‘Heathcross,’ Spinner supplies, consulting the map.
‘Precisely. And even if I had,’ I continue, stabbing a finger at my eyepatch, ‘I doubt any of them would recognize me now anyway.’
My words dangle in the air, the tone all wrong. I’d meant to sound self-deprecating, but my voice comes out tinged with a bitter acidity I usually succeed in swallowing down. I cringe away as Spinner reaches out to pat my arm, her face flooded with sympathy. Sheen says nothing, his violet eyes unreadable. And just for a brief moment, I hate them both. One for their pity, the other for their lack of it.
‘In any case,’ I hurry on, ‘I’d rather gnaw the leather from my boot than eat another bowl of Spinner’s revolting soup.’
Spinner lets out a theatrical gasp of indignation and launches herself at me. ‘Why, you rude, ungrateful –’
We fall backwards into the heather, her half tickling, half punching me, our laughter shattering the tension. I roll her over, pinning her wrists to the ground while she squeals and struggles and does a poor job of pretending she’s not enjoying every second.
Sheen looks as though he’d rather be anywhere else.
‘Fine,’ he says eventually, as a giggling Spinner leans up to kiss me. ‘Fine.If you two get up and stop acting like idiots, then we’ll go. But if anything happens, it’s on you. Happy?’
‘Delirious,’ I tell him, scrambling to my feet.
I hold out a hand to Spinner, and together the three of us start making our way up the hill towards Heathcross.
I picture a quaint little hamlet filled with all manner of delights – a bakery selling fresh bread, children dancing joyfully around a maypole, thatched cottages covered in honeysuckle with shutters painted cornflower blue.
Yet when we arrive, the reality is … quite different.
There’s no bakery. There’s no maypole either. Instead, a series of treacherous-looking spikes are wedged into the earth around the village perimeter, and all windows are boarded shut, bristling with iron nails.
I glance around, scratching the back of my neck. ‘This is … cosy.’
We refill our waterskins from a nearby well, and I splash some water over my face in an attempt to cool my burns.
Several people eye us suspiciously as we approach. Some even pull their children away, doors slamming behind them, while others rest their hands on the weapons slung from their belts. Theweapons. I stare in surprise – not just because they seem out of place in a small Fidran village in the middle of the Wildlands but because of how magnificent they are. Axes, maces, longswords – all expertly crafted.
I think of my bow, snapped to splinters in the Ridge tunnels.
‘What’s with this place?’ Spinner whispers. ‘Why are they looking at us like that?’
‘I don’t know,’ says Sheen. ‘But I don’t like it.’
‘You don’t like anything,’ I tell him.
My gaze rests on a woman with a kind face. She’s throwing scraps into a pen built high with steel railings, a few pigs milling about aimlessly inside.
I clear my throat, preparing to turn on that famous Harglade charm. ‘Afternoon,’ I call cheerfully. ‘May I ask –’ But I don’t get to finish my sentence, because the woman takes one frightened look at us and bolts in the oppositedirection. ‘I’ll take that as a no,’ I say, just as a burly man lumbers towards us, a gleaming crossbow strapped to his back.
‘What’s your business here?’
I bow my head. ‘We are but poor travellers come to seek a hot meal and a bed for the night. Would you be so kind as to point us in the direction of your best alehouse?’
The man snorts. ‘Don’t got one.’
‘Ah.’ My stomach growls. ‘That’s unfortunate.’
‘Leave it,’ says Sheen. ‘Let’s just go.’
I ignore him. ‘What about an inn? D’you have one of those?’
‘Isaid, let’s go.’
‘Or perhaps a brothel?’ I continue. ‘My friend here could certainly use one. Truly, I’ve never known someone so uptight in all my life.’
