“It’s risky,” Ace continued.
“She’s my best friend.” I straightened and stepped out of the brush.
Ace grumbled and followed me as I made my way to the front door and gently rapped my knuckles on the rough wooden door.
It swung open almost immediately. Sley stood barefoot in her home, wearing a long, layered skirt stitched from at least five different fabrics, and a wool shawl wrapped around her shoulders in an asymmetrical knot.
“Is it really you?” Sley jerked her head up, her eyes wide. She scrambled over the threshold and launched herself at me. I caught her in both arms, and she squeezed the life out of me. Her hair smelled of pine and orange peel.
“I thought you were dead,” she whispered.
I shook my head and squeezed her back. “I’m immortal.”
“And immortals have been turning up dead.” She stepped back and swatted my arm. “I was so phaaning worried. Orion, too.”
He must’ve returned before anyone had noticed he’d left. “He’s safe?”
She nodded. “Yes.”
Ace looked over his shoulder, his scowl deepening. “Can we come in?”
Sley bobbed her head and stood back. With a sweeping arm, she waved at her home.
We stepped inside, and Sley closed the door behind us with a soft thud. The scent of dried herbs and wood smoke wrapped around me like an old friend.
Sley had one of the smaller cabins in Perga, but it always felt warm to me, even in the dead of winter. Sley hid the bland wooden walls with a patchwork of woven shawls, quilted tapestries, and sun-faded fabrics.
In the far corner, Sley’s bed was draped in layered quilts, each one stitched by hand. Some were embroidered with constellations, wildflowers, or strange swirling sigils I didn’t know. Curtains made from old fabrics framed the tiny window above the bed and let in a shimmer of light.
The floor was covered in braided rugs, mismatched and soft. Sley had woven them herself from scraps of cloth. The fabric muted our footsteps as we crossed the room.
Bundles of lavender and rosemary hung from the ceiling beams, their stems bound with twine and jars lined the shelves in her food prep area. Sley loved to share her process of how she collected herbs and prepared her products, but my attention span struggled to follow all the intricate steps. I left the twine making to Sley and focused on constructing arrows instead.
A small pot simmered over the hearth fire. Sley was making her regular tea with apple, clove, and a hint of mint. The familiar scent was comforting and wild all at once.
Those two words described my friendship with Sley perfectly—comforting and wild.
“Did we lose anyone in the attack?” Ace asked, breaking the silence.
“Just old man Reilly.”
“O’Reilly?” That was surprising. Why would the hunters go after him?
“Yeah, oddest thing. He was found in his cabin, single arrow to the chest.”
“That’s happening a lot around here,” Ace muttered. His attention snagged on one of the hanging tapestries and he stepped away from us to study the details.
I knew this one well. The artwork depicted the final battle between the galeons and phaanons. King Oberon stood over a cowering phaanon woman with his sword raised for the final strike. But instead of looking fearful or sad, a smirk twisted her lips and her eyes twinkled with mischief. I never understood her expression, or why the artist chose to show her like this, but I hoped when I faced my final moment, I would have no fear, like her.
“Where did you get this?” Ace asked.
“Vitor,” Sley said.
Ace raised both his eyebrows. “You’ve been to Vitor?”
Sley visibly shook herself and straightened. “Not quite. I purchased it from a Vitorian merchant at a fair in Wast.”
Ace turned slightly to me, but whatever he tried to tell me with his look was lost on me. My mind instantly went to the gutter, which was totally inappropriate for this moment, so I just smiled.
