The bracelet popped open and fell away.
“Go,” said Astryx. “Now, before they arrive, and things become complicated.”
For a long, breathless moment, Fern thought Zyll was going to stay.
Then the goblin vanished into the grass without another word or a backward glance.
Fern felt something splinter inside her.
She’d gotten what she wanted, but maybe Astryx was right, after all.
Maybe shewaschronically dissatisfied.
Breadlee captured the feeling more precisely.
“I’m trying very hard not to be confused about how this is all working out.”
Thingsdidbecome very complicated.
More Gatewardens arrived to assist the first three.
Astryx commanded both respect and the benefit of the doubt, but Tullah was, by the elf’s own admission, dead by her hand, and Kell and Marv did their best to obscure the truth to their own benefit. Of the archer, there was no sign.
Fern sat quietly beside Quillin in the grass, staring at the bloody hole in her cloak. The only coherent thoughts she allowed herself concerned whether she’d be able to mend it and get the stains out, or if she’d have to find a new one. Her entire body felt like it was vibrating at high frequency.
Any musings on Zyll, or what would happen next, she drew back from as though they were aflame.
Quillin did his part to lend weight to Astryx’s words, but still, they were all escorted back into the village to the Warden’s garrison. Fern dimly wondered where Bucket and Persimmon were.
A physician was summoned to attend to their various wounds, and more questions followed, although few were directed Fern’s way. She remained mistily detached, until a freckled woman with a Gatewarden’s badge snapped fingers under her snout.
“Are you with us? You’ve been very quiet.”
“Hm? Oh. Sure,” mumbled Fern.
“This one says you’re a bookseller.” She gestured at Quillin, who sat beside her on the bench. “Is that your trade, then?”
“I have no idea,” replied Fern, honestly.
A frown. “Are you sure you weren’t struck in the head? Still thinking straight?”
“Yes. No. I don’t know.”
“Well, you’re free to go. No place to keep you anyway.” Unspoken, but obvious, was the Warden’s desire to be done with the whole affair and go home herself.
And so they found themselves in the street with nothing but a pointed suggestion to move on as soon as possible. Kell and Marv had been further detained, possibly only to prevent immediate bloodshed outside the garrison.
Fern felt adrift. Destinationless, literally. Amberlin had been their lodestone, and now it didn’t matter at all.
Astryx, too, seemed disoriented, glancing blankly into the gathering dusk, her arm sheathed in fresh linen. The lost look in her eyes bruised Fern’s heart.
Quillin cleared his throat. He extended a paw as though to clasp Fern’s, but then reconsidered. “Well. I’ve got a long journey ahead of me. I feel like there are things I want to say, but I can’t seem to find them, standing here in the middle of the road. Guess I’m too ashamed.”
“No need,” said Fern. She caught the paw he’d dropped and gave it a brief squeeze before releasing it. The motion brought a whiff of his scent to her nose.
Encouraged, he ventured, “Going to find someplace to stay the night before I find passage back west. The long route, if I can. With winter coming on, I don’t fancy the mountains again.” He glanced back and forth between Astryx and Fern. “You’re welcome, of course.” It was clear that last was meant for Fern alone, though.
Resting a paw on the Oathmaiden’s leg, Fern asked, “What now?”
