing out of nowhere,” but not…was that disappointment?
“Forgive my failed introduction.” She placed a hand on Deinua’s shoulder, testing a theory of her own. “My cousin and I have been living in the woods for much too long. We often forget the etiquette of polite society.”
Just like that, the nobleman’s grin returned in full. He rose, buttoning his tailcoat in the manner common to Pondrellen elites, and strode confidently up to Deinua. “Kadence Carroway,” he said, offering his hand. “Captain of the Iron Claw’s Wiltshire branch.”
“Deinua Winrut.” He eagerly accepted the captain’s handshake. “Poet by choice, and hermit by fate. If you know the cure for either ailment, I’ll happily jot it down alongside those theories of yours.”
“Heaven forbid we ever find a cure for poetry.” The captain’s handshake lingered a touch longer than was customary, and he failed to offer one to Elwyn. “The hermit issue will vanish the moment you join our ranks, which I very much encourage. If you’ve truly survived in the woods all these months, you’re far tougher than Mari assumes.” He leaned closer and lowered his voice. “To be fair, she’s dismissive of most newcomers. Like many a rat-hound, barking makes her feel bigger.”
