“That’s fine, I think I’ll enjoy attempting to guess.”
Faebarrow was bustling, but not overcrowded. The line of shops that marked the eastern entrance to the city were well-kept, and the displays out front were unmonitored, but the frequency of city guards likely played a role. They wore that same red lion-fish hybrid across their chests, though they were dressed more casually in the streets than at the gates.
“Let’s see. Perhaps you took something of very high value. That would account for all that gold you had.”
Amma said nothing, chewing on her lip, head still down under her hood as she led her horse.
“No, you didn’t value those coins very much, did you? And I found you up in Aszath Koth attempting to steal that magicked scroll—twice now you tried to take it, actually—so it must have been something rare you took. Somethingpriceless. And this is a good place for that, isn’t it? Oh, of course, your mark must have had to do with the fancy, arcane trees.”
“I took nothing from Faebarrow,” she mumbled.
“Not thievery?” He snorted. “So, you went north with the intention of helming an army of the undead, but why? To clear a debt? Or maybe get a bit of revenge?” This thought sparked a certain excitement in Damien, and he hoped it was true.
Again, she said nothing, but the nothing this time was much louder.
“Revenge,” he repeated, lips curling up at just the idea. “I can appreciate that. On whom?”
Amma’s face was going the loveliest shade of pink.
“Is it a man? Oh, of course it is, it’salwaysa man. But this scoundrel who’s earned your vindictiveness—does he deserve the wrath of an entire army?” Damien watched her face for some hint of what she’d intended to do, delighted by the idea of her being so merciless, but it was quite impersonal, in his opinion. “You know, there are better and quieter ways to destroy a man than unleashing the literal Abyss on him. You’re quite quick with your hands and I imagine good with that silver dagger. Why kill him when you could just cut off his favorite parts and make him wish he were dead?” Then he frowned—perhaps it wasn’t wise to put those kinds of ideas into her head.
Amma clicked her tongue. “You know, you could just force me to tell you with the talisman.”
Oh, he knew, he had always known the truth of her origin was one enchanted word away. At first he simply hadn’t cared, but as time went on, he considered it a bit of fun to see what she might accidentally reveal, and then, more recently, he had begun to hope she would choose for herself to confide in him. It was only the night before when he realized how stupid that hope—like all hopes—had been. “Icoulddo that, yes, but your suffering anticipation ofifI actually will order you to tell me or not is much more satisfying, not to mention the struggle you’re having with your morality.”
Amma’s mouth fell open, but predictably no words came out. Kaz snickered from their feet, hurrying along and tail wagging as Damien continued down the road, and Amma eventually caught up. She began complaining immediately, it was actually quite important, and she heaped on a bit more minotaurshit as if he should be much more interested than he was.
“You know, Amma,” he said with a grin, interrupting her, “if I didn’t know better, I would say you’re getting a little too comfortable having your decisions taken away. You might even be enjoying that thing inside you.”
“I amnot,” she said in a breathy protest that told him exactly what he wanted to hear.
“Well, the talisman isn’t meant to help you overcome cowardice nor is it meant to give you undue attention.” He sighed as if bored by the discussion. “So, when you decide to stop acting like a spoiled, little brat about whatever petty thing you think is so worthy of all this secrecy, you can just be a woman and tell me yourself.”
Amma glared at him, the anger there more powerful than he’d ever seen it, and she actually stomped a foot. “It’s not cowardice, it’s—” And then her voice cut out again when they turned down another road.
Her face changed completely. The anger, the uncertainty, even the panicked anxiety had gone. She tipped her chin up, the light of the afternoon falling on her features as they softened. Her hood slipped back to reveal hair that glowed golden, and she dropped the knoggelvi’s reins to walk a few paces ahead.
The road they’d taken led to a large, circular market interrupted in its center by a tree as wide at its base as one of the farmstead cabins outside of the city. Even larger than the trees in the Gloomweald, the trunk twisted as it rose up out of the ground, a rich, earthy brown, and its branches spread out over the cobbled street that encircled it, shading the stalls and carts set up beneath where villagers sold wares and foods. In the earliness of autumn, the leaves were beginning to change, or Damien thought they were, but it was difficult to tell as each one was a more intensely shade of pink than the last until the few that had fallen to the ground were a deep, blood red.
Beyond the tree and through the thickness of its branches was a keep looming large and ornate in white stone. Though it was far off, it could look down and see this tree from the many stained-glass windows that caught the afternoon sun’s rays, their colors shimmering between the branches as they swayed gently in the breeze.
Amma stood staring up at the tree with a reverence, a look that Damien knew, even if he couldn’t feel, was love. A tinge of jealousy worked its way into his chest before he pushed it back out, pulling his eyes away to see a pair of heavy armor-clad guards making their rounds.
“Your hood,” he said quietly, and she hastened to pull it back up, tucking her hair into the cloak. “This must be one of those…what are they called?”
“Liathau trees.” She spoke the name like it was meant to come from her lips, a spell that only she knew, as if her tongue had coined it. “The oldest one in existence, born during The Expulsion. A gift left by the goddess Sestoth. It hasn’t given up new seeds in years, but it still blooms every spring.” Her eyes followed a leaf as it broke away in a strong gust, richly red as it drifted to the ground and fell like a drop of blood at her feet.
In Damien’s experience, The Expulsion had left behind things like the Infernal Mountains and the knoggelvi, things made “wrong” by the thoughtless actions of the gods on earth, but he hadn’t thought things like this tree, beautiful and so loved by Amma, could result from the same source. Sestoth—he didn’t know this goddess, but it wasn’t the first time he had heard her say the name with reverence.
Then Amma’s face went harder, and Damien followed her gaze to find another guard who was speaking to a villager standing behind a market cart. The discussion was quickly growing heated, and then the guard swept his arm across the man’s wares and knocked them to the ground. Pottery shattered, sharp pieces spilling out over the cobbled street, cries of surprise rising up from the scuffle that was breaking out. Two more guards hustled over, one pushing back a younger man who attempted to intervene, and together, two of the crest-clad men dragged off the vendor. The younger one was swiftly punched in the gut, doubling him over, and he was left there on the ground.
Damien almost missed Amma stalking toward the tussle. She was walking with a purpose, chin raised, clenched fists at her sides. He shot an arm out and grabbed her. “What are you doing?”
“I can’t let—” Amma’s voice broke. She stood with all the momentum of an arrow pulled taught on a bow, then rocked back onto flat feet, and Damien released her.
The market had come to only a short halt as the villagers watched the seller be forcibly taken away, and then, slowly, a few of them tasked themselves with cleaning up the broken pottery and splintered cart. A couple picked up the younger man who had been injured and walked him into a tavern. The others returned to their business, but the voices in the square were quieter. Even the birdsong in the giant liathau seemed to dim.
Amma pulled her hood a bit farther forward, eyes falling to the ground, and then she more carefully waded close to where the scuffle had occurred to retrieve a small piece of the shattered pottery. Her fingers slid over it many times as she came back to him, and then she stuffed it into a pocket. “The Athenaeum is this way,” she said sharply and turned away from the market, shielding her face from the crowd and from Damien.
