“Me too,” I muttered, picking at the threads of my cloak.
This wagon ride was torture. I didn’t want to arrive in Dwindle, but it was so close now, I needed to just get it over with. And then there was the stupid part of me that wanted to crawl into Hesper’s lap and kiss her until we both forgot what lay in wait for us.
Instead, we sat in utter silence, neither of us looking the other in the eye.
Well, this is going splendidly.
Too soon, the wagon came to a stop. Hesper and I both stayed still, willing the moment to last just a bit longer before we faced what lay ahead.
But whatever lay in wait today, I would deal with it. Dwindle may not have what they hoped for, but they at least would have someone who could write up a wickedly useful garden plan. As for the stories, well, I couldn’t deny that growing a garden may be the least of our worries.
The doors opened, and we stepped out into watery morning light. Ludwig pointed to a hill that I could just make out through all the gray.
“Just up that way,” he said, pulling me into a bone-crushing hug before hopping back on his carriage, the fog parting for his golden steeds. I didn’t get a chance to tell him goodbye or to say sorry. We were all so wrong about him, and now he was off again. An old habit—never saying the things I needed until the time had long since passed.
We made our way up the steep incline. My heart was racing, my breathing unsteady. What would we see when we crested the hill? A town in ruins? Would the people even let me in? What would a town even look like, surrounded byShadow Woods and sucked dry from withering magic this close to what used to be Starfall?
A familiar shape plummeted out of the sky, landing right on Hesper’s outstretched arm.
“The area is secure, Madame. The Prince’s hounds have not been seen since Lore, and I have received no other reports of gathering forces. It seems he has been kept at bay, for now,” Edge said coolly, Warty at his side, both perched proudly on Hesper’s arm looking like the perfect henchmen.
Hesper gave a quick nod and shot them both back up into the sky.
At least we didn’t have to worry about the Prince for today, for now. Hesper and I kept walking in silence. Just as we reached the top of the hill, the sun came out in full—or as much as it could behind thick clouds and mist. The world went from dark gray to a slightly lesser gray.
And nestled at the bottom of the valley, surrounded by nothing but the dark, dense forest and dying grass, lay Dwindle.
From up here, the town looked unassuming. I expected it to be craggily, midnight black, hewn from impenetrable stone, or a myriad of other unwelcoming sights. Instead, it looked like any other village. It had the same tint of gray that everything else in this part of the land had, but it wasn’t unpleasant.
Something about it almost seemed familiar.
A small village is a village, I supposed.
But as we approached, Dwindle quickly became unlike any village I had seen in Nestryia. I stepped onto its cobblestone streets and looked in awe at the sights around me.
Ornately painted signs hung from every shoppe. The paintpeeled, the wood was misshapen, but the craftsmanship was a marvel. The buildings themselves, however, were the true spectacle.
To our right was a cobbler shoppe shaped like a boot, fittingly named Tuff as Ole Boots—awholebuilding shaped like a warped leather boot. Across from Tuff’s sat Bards & Brew, a shoppe shaped like a coffeepot, complete with a handle and a lid. The warped wooden sign hanging next to the door read:
YE TRAVELERS ANDDWINDLEDWELLERS ALIKE
ENTER INTOB&BFOR THE RICHEST COFFEE AND MOST FANTASTICAL BOOKS…
*WHEN STOCK ALLOWS*
As I looked down the main street, every building was its own piece of whimsy. Even the more normal-looking cottages had shutters shaped like butterflies, thatched roofs with what looked to be old garden beds atop them, and chimneys so terribly askew that they more resembled figures dancing in the sky.
But the ground underneath our feet and dankness hanging in the air betrayed any sense of comfort. Sickly pale and ashen, the soil was depleted entirely. Each cottage had a sheen of gray surrounding it, leeching what looked to be once vibrant colors. Flower boxes lay empty, abandoned birds’ nests poking out the tops. The only sound came from a door creaking in the almost nonexistent breeze.
“What is this place?” I asked aloud. Even Hesper seemed astonished by the town around us. Everything was in a state of disarray; we had not met or seen a single person, though wewere arriving wickedly early. I could only assume the town would be stirring any minute now. But there were no smells from the bakeries, no coffee brewing, no early-morning farmers tending to the earth before the heat of the day.
Maybe it was not the town itself that found its way into scary bedtime stories.
“You’re here!” a deep voice rasped from behind us. I startled, and Hesper’s hand flew to her side, where a weapon was sure to be hidden.
On the front steps of a dusty purple cottage stood a tall, thin man. I couldn’t make out much of him through the gloom, just a murky outline. He began striding toward us, and Hesper shoved me behind her. I peeked out around her shoulder, readying myself for what might come.
But the fog parted and out came a man with long gray hair pulled back in a low pony. His chestnut skin was without a blemish, yet his eyes seemed to betray his age. Old and young all at once. His dark blue robe caught the wind, revealing a simple tunic and work pants underneath. The knees looked to be patched and repatched, so much so that the trousers had to be hefted high above his waist to hold up the weight of the added cloth.
