“Then why are you constantly in Haverow trying to recruit? And why doyouallow it?” she asked, now turning to Mrs. Millwood. “You know deep down that’s exactly what he’s doing. His excuses about protecting the adventurers that join up with him are paper-thin, at best; plausible deniability in the absolute barest sense. So, I have to ask, if people like my grandmother are such an embarrassment, such ablight, then why do you allow wizards like Agvaldir to continue making them? When a childbreaks every single one of their toys, you don’t just give them another one! And make no mistake, that’s all we are to him: toys, to be used and discarded at his pleasure.”
Mrs. Millwood went pale at that, her bloodless lips moving soundlessly, like a fish plucked from a pond. Unsurprisingly, she didn’t have an answer. Until now, she’d probably never even thought of it like that, too blinded by her own childhood worship of the wizard who’d once saved her village.
“Men like him care about us just as much as a dark lord cares for the goblins pinned beneath their thumb,” Pansy continued, seizing her newfound momentum. “So, why have we turned our anger against the people least deserving of it? We should be banding together, finding strength in the common ground we share. I promise, unity between halflings and goblins is possible. Just look at this cottage!”
A snort came from behind her.Agvaldir.
“I don’t have time for this,” he growled, his kindly veneer worn as thin as his patience. Raising his staff as high as he could manage without jabbing one end into the ceiling, he called upon his magic, now rising around him in a crackling swell.
Within seconds, the runes at his feet began to glow.
“Stop!” Pansy cried, shoving herself into the sliver of space between Agvaldir and the tiny dais. She didn’t care that the air there was thick with magic, wild and hungry. It lashed at her outstretched arms, scouring painful welts into whatever skin it could find. In that moment, all that mattered was keeping Agvaldir away from those runes.
Her efforts were not appreciated in the least. Agvaldir let out a snarl of frustration, pausing his spell just long enough to press one enormous palm against the flat of her collarbone and shove her aside.
Pansy did not stumble so much as fly backwards, a strangled cry tearing from her throat as she landed in a heap several paces away. Perhaps Agvaldir had forgotten that she was less than half his size when he’d pushed her; or maybe he simply didn’t care. Either way, Pansy’s head throbbed where it had cracked against the ground. And though it had thankfully been a patch of soft earth rather than hard stone or rock, her vision nonetheless swam as she pushed herself up onto dirt-caked elbows.
Everything around her seemed to have slowed, her awareness stretching like hot caramel on a spoon. Somewhere, her mother screamed. Her father too, actually. They were both moving towards her now, with Blossom not far behind, pushing their way through a shell-shocked crowd, a horde of moon-bright eyes fixed only on her, unblinking.
“Mum… Dad…” Pansy mumbled, eyes scrunching shut against the nauseating lurch of the world tilting on its axis.
Except, it wasn’t her mother who slipped an arm around Pansy’s shoulders, supporting her as she gave a worrying wobble. No, the hair was the wrong color: dark, instead of red. And the face was more defined, with a nose Pansy had always thought was so cute.
“Ren…” She sighed, reaching for them. “You came back.”
18
Ren
The process of overwintering is an easily understood concept. Plants that would otherwise die come winter are instead transferred to a sheltered environment, away from the cold that would harm them. It is a principle, I think, that can be applied to people as well. When a situation becomes untenable, one must extract oneself from it or otherwise change it to suit. Much like our botanical brethren, we are far more tenacious and adaptable than we give ourselves credit for.
ELWAN FATLEAF’S BIG BOOK OF BOTANICALS
“Of course I came back. How could I not, after all the things you said – the way you defended me, my clan?” Ren said, barely contained fury scraping across their vocal cords, roughening words that should’ve been sweet.
Unfortunately, not even all the self-control in the world coulddampen the sight of Pansy lying flat on her back in the dirt, tossed aside as casually as a piece of trash. In fact, staying here, with her, rather than barreling towards Agvaldir in a flurry of claws and teeth, had already stretched Ren’s restraint to its absolute limit.
Even now, they strained against the impulse to fly at the wizard, the sneer twisting across his face stoking the fire burning in Ren’s gut like an iron poker. If not for Pansy, sagging into their grasp with all the relief of coming home, they might’ve actually given in.
“You heard all that?” she asked, hazel eyes widening. “I thought you’d left.”
“Not for very long,” Ren admitted, helping her up onto her feet, which she managed with only a slight wobble. “I realized about halfway up the stairs that it was wrong to blame you for all this. As much as I wish you’d told me the truth, you couldn’t have known what Agvaldir was planning. Also,” they added after a beat, “in the context of our bet, conceding to you is one thing, but admitting defeat to that miserable wizard over there? That’s something I simply can’t tolerate.”
“I tried to get him to leave, but…”
“It’s okay. Leave it to me.” Ren then turned to Pansy’s parents, who had finally finished wiggling their way through the crowd, with Blossom barely more than a step behind, and asked, “Can I leave her with you?”
“Of course!” all three of them declared in unison, with Pansy’s mother barking out an additional, “I’m hermother!” as if the question itself had been an insult.
With Pansy safely entrusted into her family’s care, Ren turned their attention back towards Agvaldir, his presence still congealing around them like a stubborn, suffocating clot. Heneeded to be dealt with; Ren knew that much. They’d seen how a single parasite could choke the life out of an otherwise healthy plant if left unchecked, and Agvaldir was exactly that: a parasite, one that needed to be cut out by any means necessary, no matter how distasteful.
Quickly bridging the distance between Agvaldir and themself, Ren slid their dagger free of its sheath and leveled its needle-sharp point at the wizard, now only a handful of paces away. They ignored the cacophony of startled gasps that unfurled at their back and said, “I think it’s time for you to go.”
Agvaldir didn’t even so much as flinch, the blade before him seemingly about as terrifying as a limp noodle. Instead, he looked vindicated, his arms sweeping wide in a grand gesture as he addressed the roiling, pale-faced crowd.
“See!” he declared, almost gleefully. “This is exactly why you can’t trust a goblin. Perhaps they can disguise it for a time, as Miss Underburrow demonstrated for us with her impassioned speech, but a goblin will always revert to their evil nature when push comes to shove.” His stare hardened. “Always.”
Part of Ren wanted to retreat, to tuck the dagger back in its sheath. But the heat that flashed through them in that moment was as much anger as it was shame. Because violence hadn’t been a first or even a second resort here; it was the absolute last, and Ren had only barely reached for it. They were still talking, the blade in their hand just adding emphasis – at least for now.
