Gone were my dark thoughts of barren rooms, gray walls, and dagger-wielding killers. Instead, I dreamed of sunshine andlaughter. Of bare feet on mossy earth and the rich scent of redwoods.
3
RUNE
My wards pinged, jingling the silver bell hanging above my door. Frowning, I lifted my eyes from the open book on my lap—I’d been engrossed in a murder mystery, where twelve strangers were trapped in a storm-swept castle together—and glared out the window. What in fate’s name had tripped them now? This was happening an obnoxious amount lately, and I couldn’t figure out how to fix it. Forest critters weren’t supposed to set off my wards, and yet there they went again.
Grumbling, I snapped my book shut and placed it on the table next to my rocking chair. The fire raged in the hearth, blasting a soothing heat through my cottage. The spring weather had warmed the past few weeks, but I liked it hot.
“I better go fucking check on it, Moira,” I muttered to the black cat perched on my kitchen table, licking her paw. She stared at me with glittering eyes, like she was daring me to tell her to get off the table again. I’d given up. The damn beast owned this cottage at this point.
I thundered over to the door, unlatched it, and yanked it open. “You coming?”
She very pointedly continued to stare. Unlike every other cat I’d met—which to be fair, wasn’t all that many—Moira hated going out at night. If I tried to encourage her, she hissed at me and all her hair stood on end, like I was asking her to stand out in the rain or something.
“Ridiculous cat,” I muttered, then ventured outside.
It was a warm spring night, insects buzzing, moths bouncing against the window. I moved toward the woods. A few rabbits darted away at my heavy footsteps, and I could feel one of the neighborhood owls watching me. I fed them sometimes, and they were getting bolder by the day, which was all well and good so long as Moira didn’t come out once the sun went down. She’d try to catch one, though I couldn’t say she’d be particularly successful. She was a funny little thing. All hiss and no bite.
The redwoods towered around my cottage, boxing it in so that my home almost seemed like it was a part of the forest, which was what I liked most about it. Most inhabitants of this island lived in the town of Oakwater, about a half hour’s walk from here. They insisted on clustering together like that, nearly living on top of each other. Windows looked into neighboring windows, and voices drifted through walls, enough for you to make out every word of someone’s conversation. They were packed in tight, even when there was all thisspace. I didn’t see much sense in living like that.
No matter. It meant no one came looking to build their house anywhere near mine.
My ward suddenly pinged again, and the bell’s jingle drifted toward me through the open door.
Frowning, I hefted my axe from the ground and ventured into the thick of the forest. It probably didn’t mean anything. Itnever did. But I couldn’t ignore it, either. Because the first time I brushed it aside would be the time it really mattered.
With the axe head resting on my shoulder, I strode through the familiar trees, not even looking as I cut my path toward the perimeter I’d marked with my Jordur sand. The sand was one of the four Galdur elements, one of the few true aspects of magic in the world. Most folk didn’t know the full depths of what the sand could do, but I’d spent my youth at an academy for those interested in training magic. And the Jordur sand, the element of the earth, could be worked in such a way that it could warn its user of intruders, so long as said intruder crossed the line of sand.
When I’d buried it in a circular formation around my cottage, I’d known windswept leaves and forest critters could be a problem, so I’d followed the instructions in a textbook I’d…’borrowed' from the academy. It was meant to alert me only when the intruder was over a certain size.
It had always worked until recently. Seven times now, it had pinged when nothing was there.
Odds were, nothing was there this time, either. But I still had to check. It was the only warning I’d get if someone found me. And even though none of them should be able to step foot on this island, I knew they’d find a workaround one day.
I stalked through the trees, my axe at the ready. The scent of wood smoke permeated the forest, drowning out the usual scents of pine, moss, and fragrant wildflowers, thicker now that I was away from my cottage. I frowned and looked in the direction of my closest neighbors. A family of dwarves had taken up residence about a ten-minute walk from here, but they didn’t usually burn logs this time of year. They were more comfortable when there was a chill in the air, having lived most of their lives underground in the caves of The Glass Peaks.
Unease rattled through me. The dwarves were good folk. When they’d first arrived on the island, they hadn’t turned their noses up at living near me, despite me being a full-blooded orc. And when they’d asked me to build their home for them, I’d been more than happy to oblige. I might not be a talkative sort with a lot of friends, but I did what I could for those who needed me.
If that fire was coming from their place…there could have been an accident.
I took off, sprinting through the trees with my axe hanging heavily by my side. Within moments, I’d erased the distance between our homes. I peered through the dense trees. The cottage was fully intact. Through the windows, I could see the entire family gathered around their dinner table, chattering away like all was well.
I heaved a sigh and leaned heavily against the nearest tree.All was well.I should have known it was, rather than jumping to the worst conclusion I could conjure.
I tended to do that. It was one of things people hated about me.
Frowning, I started to turn from the cottage, only to notice their hearth was silent and empty. But the scent of smoke still pulsed against my senses. Stiffening, I looked around, searching for the source of it. If the smoke wasn’t coming from here, then where in fate’s damned name was it coming from?
Were my wards finally right? Was someone really out there, camped out in the woods and cooking meat over the flames?
Tensing, I moved through the trees. Twigs snapped underfoot, but the rustle of the wind through the branches hid the sound. I sniffed the air, trying to scent the direction of the smoke. There was something out here that shouldn’t be, and I was damn sure I was going to find it.
And then there—a light sound drifted toward me. The steady rise and fall of heavy breathing. I stilled and swivelled my headtoward the noise. In the darkness, it took me a moment to understand what I was looking at, but after a time, I saw her. An elven woman was tucked inside a redwood’s tree hollow, sleeping.
She wore deep green leathers to blend in with the forest, and her hair was a rich brown that cascaded around her shoulders. Even as curled up as she was, she looked long and lean, like an arrow, and there was something about her that reminded me of the trees. My breath stilled in my lungs as I watched her chest rise and fall once more.
Beside her lay a pack, a bow, and a quiver of arrows. Aweapon. Of course, she could easily explain that away—she was out hunting for game, I was sure she’d say. She might not be lying if she said that, either.
