Fern’s mind had been too occupied with recollections of dancing steel and legends in motion to register the ten minutes of post-battle politicking. There had been a conference between Astryx and the Gatewarden captain, and a lot of gesturing, and some further hushed words and hooded glances toward Zyll—who was still wearing the helmet.
But of course, none of that really mattered to Fern, did it?
Because this was the end of the road. The parting of ways.
Astryx would journey onward with her bounty in tow, Fern would find a way to earn another silver or two, and then she’d book another ass-bruising passage back to Thune.
Won’t I?
She felt a painfultearingin the very center of herself, like a sapling being slowly peeled apart down the middle. An aching, growing tension that would either snap back together and resolve itself, or split forever into something unrecognizable.
At any moment now, Astryx would turn and utter words both perfunctory and final, a casual dismissal, and be on her way.
It was inevitable. Wasn’t it?
And Fern was ready for it. Wasn’t she?
She realized that shedid not fucking know.
So she kept pace with the Oathmaiden, hazily half present, hoping and dreading at the same time. Fern withdrew her latest long letter of apology to Viv and stared at it while she stumbled along, forcing herself to reread the first few lines over and over, each review a tiny knife to the heart.
Dear Viv,
I have no idea how to write this letter to you.
I’m so sorry.
Fern was only startled out of her self-flagellation when Astryx stopped and faced her.
Oh fuck. Not yet,she thought with surprising desperation. The parchment crinkled in her paws.
“I just need to step in here for a moment,” said Astryx, gesturing at an awning with something stitched across it that Fern didn’t bother to read. “I realize it seems pointless, but watch her while I do?” She indicated Zyll, who couldn’t have seen a thing through the helmet she still insisted on wearing.
Why is she asking me to do this?Fern cried within her mind.Why is she drawing it out? What the hells is happening? It’s like I’m drunk in the back of the cart again.
But she nodded and said, “Of course!” in a perfectly reasonable voice, as though she weren’t melting from the inside out.
When Astryx left, she stared at the goblin, who inched the helmet up with a thumb until she could meet Fern’s regard with her shrewd red eyes.
Zyll studied her for several seconds.
“No rocks-es at the bottom,” she said. “Jump, or no jump.”
“Wh-What?” stammered Fern.
The goblin shrugged. “Jump,” repeated Zyll. “Or no jump. Puts away the parch-ment.” She pinched the edge of Fern’s half-crumpled letter.
Dreamily, Fern stuffed it back into her satchel.
And then Astryx returned and knelt beside the goblin, a pair of bracelets in one hand. They were crafted of tangled silver wire, with dull gray stones knotted in the webbing.
“We’ll leave your hands free,” she said severely. “All right? But thisveryexpensive artifact”—she held up one of the bracelets—“is going to make sure that I always know how to find you. Is that going to be a problem?”
Zyll let the helm fall back over her eyes and extended one wrist.
Astryx snapped the bracelet around it, where it drew tight against green skin. Then the Oathmaiden put its twin on her own right wrist, where it similarly contracted.
“This only comes off if I release the enchantment, or one of us dies. Understand?”
