He led Raiah into the resupply station, the scent of oil and metal and a hint of chemicals hitting his nose. Wardens were alchemists by virtue of their trade, and resupply stations had on-site workshops to aid in the chemical-based supplies they used in the poison fields.
Soren looked down at Raiah. “Don’t touch anything.”
She wrinkled her nose at him and stuck out her tongue but didn’t speak. He kept a firm grip on her small hand as he went up to the unmanned counter and pressed a finger to the mechanical call button. The chime of the bell echoed in the room, drawing the warden on duty out from the back workroom.
The woman’s gray hair was shorn close to her skull, showing off the jagged scar near her temple and the missing top of one ear. Soren recognized a bite wound when he saw one, still carrying the ragged imprint of teeth on his own arm from the revenant attack in the quarry. Her brown eyes were sharp, though, and undamaged, the magnifying goggles she wore making them appear even larger than they truly were.
“Huh,” the warden said in the trade tongue, eyeing Raiah. “Did you find her on the road?”
“Tithe,” Soren said smoothly. “She was the sole survivor of an overrun camp near a back road.”
“She’d be better off with the Star Order.”
Soren shrugged. “I was told by government officials to count her as a tithe and deliver her. They’ve marked her as such already in their records. I’m taking her to the Warden’s Island. We’ve been on the road for a few days now, though, and I need to sleep. Is a room open?”
The warden raised a hand to shove her magnifying goggles on top of her head. “Only one is taken. You’re welcome to any of the others upstairs. I’ll log you in. Name?”
The only thing wardens owned was their name, and offering it was tradition for those who guarded the borders. “Soren.”
No recognition flickered across her face as she reached for the logbook beneath the counter and flipped it open. “I’m Coralie.”
“Well met.”
She took a pen from her pocket and wrote down the date and time of his arrival, along with his name. That done, she put the logbook away and pulled a set of brass keys off the wall behind her. “This unlocks the largest room on the premises. There’s a shared washroom at the end of the hall upstairs.”
Not the bath Raiah truly wanted, but it would do. Soren took the keys with a nod of thanks and guided Raiah upstairs. It was a matter of moments to dump his gear in the assigned room, dig out a set of clean clothes for Raiah, and escort her to the small washroom at the end of the hall that housed a toilet, sink, and narrow shower.
It was clean, courtesy of the warden downstairs, whose duties included caring for the property as well as keeping inventory of the resupply station below. Soren had helped Vanya bathe Raiah when she was a baby and a toddler on occasion, and this was no different. He helped Raiah get undressed and used one of the wash rags in the basket to scrub her clean. The water ran dark with all the dust and dirt they’d accumulated, and her skin was a little pink in areas despite his best efforts to protect her from the sun. He’d need to find his burn balm for that.
Raiah pouted as Soren gently rubbed at her cheek with the wash rag. “I wanted a bath.”
“I know. Perhaps next time.”
When they finished, he wrapped her up in a clean but scratchy towel, dried her off, and got her dressed. It took a little bit of time to detangle her hair and clumsily separate it into two braids. Vanya was far more skilled than he was at doing Raiah’s hair, but Soren did his best.
“There we go,” he said, patting her head.
Raiah smiled toothily up at him. “Can we eat now?”
Soren nodded and opened the door, stiffening when he caught sight of someone else in the hall. Another warden, this one tall and blond and broad-shouldered, waited in the hall, arms crossed over his chest. Gray hair edged his temples and the shadow of a beard he sported, face weathered from a life spent in the poison fields. His bushy eyebrows crept toward his hairline when he caught sight of Raiah by Soren’s side.
“What are you doing with a kid?” the warden asked.
“She’s a tithe,” Soren said, placing a hand on her head, wishing he’d put her helmet back on. “And not your business.”
The warden blinked lazily at him, decked out in full gear, which made Soren hope he’d be leaving. Perhaps this was the owner of the other velocycle parked outside. “Not saying she is. Name’s Harald.”
“Soren.”
Another blink. “And the kid?”
“Nameless.” It was tradition for a tithe, after all. Soren remembered that well enough, even if Callisto would rather he’d forget how he came to be the man he was today. “She’s hungry.”
Harald shoved away from the wall, turning enough that Soren got a better look at the poison scimitar the other warden carried for close-quarters combat duties when facing off with revenants. “I’ve been here for two days. I can show you to a good café.”
“We’ll be fine.”
“Consider it business. I’d like to know where in the poison fields you found her. We’ve had a lot more revenants than usual in Ashion these last few years, and it’s only polite to pass on a warning. With what’s happening in the west right now, one can never be too careful.”
