Immediately, a numbing coolness spread outward. The stinging fell away.
“Huh. Thank you,” she said with honest gratitude.
Zyll did not reply, only settled back against the slatted bench back with a satisfied grin from which only two or three teeth escaped, and promptly fell asleep.
“So, bad debts?”
Fern shook herself out of a somnolent daze brought on by the rocking of the cart and stared in confusion down at Astryx.
The elf had dropped back to keep pace beside the buckboard, still loping along with her endless, effortless stride. Her voice was unaffected by the effort, as per usual. Bucket clopped stolidly onward, sure of his own business.
The stony ruptures of the uplands had dwindled to the occasional low upthrust of rock, peppered with scrubby trees Fern didn’t recognize. Zyll’s squeaking snores issued from beside her, although her eyes were closed this time. She sagged back and forth in dramatic, metronomic arcs that seemed implausible to sleep through. Broody grumbles issued from the hazferou in the cart.
“I’m sorry, what?”
“In my business, odds tend to favor owing silver, and not being able to pay it. I was just wondering what sort of trouble you were in.”
“What makes you think I was introuble?” Fern asked sharply.
Astryx shot her a look.
“I was just . . . drunk. And upset.”
“Yes, I smelled the whiskey. And I might not be a terribly good judge of age as far as that goes, but aren’t you a bit old to be passing out in random wagons? I thought that was reserved for the young and foolish.”
Fern sighed and rubbed her face with both paws. “No age restriction for fools.”
“So.Notfleeing.” A pregnant pause. “You said you were a bookseller?”
“Hm.” Fern figured that if everyone else could reply monosyllabically, then so could she.
“And you’re anxious to get back to it, are you?”
It was Fern’s turn for a long pause. “Why are you so anxious to know? You’ll forgive me, but you don’t seem like one for idle conversation.”
Astryx shrugged. “I can be curious. Call it an essential job skill.”
Two days ago, Fern’s stomach might have fluttered at the thought of Astryx One-Ear’s interest inher.Here and now, though—scratched and abraded, ass-aching, groggy, and existentially fucked-up—she was simply annoyed.
The elf continued, her tone offhanded. “It seems like relaxing work. Easy. Calming. Not the sort of thing to drive anyone to drink.”
“Relaxing?”Fern sputtered. Her face burned hot with disbelief that wanted to swell into indignation if not anger. “I . . . you . . .” She was uncharacteristically lost for words.
“Sure.” Astryx ticked items off on her fingers. “Nothing wants to stab you. Indoors all year long. Easy on the back. No risk of dismemberment, and, most importantly,” she gave Fern a significant look, “the dry socks.”
“Listen,” said Fern, jabbing a finger at Astryx. Something far at the back of her skull shrieked,Why are you wagging a claw at a thousand-year-old monster hunter, you numbwit!
Something much older and more righteous ignored the warning.
“I have spent mylifeconvincing people to buy blocks of paper with marks on them for more money than they want to part with. I fill a room with them and pray to the Eight that I filled it with the right ones, and that I can get them into the right hands, and Inever get enough of that right. It’s like tossing fistfuls of fucking silver up a hill and hoping enough of it rolls back down that I have more silver to throw. I bet on odds that any self-respecting dice player would run screaming from, and half the time, I lie awake wondering whether I’ll be able to keep at it for another week, or a month, or a year.”
She was panting, and her eyes were probably a little wild.
“I only do it,” she continued, “because I’m stupid enough to think it’simportant.”
Astryx returned a considering look. “So, it’s important. Then why did you run from it?”
Fern blinked. “I . . . no, I mean I . . . loved . . . it.”
