He withdrew one of the buns, took a surprisingly delicate bite, and chewed with his eyes closed. The orc held his place in the book with one enormous finger.
After he’d swallowed, he nodded, waiting.
She indicated his cart, which was mostly empty, and told him what she wanted. He thought about it, nodded again, then stood to dust the sand from his trousers and tuck the book carefully into a pocket.
He ate another bun before they went anywhere, though.
* * *
The gnome brothers had haggled, as she’d known they would, but maybe the clammy morning air worked to her advantage, because they didn’t seem that tenacious about it. During her previous trip along the market street, she’d spied a couple of chairs in the jumble of furnishings for sale. Nothing fancy, but they had bradded green velvet cushions, and most importantly, they were big and sturdy enough that she could sit in them without danger of collapse.
Lighter a silver and two bits, she stumped along behind Pitts’s cart with the chairs in back. She’d also negotiated her way to a small matching side table.
On their way out of the fortress walls, she glanced toward the courtyard beside the chandler’s. The man in gray with the overloaded pack was nowhere to be found. She shook her head and huffed an annoyed chuckle at herself. Viv hadn’t forgotten that prickling sense of danger when she’d spied him, but he was hardly worth the vigilance.
A Gatewarden watched the comings and goings, but it wasn’t Iridia. Viv supposed even the tapenti couldn’t find fault with a wagonload of furniture, though.
When they arrived at Thistleburr, Pitts helped her unload her purchases onto the boardwalk. Then he rolled his cart away one-handed. He held a bun in the other, chewing placidly as he went.
* * *
“No fucking way. There can’t be enough room, not for both of them,” said Fern, frowning doubtfully at the furniture in front of her door. She drew her red cloak tighter against the misty chill.
“Never going to know ‘til we try. At least one has to come in, though. It’s one of my conditions, after all.” Viv grinned at her.
Potroast unhelpfully peppered her with irritable hoots as she dragged in the first chair with an awkward shuffle-gait that favored her injured leg.
Fern fussed with the positioning while Viv brought in the other two pieces. They fit remarkably well under the east-facing window, and the light from the hurricane lamp pooled around them in a cozy golden glow.
Viv lowered herself into one with a grateful sigh. The cushion was a little damp, but when she stretched her leg out fully and leaned back, it was remarkably comfortable. She laced her hands across her belly. “That’s more like it.”
Fern slid up onto the matching chair, flipping her cloak and tail out behind her as she did. She drummed her claws on the arms. “How much did these cost, though?”
Viv closed her eyes. “Doesn’t matter. Let’s just say they’re mine and pretend I’m taking them with me when I go. Besides, your customers might want to sit and read something, too?”
“I’ll admit, it is … nice,” allowed Fern. She leaned back and cocked her head at Viv. “You know, it’s odd, but I’ve never actually asked you any real questions. That’s pretty gods-damned rude of me, isn’t it? I’ve told you more about me than I’ve told anyone in ages. I guess I haven’t had much time for … acquaintances the past few years. I’m out of practice.”
Cracking an eye at her, Viv said, “You’re in the tunnel. I know how it goes.”
“The tunnel?”
“You’re just trying to make it to the other end, and while you’re in it, there’s nothing to either side. Only the way forward. You know, the tunnel. Maybe when you find a way out, you can look around, but until then …” Viv shrugged deeper into the chair.
“Huh.” Fern was quiet for a long moment. “All right, well, let’s pretend I’m not in a fucking tunnel right now. What are you doing here? I don’t even know what happened to your leg!”
So Viv told her about Rackam and Varine the Pale, rushing as quickly as she could past the bit where she was stabbed in the thigh.
“A fucking necromancer?” exclaimed Fern. “Around here?”
“Oh, she’s miles and miles north. They’ll probably already be into the snowy foothills by now. You don’t need to worry about her. The Ravens will catch her eventually.”
“So you’re only here until your leg mends?”
“That’s about the size of it. Well, until Rackam shows, really, which is probably weeks, at the rate they were moving. Might not be fully mended by then, but I can join back up even if I can’t run a footrace.” Viv tried hard to make herself believe that.
“And so you like it? You’re anxious to get back to it?” ventured Fern.
“Why wouldn’t I be?” asked Viv.
“So far, it sounds like sleeping rough and getting stabbed a lot.”
Viv laughed, but then considered, and said, “Being one of the Ravens is living all the way to the edge of things. One second in the thick of battle is like a whole day anywhere else. Once you step back from that”—she shrugged—”everything else seems like a waste of time.”
Just as Fern started to reply, Potroast ambled in, making a show of glaring at Viv and ruffling his feathers at her. She withdrew a chunk of bun she’d saved and held it up, and he regarded it suspiciously. Then he pointedly averted his gaze and curled up under the rattkin’s feet. Viv sighed and tossed the morsel to Fern.
“He’ll warm up to you eventually,” she said with an apologetic shrug. She let it fall, and the gryphet extended his neck to snap it out of the air. Viv tried hard not to feel spurned but wasn’t very successful.
As Fern trailed her toes along the ridge of Potroast’s spine, he burbled happily and snuggled closer. The rattkin stared out the window into the fog, and then the only sounds were the gryphet’s vocalizations and the soft hiss of the hurricane lamp.
Eventually, Viv said, “So, that next book. Any ideas?”
Fern returned from somewhere far away. She looked … calm. “Actually, I do.” She slipped down from the chair, careful not to step on Potroast’s sleeping form. She retrieved something from behind the counter and presented Viv with a hefty volume.
The title of the book was Sea of Passion. “Zelia Greatstrider” was printed in bold serifed letters below a fairly racy woodcut print of two frantically entwined sea-fey and a crashing wave that was very strategically positioned.
Viv mumbled a doubtful, “Huh.”
“You know, now that I think about it, I did ask you questions about yourself. Because that’s exactly what this is,” Fern said with a surprised laugh. “I can’t wait to hear your answer.”
11
Raleigh fumbled a quick cantrip, and light kindled. It branched across lichen clinging to the ceiling of the cave in which they rested.
Beneath the blue glow, they both looked even colder than she felt. Leena’s cheeks were flushed rose, but she shivered uncontrollably, the exposed flesh of her shoulders pale and delicate. She winced in the fresh light.
Raleigh’s magestone warmed at her hip after the casting, and she cradled it in her fingers, absorbing what little heat she could.