“Micah mentioned the women who helped the infirmary.” Hannon put his hand up to block the glare of the sun as he looked at the house. “Maybe they live there?”
“Hello?” A middle-aged woman with brown skin and shiny jet-black hair emerged from the wood with a basket tucked under her arm and an apron tied around her middle. She was very pretty and had an air of confidence and command about her, like she was picking plants today but might waltz into battle tomorrow.
Her expression creased into one of puzzlement as she looked from me to Hannon.
“I don’t think I know you…” She walked within the plants as though she’d been tending this field all her life. Maybe she had.
“Is that your house?” I pointed at the backyard.
“No, but I help out there. Can I help you?”
I opened my mouth to answer, but I really wasn’t sure what to say. Hi, I would like to invite myself into your world, take over your operation, and not get any grief from you about it. That cool?
Hannon came to the rescue.
“We’re delayed in the village for a time. We came with Micah…”
He waited for the name to register and wasn’t disappointed.
“Oh,” she said on a release of breath, peering a little closer at our faces. “You were imprisoned with him? What village are you from?”
“We’re from…a forgotten kingdom,” Hannon said softly. “You probably haven’t heard of it.”
Her shapely eyebrows pinched together. “Try me.”
“We’re from Wyvern,” I replied. “It has a curse—”
“Wyvern?” She went back to studying my face for a long moment, then Hannon’s. “I’ve heard of it. Forgotten is right. All I know is the name at this point.”
Hannon nodded. “If it isn’t too much trouble, my sister would like to work the plants. Maybe I can help inside the house if you need assistance. We’re not used to being idle.”
“Well.” She hesitated as though weighing the pros and cons. Finally, she said, “You better come in, then.” She passed us, taking the lead back toward the house. “Do you have any experience tending a garden or working with everlass?”
“A lot, yes,” I replied.
“She is exceptional,” Hannon said.
I scowled at him as she glanced back at us with humor in her brown eyes. “Exceptional, huh? Hmm. We shall see.”
She looked down for a moment, probably catching a glimmer as the sun sparkled off my sword, and then did a double take.
“Quite a sword,” she said, scowling. “Warriors wear swords like that. Rich folk.”
“It was a gift,” I replied, feeling a little defensive for reasons I couldn’t explain.
“What is your name?”
“Finley. This is Hannon.”
“Some gift. Are you expecting trouble, Finley?”
“No. I just…” I touched the hilt, and an honest answer blurted out of me. “I want to remember the man who gave it to me.”
She continued to study me, as though searching for something. Maybe a better explanation. Or maybe she wanted to judge whether I was lying and planned to stab her in the back. After a moment, though, she gave me a curt nod and continued along without a word.
“Ami,” she called after going through a little gate in the waist-high picket fence surrounding the backyard. “Ami, you have visitors.”
We stopped at the fence, not quite sure about crossing the threshold unless specifically invited.
A woman emerged from the back door with a basket of her own. Probably edging in on fifty years old, she had wheat-colored hair tinged with red and a lovely face with soft lines in it. She wore plain clothes, but the way she carried herself seemed almost regal, like she was stuck in a simple life now but would one day rise to a lofty perch. Her apron was the same style as the other woman’s, smeared with whatever she’d been working on.
“This girl over here—Finley—has a mighty fine sword.” The woman who had led us over set her basket by the wall. “Says she’s from Wyvern. Came in with Micah’s group. Her brother Hannon says she is exceptional with everlass.”
Ami’s expression remained unchanged as she took all of this in. She pulled up her apron and wiped her hands as she walked toward us.
“Wyvern,” she said, looking at the sword. “I haven’t heard that name spoken in a long time. Yes, that is a very fine sword indeed. We don’t have that kind of workmanship here in this collection of villages. Swords are considered more ornamental. We fight with claws and teeth. Are you a—”