Astryx laid a hand on his blade to forestall a further outburst. “Songs or no songs, shedoesmake travel swifter. Do you think we’re in much danger of being robbed by her?”
Fern realized the question wasn’t rhetorical, and there was no sarcasm in her voice. Astryx was asking her honest opinion.
She squirmed. “Well . . .no. I guess I have a hard time imagining that.”
“Are you worried she’ll cause us some sort ofmusicaltrouble?”
Fern felt color rise under the fur of her cheeks. “I mean. Um.”
“We should be able to part ways as soon as I can secure another wagon. There’s little to be had here, and these poor people can’t part with much of anything, anyway, even for silver. Do you think we can manage her company for a while longer?”
Again, Fern marveled that it was clear Astryx actually wanted to hear her answer.
Fern sighed. “I guess we can.”
Still, she didn’t like it.
35
They departed the nameless village with barely any fuss, although Finny did insist on gifting Astryx with packets of pungent herbs to recreate her vile “healing” concoction at their leisure. The elf was gracious and didn’t immediately throw them away. For their part, the villagers were indulgent and didn’t comment on their missing silverware.
Astryx’s parting words to each villager in turn, and the way she knelt before the little stone-fey girl and lifted her chin with a gentle finger, were a far cry from Fern’s experience being rescued in the bog all those weeks ago. That had only amounted to a fistful of reins and a swift exit.
Fern suffered a pang of ridiculous envy.
She quickly squashed it, and even held her peace about Staysha.
And they resumed their journey.
According to Astryx, Amberlin was less than a week of travel away—
—which meant it was the end ofFern’sjourney as well, but anytime her mind threatened to open a window on what came afterward, she ruthlessly shuttered it.
Instead, she lamented the fact that they’d likely be stuck with the bard for the rest of the trip.
To be fair, the Silver Sparrow was nothing but cheerful and made herself useful about camp without complaint. Fern found it difficult to maintain a heightened level of suspicion.
They shortly emerged from the evergreen forest into a gently rolling, grassy prairie, stitched through with fresh streams of snowmelt that branched and branched again in gleaming threads. Mountains rose blue and shadowed behind them and to the north.
More than once, small herds of prairie ox skirted them in the distance, their shaggy backs seeming to merge into one long, undulating beast, spined with massive horns.
The little seasonal rivers intersected the road in dozens of places, sometimes washing it out entirely. Bucket traversed these obstacles easily enough, but they had to be cautious with Staysha’s wagon, as Persimmon struggled mightily where the streams became bogs. Several times, they hitched Bucket in her place to make the crossing.
After one such ordeal in the early afternoon of the second day, Astryx called a halt so the horses could rest. Studying the Oathmaiden keenly, Fern thought that she might need a breather herself. Although the elf moved with remarkable agility, she’d suffered too many wounds and too much punishment in too short a time. Little hesitations and pauses in her manner hinted that it was all adding up. She’d also taken to strapping Nigel’s sheath across the back of the saddle, which Fern found concerning.
After refilling their waterskins from the stream they’d just forded, they sat in long grass in the shade of Staysha’s wagon, nibbling at the dried rations from the Tarimites. Zyll darted around in the tallest weeds in search of small animals, whose fates nobody wanted to think about.
Staysha brushed crumbs from her doublet and cleared her throat. “So. I haven’t had a chance to finish the song I’ve been tinkering with after seeing you in action.”
“Hm,” said Astryx.
“The tune is solid, but I think the lyrics still need some finessing. Maybe if I had a bit more insight into how itfeltto be out there in the dark, fire in one hand and steel in the other . . .”
Astryx was silent for so long that Fern thought she was going to actively ignore the bard, but the elf surprised all of them by murmuring, “I suppose if you think it’ll help.” She very carefully did not look at anyone as she said it.
Nobody seemed more astounded than Staysha. “Oh! Well, fabulous. Let’s see . . . Let me find my way back to the snarl first.” She hummed a few bars and sang softly,“Oathmaiden, Oathmaiden, silver and true . . .”
“Okay,” said Fern, rising abruptly to her feet and shaking grass seeds from her cloak. “I’m going to stretch my paws and relieve the ache in my ass. Back in a bit.”
