“Ah,” said Delvyn brightly. “That’ll be the last part of your request, miss.”
“Round Boy!” cried Zyll, clapping her hands with clear delight.
Round Boy was, indeed,veryround. The tiny, shaggy, extremely portly pony was hitched to an equally tiny four-wheeled cart, eminently Zyll-sized.
Delvyn departed when he was certain he was no longer needed, leaving Astryx, Fern, and Zyll standing in the street alongside three horses and a wagon, while Tabba and Hemp goggled at them from the doorway of the bounty office.
Zyll dashed to greet her pony, scrubbing him vigorously under the chin and on the cheeks and jabbering what Fern assumed were goblin endearments. Round Boy, for his part, seemed equally pleased.
Astryx and Fern stood beside one another, watching with a shared sense of unreality. The Oathmaiden held the bank chit beside her leg in one hand, forgotten. She looked adrift.
Returning to them, Zyll hitched up her coat of pockets and made a little bow. “Okay. Off to be going, with many thank-lings.”
She patted Fern gently on the shoulder. “Be good to shankling.”
“Oh!” Fern had forgotten Breadlee. She drew him from the pocket of her tattered cloak. Astryx had made a show of bestowing him on her, but . . . “He’s not really mine.”
“Glad we’re clear on that,” grumbled the knife. “Wielding is aprivilege,not a right.”
Shaking her head, Zyll pressed him gently back toward Fern.
She moved on to Astryx and stared up at her for a long, inscrutable moment. Then, startling Fern and the Oathmaiden both, Zyll seized the elf’s legs in a full-body hug.
Astryx’s mouth worked as she stared, bewildered, at the goblin.
Tentatively, she reached down and patted her orange hair.
Zyll detached herself and backed away, blinking at them.
“Okay okay. Bye.”
She crawled up to the buckboard of her cart beside the unlit lantern that hung from its awning, and with a brisk wave, twitched the reins.
Round Boy clattered off down the street, and they both disappeared out of sight around the bend.
“I’m gonna miss that little weirdo, theoretically,” mused Breadlee aloud.
The strength seemed to leave Astryx’s legs all at once, and she sat down hard on the curb, staring at the bank chit in her hand. Nigel’s sheath twisted awkwardly on her back.
“Are you okay?” asked Fern, putting a paw on her shoulder.
“I feel like the road took a turn in the dark,” murmured the elf, still gazing at the slip of paper.
She looked at Fern, her eyes rimmed red. “Like time is slipping away, except I’ve always had so much of it until now. I feel . . . rushed. I asked you a question before, but didn’t get an answer. And perhaps it’s possible you think better of me now. So, I’m going to ask it again, before I can’t.”
Fern’s heart seized as Astryx shifted onto one knee and withdrew Nigel from his scabbard. She planted him point down in the street and bowed her head as though in prayer.
“What are you doing?” whispered Fern.
“Fern,” said Astryx, her voice quiet and firm. “I, Astryx Arboren, last of my line, beg of you your companionship, your courage, your community. In return you shall have mine, and between them may loyalty bind us.” She swallowed. “Will you accompany me on the roads ahead, treacherous or fair, as my squire and friend, for as long as it please you?”
Dizziness swallowed Fern whole. Before her, another friend who needed her,wantedher, to fill a space—a space she uniquely fit into. A need she could meet. Athingthat she could be, to bridge a gap in someone else’s road. Worthy. Useful.Valuable.
She tore her eyes from Astryx, awaiting her answer, to stare at the overstuffed satchel at her side. So many letters, all starting the same.Dear Viv.
So many apologies, stretching back weeks.
And before that, years, to a father long dead, to the dream of his that she’d inherited and lived for him.
