In my younger years, I visited Kilkare every few weeks to apprentice with their local bladesmith. Three years later, I graduated with an arsenal of skills, the means to create any manner of blade. Providing children with the same opportunity could greatly benefit the community as a whole.
Harper appears contemplative. Perhaps I’ve given her something to ponder. And yet, I’m imagining what will occur once my heart ceasesto beat. Harper, sauntering into Thornbrook, Meirlach hanging from her waist. Mother Mabel’s grief at my passing overshadowed by the acquisition of that remarkable sword. Another red stole bestowed upon someone less deserving than I.
I think,I am going to die. Why fight when the Eternal Lands await? But in my life, there are still so many things left undone.
“You claim Mother Mabel favors me,” I whisper hoarsely. “What do you think she will do when you return to the abbey with the news of my death, sword or not?”
Harper crams the clothes into her pack. Then she sits, glaring at me. She understands my logic, and she hates it. Alas, that is nothing new.
“I hate to be the bearer of bad news,” she says, though her tone suggests otherwise, “but novitiates are a drop in the bucket to Mother Mabel. Dozens pass through Thornbrook every year. Do not think you are irreplaceable.”
Harper is wrong. I am a valued member of the abbey. Only I can shape the blades that protect us from the fair folk. “Even if you become the next acolyte,” I counter, “your mantle will be forever tainted by my death.”
She scoffs. “You volunteered to take this journey. You knew the risks. Mother Mabel wouldn’t fault me for your demise.”
“Wouldn’t she?” I feed her dubiety, crumb by crumb. “I imagine there would always be certain reservations.”
She brushes dirt from the front of her dress. “You think too highly of yourself. You are nothing more than a pair of hands, like everyone else.”
It takes mettle to hold the gaze of my tormentor, but I force myself to do it. At this point, I’m out of options. “I think,” I say slowly, “you underestimate Mother Mabel’s affection toward me.”
“I’m confident I do not. If the abbess truly favored you, why pass you over for others less diligent? She only gave you the opportunity to try for the position because she pities you.”
Harper knows exactly what buttons to push. Still, I refuse to cave. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I am just anotherpair of hands, as you put it. But if I am not?”
“You are.” Trembling.
I shrug.
Lurching to her feet, Harper stumbles toward the nearest tree. She braces a hand there, back bowed with the force of her breaths. Only the seed requires planting. She can see it all unravel, this dream of hers, before it has even occurred.
“What do I have to do?” she whispers. “I’ve worked too hard to botch this opportunity.”
“You save me,” I tell her. “Otherwise, you’ll be left with nothing.” And that, I’ve realized, is something Harper cannot bear.
A fraught silence sinks into place, then all at once, she deflates. “But Zephyrus said there’s no cure.”
I give her my blandest stare. “And you believe him?”
Frowning, she searches my gaze, and in this moment, she appears as deeply uncertain as I do, caught unaware by the support I’ve given. She considers this, then strides over to Zephyrus’ bedroll.
“What are you doing?”
Harper loosens the tie on his satchel and begins to rummage through his possessions. “Searching for leverage,” she states, as though it were obvious. She pulls out a small book, frowns, and shoves it back inside.
The only thing Harper loves more than proving a point is… well, nothing. At least she finally agrees with me. The West Wind is too cunning, too keen.
“And here I thought I was doing a good deed,” drawls the West Wind.
He emerges from the thicket in shades of gray. Crossing into a patch of sunlight brings color to his green cloak, the simple brown trousers. He moves so swiftly he is gone when I next blink.
Dropping the pack, Harper whirls on him, blade out. She is the most bull-headed woman I’ve ever met. Why else would she pull a blade on the West Wind?
He halts a hair’s breadth from her outstretched hand, not alarmed in the slightest. She may as well hold a feather to his throat. “Do you even know how to use that thing?” he asks.
Harper’s low, throaty laughter washes out in a cascade of sound. “I stick the pointed side into your flesh. What more is there to know?”
His mouth smiles. His eyes do not. “Did you find what you were looking for?”
