“You’re not wrong about that.” Mav huffed a quiet laugh.
Branrir’s quill paused above the parchment. “How did you two meet?”
Mav answered before I could. “She rescued me from a tavern brawl in Oronder.”
Thistle’s brows arched. “How far is that from your tower?”
“A full day’s walk. Perhaps a little more if the weather turns.”
Branrir tapped the map thoughtfully, the candlelight glinting off his lenses. “Could you mark it for us?”
I hesitated, my gaze flicking from his expectant face to the others around the table. The tower had been both sanctuary andprison, the one constant in three centuries of solitude. Revealing its location felt like exposing an old wound to the light.
“Just in case,” Branrir added with an encouraging grin, offering the quill to me.
My fingers trembled as I took the quill. The ink bled a tiny mark into the parchment as I drew an X over the location.
“Thank you, Quinn.” Branrir took the quill back. “We’re here, in Pinehelm,” he said, pointing to a symbol I assumed signified a town. “And Aurillion, the capital city, is…here.”
His hand drifted to a sigil I recognized—the curling banners, the sharpened towers, and the royal lion crest.
“The fastest route,” he said, “is through the Elderhollow.”
Beside me, Mav stiffened as his face contorted in a grimace. “I hate that place.”
Upon the page, it appeared to be no more than a forest. And though I had yet to experience this century’s version, I could not imagine it changing much over time.
“What has inspired such disdain?” I directed the inquiry to Mav. “It is only a forest.”
“No. It’s a nightmare,” he said, his voice low. “Too many things with knives and empty stomachs. It’s crawling with bandits and monsters. There are strange magics at play, not to mention having to deal with the trolls or goblins.” He shuddered at the mention of goblins and then traced an alternate route along the parchment—a curved path looping between the mountains. “This way’s safer.”
Branrir shook his head. “It’s also two weeks slower. And by then…”
“Sleep will have claimed me once more,” I said, completing the sentence. The words landed heavier than was my intention, pressing the table into silence.
Thistle released a soft, sputtering sound between her lips. “Then it’s through the Elderhollow.”
“We’ll leave first thing tomorrow.” Branrir nodded once. “I’m coming with you.”
Mav frowned. “You are?”
“You’ll need someone to navigate. If you get lost in that forest, you don’t come out.”
“But, I thought you were a Hindsight?” Mav asked.
“Yes, I am, but I was also a cartographer by profession until…” Branrir cast his eyes down for a moment, then plastered on a smile, trying too hard to be reassuring. “Until I retired. But, I’m happily at your service and could use an excuse to get out of my shop for a bit.”
“How lucky for us,” Vesper grumbled, seemingly unimpressed.
Thistle raised her tankard with a grunt of effort. “To the Elderhollow.”
Branrir matched the gesture. “To the Elderhollow.”
I lifted mine, needing both hands to do so. The group stared expectantly at Mav, who turned a glare on us.
“I’m not toasting to that seven hells of a place, but I’ll drink,” he declared.
The rest of us hit our tankards together with a clunk and drank deeply. A sudden burst of music scattered my thoughts—the pluck of strings, the trill of a pipe, the deep, steady beat of a drum. Chairs scraped back. Laughter rose. Feet shuffled against old wood as couples began to dance.
