The goblin had developed a keen interest in Astryx’s sheathed blade and appeared to be studying it. She caught Fern’s gaze, winked at her, and said,“Alstroon.”
Fern had no idea what that meant, so apparently it wasn’t profane. “So I could just pay to haveanybodyhauled to my doorstep if I wanted? Isn’t that kidnapping?”
“Doesn’t work that way. There’s a system. Requirements.” Astryx waved a hand dismissively. “It’s not very interesting.”
“I imagine it’s pretty fucking—I mean, I imagine it’s pretty interesting if you’re the one with a bounty on your head.” For some reason Fern felt weird swearing around Astryx. Like she was cursing in front of her grandmother.
“If thereisone on your head, then there’s likely a good reason,” replied the elf, with a mildness that Fern found very confusing and not at all in keeping with the swashbuckling mental image of the legendary Blademistress the histories had conjured. In fact, she was having a hard time squaring the entire situation with her heart-pounding first impression of the elf in the swamp-lands, too.
Fern fidgeted with the calcified bread, and then blurted, “It’s just . . . I’ve readbooksabout you.The Flight of the Silver Hawk? You’re a living legend! And this . . . kind of makes you sound like a postwoman? Is this really what you mostly do?”
Astryx sighed, and for the first time her placid expression became something Fern recognized. Something a little weary. A little hollow. “Everyone always wants it to be exciting. For it to be worthy of a song. To buy you a beer and hear about a thrilling escape or a fierce battle or a vanquished demon. To write abookabout it.”
“But thoseareall things that happened, right?” asked Fern, hopeful.
“After ten centuries of doing this, do you want to know what’sreallyexciting?” asked Astryx, ignoring the question. Her gaze was direct, and almost hungry.
Fern nodded.
“Dry socks.”
Fern dreamed of Viv.
A distressinglyrealisticdream.
“I guess it’s the risk we ran,” the orc said, sighing deeply. She curled an arm around Tandri’s back as they surveyed the empty interior of the new bookshop. “I didn’t figure Fern for the sort of person who’d sneak off in the night and leave her obligations behind, but maybe the years changed her in a way I didn’t expect. Or maybe I expected more than I should’ve. I’m sorry.”
“No apologies from you,” replied Tandri, cupping Viv’s chin with a slender hand. “I know this is a huge disappointment, but we’ll make do. You did nothing but try to help an old friend, and there’s never any shame in that.”
With no body and no agency, Fern was reduced to a powerless, floating perspective. She tried to speak but had no mouth. She tried to shift her gaze but had no body to direct.
I know this is a dream,Fern thought.Of course it is. Because I might as well be reading this in a story. If it were real, I could change it. If it were real, I’d behere,and none of this would be happening.
“I can run the place until we find someone to sell it to,” said Tandri.
“Sell? There’s still the chance she might come back . . .” said Viv, trailing off hopefully.
Tandri shook her head. “I doubt that’ll happen. Besides, this bookstore deserves real commitment. It’s something special. It needs someone special to care for it.”
Fern’s dream self had no stomach, but it knotted anyway.
Potroast whined, and her point of view tilted so that she could see the gryphet curled at Tandri’s feet, giant golden eyes beseechingly pitiful.
The succubus patted Viv’s hand and dropped to her haunches to run her fingers through his feathers. “I can’t believe she left Potroast behind.” The gryphet hooted mournfully, butting his head against her hand.
Viv smiled down at them both, hands on her hips. “At least he’s found the home he really needed.”
Oh fuck you, you fucking dream,thought Fern.
“We all just have to come to terms with the fact that she’s gone,” her old friend continued.
Then her gaze shifted and caught Fern’s.
“She’s gone.”
Fern’s eyes snapped open.
6
