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Elan, who sets the pace, regales us with stories of her childhood. Her wrinkled face softens as she speaks of times before any of us were alive, before the great war that shattered the empire of Kamor and ended with Aclaris’s freedom, when wild dragons flying high in the sky were a common sight throughout those lands.

“You’d never know, looking at the dead fields we’ve left behind, that our whole kingdom was once renowned worldwide for our abundant flax and cotton exports.” The twice-widowed grandmother gestures to the sole field with a sad sigh.

Mal, one of the kindest boys I’ve ever met, rubs his cheek against the back of her hand. His pale brown hair falls over his blue eyes as he stares up at the woman he’s come to trust. He’s too young to fully comprehend loss, but he does understand sadness and the comfort of human touch.

“My village also grew flax.” Mira absent-mindedly pats the toddler on her chest with one hand while pushing her blond hair back with the other. She seems steady in her new role as a mother-figure even though she only came across little Stark two weeks ago.

Mira stumbled upon Prim and the poor babe together. The young girl was barely big enough to carry the toddler. After the Withering destroyed their village’s land, Mira did the best she could to rescue them both.

It was the luck of the gods that Aldric and Mira found them instead of slavers. Through conversations with our traveling party, I’ve learned that while slavery is illegal in Meridia, the practice is gaining traction as the Withering spreads and authority collapses in the kingdom’s rural areas.

“I don’t know if any crops will survive this epidemic.” Mira glances at Aldric, who nods. “And unlike the others, I don’t think the Withering affects people. I’ve never seen anyone get sick from walking in a Withered field.”

“The Withering may not, but there’s another ailment, one rather similar, that took hold of a few other villages and a few secluded homes I passed.” Leif gazes out over the fields, his eyes seeing more than what’s there.

“What do you mean?” Prim tugs on my finger, and without thinking, I lift the little girl up onto my shoulders. She’s still recovering from the starvation that chased her from her home and tires easily. Giving all her food and water to Stark had kept him alive but severely weakened her.

One of the bravest children I’ve ever met. And such a kind heart. She deserves better than this gods’ cursed land.

My own heart swells for Prim. I wish I could do more for her.

Leif struggles to articulate his thoughts. “Before I left, some people in my town started to forget⁠—”

Esme’s head snaps toward him. “They all forget.”

Leif glares at Esme before starting over. “Those with the Hushing Sickness get sick and weak, depressed in mind and body. They’ll mindlessly perform a familiar task over and over again without stopping. In my town, people quit speaking. They seemed dull, out of sorts. Then they started hurting themselves, as if that was the only way they could remember. I saw a man carve his name into his arm repeatedly, and when I attempted to stop him, he tried to cut me. As soon as I released him, he went right back to hurting himself. I took off soon after that. I was… I was the last one left. I didn’t know what else to do. I didn’t want to catch it too.”

“When did it start?” Her sudden focus banishes the previous awkwardness. “Describe the progression in detail. What were the first symptoms? How fast did it spread? Geographic pattern if you know it…and location. Tell me what the weather was like that day.”

The clumsy woman who couldn’t converse with a grandmother yesterday becomes precise, intelligent, and genuinely invested.

Leif blinks at the rapid-fire questioning. “Like I said, the first symptom is the memory loss. They only eat or drink if someone makes them. They grow paler and paler. Some people start to harm themselves. It’s not exactly the same with everyone, but over time, they all lose themselves completely.”

Goosebumps prickle my arms and the back of my neck as I imagine the horrific progression Leif described. The spring sun dips behind a cloud as if it knows what we’re discussing. I don’t want the kids to listen to any more graphic details, so I take Mal’s hand and inform him and Prim that it’s a good time to forage for side dishes for dinner. Both kids perk up at the idea of food.

I haul them off, contemplating this new side of Esme. Even her snobby shyness disappears as she drills Leif and Elan with additional questions. I guess she’s more than a nice ass and a warm body.

Mal, Prim, and I return for the midday meal, with Mal’s shirt tucked full of watercress.

By then, Esme has drifted to Mira to engage in a conversation that seems more like a lecture on proper rest and self-care when dealing with a young child. “…silkworm-down pillows. Their soothing texture helped me during…difficult times. Very gentle on the skin.”

Silkworm-down!

I duck my head before I start cackling.

Esme mentioned it so casually, as if a pillow like that doesn’t cost more than most villagers earn in five years, a luxury only nobility could afford without a second thought. I file this detail away with all the other pieces of her life I’ve been compiling.

Before resuming our march, we head to a tiny stream running near the road where I can fill the waterskins while still keeping Esme in sight.

Aldric accompanies me and waits until we’re out of earshot to speak. “She’s not what she seems, your companion.”

I maintain a neutral expression. “No?”

“I traveled to the noble courts before this all began.” He absently taps the cane with his ring finger. “Her mannerisms don’t line up with someone of common breeding.”

My logic points in that direction as well. I’m also still suspicious of why she was in that blood-splattered room at the gambling den.

Her tale about buying back a stolen artifact sounds thinner by the day.