“Yeah,” replied Fern. “She’s pretty incredible.”
“And, like I said. I can’t prove anything, but think about finding yourselves another travel partner.” He looked thoughtful and scratched the back of his head. “Speaking of—the greenskin in there. She with you, too? I seem to remember something about a goblin. Big bounty. Colorful coat, even, now that I think on it. Not sure whose stew they pissed in, but there were a lot of sovereigns put up to bring them in.”
Fern regarded him evenly. “Yeah, she’s traveling with us. I don’t know about a bounty, but if there were, I imagine Astryx would already be aware of it.”
He searched her face, then nodded. “Sure, sure. Anyway, travel safe. And maybe suggest to your friend that she wear a different coat for a while.”
Fern didn’t have an opportunity to talk to Astryx for hours. After the departure of Haber and once Finny had finished venting her spleen with repeated angry exclamations of “three hundred silver!” things settled back into as festive a mood as could be conjured. Staysha seemed unperturbed by the recent appearance and departure of her erstwhile traveling companions and played songs to match the tone of the gathering, from cheerfully festive to quietly languorous, as the night deepened.
The little stone-fey girl with the big eyes escaped the clutches of her parents to edge closer and closer to Astryx until she was on a stool beside the elf, awed worship obvious in every particle of her body. Fern saw the Oathmaiden pat Nigel’s hilt affectionately, then murmur something to the child, whereupon she nearly vibrated apart.
Astryx laughed with less reservation than Fern could recall, and looked . . . comfortable, despite her wounds and abrasions. Not a storied legend, but the fascinating aunt who’d traveled from one end of the Territory to the other, and slyly implied that you might one day, too.
Fern herself was too nervy to appreciate the celebratory atmosphere, turning over the conversation with Haber in her mind.
When Staysha paused to wet her throat at one point, Fern sidled up to her. “So, you traveled with the ferret guy and his group for a while?” she said, without preamble.
“Hm?” Staysha looked at her over the top of her cup. “Oh, sure. Just for a few days. A fun bunch.”
“Yeah? And it went well?”
“I thought so. A few songs hatched, and it never hurts a crew like that to have someone like me out there telling their tale. Why?”
The bard was doing an impressive job of affecting innocent curiosity.
Fern shrugged. “I talked to him a bit, and I got the impression they didn’t come away from it with the same feelings, is all.”
Staysha laughed. “Well, they’ve been riding for days only to find out they’re too late, and that means they don’t get paid. That’s bound to salt their slugs. Some people are always looking for some other peg to hang their misfortune on.”
“I guess so,” replied Fern. She thought about bringing up Jance Half-Hand, and the missing silver, but Staysha’s unblinking smile told her it wasn’t likely to provoke a tearful admission. Instead, she nodded to the bard and found her way to a seat near Zyll, who was already dozing in a corner.
“That girl smiles way too much,” murmured Breadlee from her cloak pocket.
“Yes, she does,” replied Fern, sipping at her wine and staring darkly at the dwarf.
Eventually, the fire died down and the party did as well. Astryx’s tiny admirer was shepherded away by her guardians, the three gnome sisters fell asleep in their cups at the table, and Booth escorted Finny to her cottage.
When he returned, he immediately offered his own bed upstairs for their use, but Astryx declined, whereupon he brought down every cloak he owned, a few more blankets, and what Fern was positive were the quilt and pillows from his own bed, to assemble makeshift sleeping arrangements. He gingerly dropped a quilt over the snoring Zyll, then woke the gnome sisters and sent them packing.
Staysha left to sleep in her wagon, much to Fern’s relief.
When they were alone, and Astryx was giving Nigel a quick polish at the table before resheathing him, Fern pulled up a chair across from her.
She cursed the bard for putting her in this position.
The Oathmaiden looked up from her labor with a gentle smile. Despite a shoulder wound that would have had Fern writhing in pain, she looked relaxed.
“Look, I think we need to leave Staysha behind.”
“Oh?” Astryx stopped polishing.
Fern relayed all that she had discovered from Haber, and her subsequent unsatisfying conversation with Staysha.
“Itdoessound like hearsay,” observed Nigel.
“You’re just happy someone is writing songs about her!” cried Fern.
“As well they should be!” he retorted.
