“Sword of doom?” Warden queries. “I don’t think it has a name.”
“I’ve just named it,” I respond. Joan snorts a laugh.
“Not all swords need names,” John says, sagely. “In fact, the named ones are often pretty useless. But not all.”
He looks at Warden for reassurance, but my big centaur is impassive. He does not want me to leave his sight, but the cold feeling is creeping back into my bones, and I’d really like something other than my shift and a blanket to wear.
“Come, Brag,” John says. “You can help me bring in the wood before I start cooking.”
This is enough to turn Warden’s attention, and he is led out the back door while I follow Joan up the wooden steps to the upper room.
“I probably won’t have much to fit you,” she says.
“That doesn’t surprise me.” I have to be a foot taller than tiny, golden-haired Joan. She makes me feel like a giant when I’m only five foot six.
“But I think I have a few things to keep you warm in the meantime.” She opens a chest and digs inside, handing me a pair of long, beige woolly leggings and some soft socks in purple.
“Did you always make weapons?” I ask.
“My mother taught me. Not all witches have much magic, and mine seemed to be concentrated on being able to craft metal into things which kill.” She looks up at me before she goes back to sorting, and I pull on the leggings.
They are super soft and warm, as are the socks. I’m already feeling brighter.
“I am…I was the landlady of a tavern in the Night Lands. None of the witches and warlocks there had any magic.”
“Really?” Joan looks me up and down. “Yet you are touched by it.”
“Warden and I have been staying with Meg of Maldon.”
Joan purses her lips. “No, that’s not it,” she says. “And the Brag has little magic, given he is immortal.”
I take a step back from her, suddenly doubting my reasons for trusting this couple. After all, they could be in league with the Dunnie.
“How do you know?”
“I might not have magic like other witches, but I can see and feel things.” Joan either doesn’t notice or chooses to ignore my sudden suspicion. “It’s what made me a good weapons maker, and it makes me a judge of character too.”
“So what if Warden is immortal,” I respond. “He wants his mortality back, yes, but it doesn’t change what he is.”
“Spoken like his true mate.” Joan stands up, holding out a rather shapeless jumper in a series of blue and purple hues. “Looks like this will even go well with your hair,” she says with a chuckle.
I pull it on. It smells of lavender and it’s as soft as the leggings. “Thank you.”
“You don’t need to thank me,” Joan says. “But if you and the Brag want to stay tonight and…” She gives me a beaming smile. “Enjoy yourselves, we, and our neighbours, would appreciate it.”
At least this request isn’t so much of a surprise anymore.
“And yet, apparently neither of us have much magic…” I respond.
“But it’s the magic you make when together,” Joan responds. “And I would hope he will keep you up most of the night making it.”
I still can’t stop the colour flooding my cheeks.
“I’ll need to speak to Warden,” I respond.
“I expect my husband has asked him the same question,” Joan replies. “And if he’s half the Brag I expect, he will accept.”
Silently, I agree with her. I don’t want to go back out in the dark and cold, even with Warden. It makes sense to stay here.
