“That sounds perfect.”
10
Sparks corkscrewed skyward from their small cookfire, nestled back from the road in a green notch between the hills. Stunted trees with knotty, brambly trunks clung at improbable angles to the hillsides above, creating a wild sort of bower as evening shadows descended.
Chak retrieved his pack from where he’d stowed it amidst overgrown wildflowers. A sturdy gray pony was staked nearby.
After the tapenti kindled a fire, Astryx hauled three camp chairs from the back of her wagon and she, Fern, and Zyll now occupied them. The goblin’s hands remained bound before her.
For the moment.
The hazferou clucked from atop Bucket’s back, where he grazed next to the pony. The horse, surprisingly, did not object to his passenger.
Sitting cross-legged, the tapenti tended an iron pot that he rotated at the edge of the coals, prodding the contents with a long, two-pronged fork. Small, quartered red potatoes spat and sizzled inside, along with leeks, onions, a few eggs, and a handful of rosemary.
Fern’s stomach rumbled loudly, and her whiskers quivered. She almost wept at the savory fragrance. She tucked away her latest attempt at a letter to Viv, which spent most of its words recounting the day’s events. She might’ve gotten a little carried away describing the duel. The apology was getting a trifle muddled.
Chak smiled at her awkwardly. “Astryx, of course, I know. And the infamous Zyll, certainly. But you? I apologize that I have not asked your name.”
“It’s Fern.” She buckled her satchel. “I’m, uh. I’m not anyone in particular.”
The tapenti snorted. “In such famous company? I highly doubt it.”
“She’s a bookseller,” said Astryx mildly. She glanced to the side, as though hearing a far-off voice, then unsheathed Nigel’s white steel a few inches where he sat tipped against her thigh.
The tapenti cocked back his now-battered hat. “Ah, I see, I see. Mystic tomes? Legendary codexes?”
Fern coughed. “Uh. No. Just the, um, normal sort of tomes and codexes.”
He frowned.
“I’m not supposed to be here.” Fern spread her hands. “I, er, accidentally stowed away, and then it was too far to walk back to Thune, so I’m just along for the ride until Bycross, when I guess . . . I’ll . . . go back . . . ?” She hadn’t thought her last sentence would become a question.
“Anaccidentalstowaway?” Chak’s consternation deepened.
“She wasgrossly inebriated,” declared Nigel. “And suffered a crisis of purpose, which led her to climb into the wrong wagon, and my lady has graciously allowed her to travel with us. For now.”
Fern glared at the sword. It was hard to tell where to direct her annoyed gaze, though. “I wouldn’t saygrosslyinebriated. Anyway, I don’t know why we’re talking about me. That was averyexciting duel, and she’s clearly . . . whatever she is.” She waved at Zyll. “I’m the least interesting thing next to this fire.”
“Hm,” said Chak.
Oh, for fuck’s sake, not you, too,thought Fern.
The tapenti withdrew two battered tin bowls and forks from his pack and gestured with them apologetically. “Alas, I have only the pair. We will have to take turns.”
Astryx waved dismissively. “I’ll wait,” she said, taciturn as ever.
He laid the bowls on the ground and grabbed the pot with a bundled handkerchief, then tipped the pot and scraped a portion of the vegetables and eggs into both bowls. He offered them to Fern and Zyll.
The goblin accepted one with bound hands, opened her serrated mouth, poured the entire contents inside, chewed twice, swallowed, and handed the bowl back.
She smiled, and her teeth shone in the firelight.
Fern made an involuntary gagging sound and clutched at her throat with one paw. She could already feel the scalding heat of the food through the tin.
Chak opened his mouth, couldn’t find any appropriate words, then closed it again before dishing another bowlful for Astryx.
As the elf methodically stabbed and consumed her meal in silence, Fern blew on her own, and couldn’t contain her curiosity.
