“And I want to buy out my contract—I’m done with this place. There’s not enough money in the world that could make me want this anymore,” Mal added, feeling bolder now that he could draw a full breath.
Kage’s eyes narrowed. He studied Mal for an uncomfortably long moment, in which Mal resisted the urge to rub his throat. Finally, he commanded, “Wait here.”
He disappeared into the cellar, leaving Mal alone with a spinning head and no place to steady himself, returning just a few minutes later with a yellowed piece of parchment in hand. Mal frowned at that; he had never signed an actual contract with Kage, yet part of him expected to see his own blood staining the paper as he joined his boss at the counter to study it.
A little piece of the corner crumbled into dust as he tried to flatten it. Kage turned to look at him again, but Mal stared determinedly at the counter.
At the map being presented to him.
A rather detailed map at that, leading from Mayfair out to the Rotrose Mire, the beast-riddled and supposedly rather haunted swamp that Rhun had been exploring with two of his old friends when he vanished for the final time while the others were sleeping.
According to them, Mal’s childhood guardian had either killed himself or been dragged off, and the rest of the big, bad Wardens had come running home without their dear old friend. Some heroes.
They had, Mal recalled, been striking toward a lake when they last saw him. A lake that supposedly held ancient treasure that would aid in the fight against the Shadow Queen and finally turn the tide in the Wardens’ favor, helping them lay all her dead creatures to rest. He remembered huddling behind a door with Griff, neither daring to breathe too loudly as they listened toRhun’s friends speculate on what the treasure might be before they left.
Swords to fight spirits. Impenetrable armor. Coffers of gold and silver. The crowns and bones of long-dead kings of elves and men, imbued with remnants of their power even after all this time.
They promised Rhun the Mire held resources, weapons, and aid to give them hope.
At the time, Mal had assumed it was all nothing more than legend, something to entertain men deep in their cups at the end of the day. But he spotted the glitter of gold in Kage’s eyes as his boss ordered, “Find the treasure on this map and bring it to me, and you can have Griffin Sayerandyour freedom. You can have the whole fucking world, for all I care.”
Follow a set path, bring back a fabled treasure, and get everything that mattered most to him? Nothing was ever that simple. But before Mal could demand to know the catch, Kage continued, “You’re to leave the moment summer arrives, when the roads east are easily walkable. You’ll have four weeks to get the treasure and bring it to the shop. The riches on this map belong to the dark lady, and she’s been sorely missing them for far too long.”
“Fourweeks?” Mal repeated incredulously, because that didn’t strike him as long enough at all to wade through a swamp filled with ghosts and monsters. A swamp that was apparently so deadly that neither the Shadow Queen nor any of her supposedly devoted servants were willing to brave it to reclaim this important treasure.
Kage nodded once, tersely. “Four weeks, Mister Dangerous. That’s when I’ll be heading south. I can deliver the goods to our Queen in person, and be rewarded handsomely for having put up with you and your mouth in the first place. Unless … you’re not up to the task.”
“I’m not saying that. Just—what if it takes me four weeks and a day?” Mal demanded, though he had already decided he wastaking the deal. The dangers didn’t matter to a man who was already as cursed as he was; what mattered was knowing Griff would be safe, and that he never had to see the inside of this fucking shop again or smell a cup of Guts’s triple-berry brew once he returned triumphant.
Kage’s smile was never warm, but it was especially cold when his sharp teeth glistened with spit. “Then every spirit and beast in the Mire—every loyal servant of the dark queen, near and far—will hunt you down and tear you to pieces. You’ll still be free of your contract, but you won’t have any say in what happens to the hero’s son.” When Mal didn’t say anything for a moment, he added more thoughtfully, “Either way, I win too, because I’ll be rid of you, whether you’re dead or no longer one of my charges. Before you become too much like the hero’s son you so clearly worship.”
“I’ll do it,” Mal said quickly, getting it over with like swallowing bitter medicine. He didn’t even bother commenting on his boss’s wildly incorrect opinion of what he thought of Griff. “In four weeks. Less than. You’ll see.”
Kage’s smile only grew, filling Mal with a quiet dread. “Roll up your sleeve, then,” the half-orc said, rummaging for something behind the counter.
When Mal didn’t rush to comply, Kage stopped searching and did it for him, roughly shoving his shirt up to his elbow and leaving the paler skin of his forearm exposed.
“What the fuck?” Mal growled, flinching away as Kage pulled out a needle and a small bowl of ash. He knew what the supplies were for, of course; he had seen Guts get a tattoo here when she first signed on. It also wasn’t lost on him that Kage hadn’t brought out any alcohol to clean the area first, or any for Mal to drink. Bastard.
“I’m going to mark you,” Kage explained, dipping the needle into the bowl. “A magical symbol of our agreement that will letour queen and her servants keep track of your progress on this assignment. There are plenty of faithful undead in the Mire, should you require motivation, or any reminders of how much time you have to finish the task.”
Apparently, some of the dark queen’s servants were as expendable as he was against whatever made the swamp so deadly. Figured.
Mal stared down impassively at his bloody, stinging skin, watching as Kage forced ash beneath it. The pain was nothing compared to knowing he had brought Griff to the brink of death. If anything, the sting was a welcome distraction.
“The binding magic in these marks will be broken upon collection of the treasure—or upon your death, as I doubt my lady wants a spirit with a mouth like yours under her command for eternity,” Kage informed him somewhat more cheerfully as the dark, swollen shapes of raven’s feathers began cascading down Mal’s forearm in the dim lantern light.
That was something, at least. Once he gave the Shadow Queen her gold, she wouldn’t have a magical means of stalking him anymore. And Griff would be safe.
That alone was worth whatever it cost in the end.
There was a sameness to Mal’s days in Linden that had always made him ready to leave again after just a few weeks. He was usually thankful for his work guarding the dark queen’s caravans in and out of Mayfair, for another chance to put the drowsy town at his back and actually hear himself think. Because when he was at home, though the cottage held a certain charm with all its little spiderweb castles and the scent of Wynnie’s baking forever permeating the walls, there was also … Mags. His constant shadow.
Her real name was Margred, and while they weren’t actually related, she called him uncle anyway. And ever since Alys had broken up with the girl’s father, Mags was forever seeking her Uncle Mal’s attention.
She had even learned how to pick the lock on his bedroom door—not that she needed to; Mal knew she was always listening through the paper-thin wall to whatever the adults were discussing. So Mags had learned more than most kids her age already, and missed little when it came to the details of their busy household.
With his bags packed and nothing left to do but explain his impending absence, Mal had settled himself outside in the overgrown garden to try to read a passage from the dwarvish-language philosophy book that he carried with him wherever he went, trying not to think about where Alys was right now. And most importantly, trying not to think at all about who she was with.
