“Shit.” She stepped backward now, only to knock into Jessa.
“Watch it.” Her gruff voice held no real bite as she stabilized Elysia and kept her from taking down the entire caravan’s worth of herbs.
“Why couldn’t we have waited outside?” Another sneeze was building and her eyes were watering too.
Jessa bumped into her now as she tried to duck around a bundle of hanging flowers to stand closer to the door.
“By the fucking gods.” She glared at the wagon and all its plants like she wished she could blow the damn place up. “Because these were the instructions.”
Jessa bent awkwardly, avoiding damaging even more plants as she combed her hair back into a high bun and secured it withpins she pulled out of her pocket. Mouth still full of hairpins, she recited the instructions. “Be inside the wagon by the desecrated temple of spring’s fair maiden at dawn. Not outside, inside.”
“Sounds like a trap,” Elysia muttered. Patience worn thin, Jessa scowled at Elysia, her mouth shriveled and eyes a little wild. Elysia examined the dried flower in front of her. “Sorry, sorry.”
Their friendship was not off to the most glowing start, she supposed. Mari had mentioned Jessa being in love with Syren Herrin, so Elysia assumed that reluctant assistance was about as good as she could expect. Especially when her almost betrothed had been the reason why so many more of Jessa’s friends had met their deaths. There was a cloud of death clinging to her and she couldn’t blame the woman for likely hating her guts.
Elysia gently brushed her fingers over a faded flower. Leaving her to die at the hands of his father’s men counted as a breakup, didn’t it? She hummed, picking up a new flower to inspect. Who had time to sort through those kinds of questions?
She paused, brow furrowing on a strange, unwelcome thought. She wasn’t sure she had ever met a couple who loved and trusted each other in equal measure. If that sort of love existed, she’d never seen it. The gaping wound festering in her heart made her question if maybe, in a different life, that could have been something she wanted.
The wagon door banged open, coming close to crushing all the precious herbs and flowers on the wall behind it.
A wide, unsettling smile spread across the weathered face of the thin old woman who entered. Wrapped in a fiery red shawl, her bird legs stuck out beneath in soft cotton pants. Silently, she circled them, dipping in and around each woman, and examined them both to the point of discomfort.
Elysia and Jessa could barely keep up with this new dance, neither wishing to have the old woman’s sharp nose in their faceor to wreck her property as she looked on. Huffing, Elysia felt sweat blooming on her nape. Back where she started, the woman slammed the caravan door shut, clicking all the locks into place with bony fingers.
Anxiety brought Elysia’s hands to rest over the top of her weapons. She’d worn warm, winter friendly trousers that she now regretted, with a belt made for securing the two daggers she had today. She remained unconvinced that Jessa needed weapons. From what Elysia had witnessed, she was more of ause what you’ve gottype of fighter, carrying a confidence that even after years of training Elysia had never mastered.
The old woman clucked, tossing her red shawl over one shoulder and sashaying in close. “My, what an interesting pair we have here. Now, how didthiscome to be?” One hand shot out to grasp Jessa’s cheek, the other to pinch Elysia’s chin. Her eyes squinted as she gave a good sniff.
Elysia felt her body go ramrod straight.Why do the elderly believe they’re entitled to do whatever they want?Falling back on her court training, she pointedly ignored the old woman’s firm grasp and warm breath. Jessa did no such thing, her seemingly permanent glare melting into disgruntled disdain.
The tavern owner didn’t mince words. “Sniff me one more time like some kind of dog, meela, and we’re going to have a problem. Understand?”
Elysia blanched. Meela was the Bellian word for wise one—often used in place of the more formal title of priestess.
Her mind instantly brought her back to all those years ago. Escaping the castle, watching the Ryspurian priestesses with their faces painted like death. How they had danced and moved to death’s silent song until the main square ran dark with their blood.
As an adult, she’d always wondered what had motivated them to embody such zeal—and if she was honest, suchstupidity. Bellians were cut off from their magic just like anyone else who ventured into Kava. Those priestesses had been magicless and vulnerable, yet they chose to spit on the cornerstone of Kava’s culture in the capital’s main square.
The Kavian’s were a godless, magicless people. And yet the priestesses had danced and sang in honor of an ancient holiday, stirring memories and longing in the hearts of the people willing to remember. As someone who had spent her entire life fixated on hiding in order to survive, she just couldn’t understand what drove those women to such actions.
Whatever their reasons, the king’s justice had been swift. Their deaths acted as a necessary reminder to his people that Kavians would not fall into such antiquated religion or be led onto false paths filled with unnatural magic. They would rely on themselves as was only right, undead gods be damned.
The meela paid no mind to Jessa’s threats, instead smiling knowingly at Elysia.
“You,” she barked.
Elysia’s eyebrows went up. “Yes?”
The old woman grabbed a polished wooden cane from the corner of the wagon. “How long has it been, then?”
Perplexed, she looked from the woman to Jessa, who just threw up her hands like she couldn’t be expected to understand the woman’s nonsense.
“I beg your pardon, but I don’t know what you mean.” Uncomfortable, her court mask remained in place, stiffening her words.
The woman harrumphed and smacked her cane against a cupboard, causing both Elysia and Jessa to flinch. She grumbled unintelligibly before flinging her bony arms and hands wide, the red shawl slipping down her shoulder. “Don’t be daft. That you’ve heard death’s song, of course. What else would you be pestering me about? I might be forced to live like a mundaneslug while in this godsforsaken land, but I can still recognize the magic I’ve studied my entire life when it barges into my wagon.”
Elysia’s thoughts and fears jumbled. Her voice was a scratchy thing, caught like a bird in her throat. “No, that can’t be right.” Her words became faster. “Are you sure? Because really, I’m just good at finding secrets. Practically a professional gossip. Not deathlike at all.”
