“Not a chance,” said Alison. “But you will come with me, won’t you? Just in case?” Alison doubted there was any reason the spriggan might turn violent as it had during their first encounter, but she had no way to bind it this time if it did. The only ash of the old vine that had been preserved belonged to Duncan Corbett, the town’s archivist. And although he would give it over if asked, Alison agreed that it should be preserved for future research purposes.
“Of course I’ll come,” said Keir. He leaned over and kissed her gently on the lips. “After lunch, though. I’m starving.”
A wonderful answer. Alison joined him in the kitchen, accompanied shortly by Willow and Dinah, who were never far away when the possibility of food was around. There, they prepared a hearty meal of vegetable stew for the humans and tinned fish for the cats, filling up for the adventures to come.
Chapter Five
THE IMPOSSIBLE SWORD
Rinka
“What are you doing? Where did you get that?” Rinka’s eyes could not leave the sword in Drystan’s hand.
It was like nothing Rinka had ever seen. From straight on, it looked like cold metal, likely the same kind of dwarven steel that her cleavers and butcher’s knives were made from.
And yet from the side, the sword seemed to vanish. There was only the faintest shimmer where it should have been, as if the blade itself was a trick of the light.
“I’m getting ready,” said Drystan, stowing the weapon at his side in a loop Rinka would have sworn did not exist moments earlier.
“Is it magic?” she asked. Rinka had never seen the old magic used before. But she knew from Alison’s letters that it could be powerful and dangerous in the wrong hands.
She wished more than ever she knew who Drystan really was.
Drystan’s attention was focused on the approaching boat. “Yes, magic,” he said distractedly. “Can you see them? Can you tell how many there are?”
Rinka squinted into the distance. She could just make out three shapes—no, four—moving around the ship’s upper deck. Itwas a motorized boat of some kind like the ferry, not a wooden boat with great big sails like pirate ships always had in the picture shows.
“Four, at least. They don’t look like pirates to me,” said Rinka.
“They’re pirates,” said Drystan.
“How do you know? Are you a pirate? Or a pirate hunter?”
“Neither,” said Drystan. “I’ve just met their kind before.” He turned to her, his face deadly serious. “Head inside and warn the captain. I’d like to be here to greet our new friends.”
His entire demeanor had changed from his posture to the tone of his voice. He brimmed with an authority that felt practiced, as if situations like this happened to him every day, and he was usually the one in charge.
It mattered little to Rinka. One could hardly throw the weight of their authority around and keep their identity mysterious at the same time. “No,” said Rinka. “I want to use my second question.”
“Not right now—”
“Yes, right now.” Rinka stood firm. She wanted to trust him, but before their game had been just that—a lighthearted way to pass the time during their journey. Now that danger was on its way—if it even truly was—she needed answers. “I want you to tell me if these pirates are coming here for you. Tell me the truth.”
Drystan shifted uncomfortably. He glanced out to the approaching ship, which was close enough now that Rinka could make out its flag: black, with a white tree wreathed in red flame.
“Burning Ash,” Drystan muttered.
“Burning Ash?”
“A mercenary group. Swords for hire. No, I don’t think they’re here for me.”
“You don’t think so? But you aren’t sure.”
“I can’t be completely sure, no. It’s possible. It would be best if you aren’t seen with me, just in case.” There was a warmth inhis tone, a protectiveness that touched somewhere deep within Rinka, a vulnerable place she hadn’t known existed.
“I’m not leaving you,” she said.
Drystan’s eyes widened, and Rinka felt the blush travel up her neck into her cheeks. She wasn’t sure why she’d said it—he seemed to have a handle on the situation, and she wasn’t likely to be much help in a sword fight.
