Artemis

  The morning came cold and gray, the kind that clung to the bones long after the sun was up. The shutters rattled in their frames. I’d been up since before the light, listening to the slow stir of the town outside the inn. No trouble in the night. No riders. Just the faint clatter of a cart wheel somewhere down the street and the bark of a dog.

  I’d chosen this town for a reason. Small, quiet, and close. I’d passed through here before and knew it well enough to trust its habits. A place to get feed for the horses, dry bread for the road, and maybe a word or two about what was happening along the border.

  By the time Celeste came down from the room we’d shared, I’d already checked the horses. Her hair was still damp from the washbasin, her cheeks flushed from the cold air seeping through the hall.

  “We’ll eat first,” I said as we stepped out into the thin winter light.

  The streets were still waking. Frost clung to the thatch roofs, catching what little light had made it over the hills. Smoke drifted in thin ribbons from chimneys, the smell of wood and rendered fat curling through the air. A boy hurried past with a slop bucket, a woman strung laundry between two posts, and a shopkeeper glanced at us over the broom handle.

  We made our way toward the market square, where a squat building with a wide porch sat near the well. The sign above the door read The Broken Lantern, its painted letters weathered to pale ghosts of themselves.

  The door shut behind us with a muffled thud, holding the morning’s chill at bay. Inside, the air was warmer, thick with the scent of baking bread and onions sizzling on a griddle. Rafters ran low overhead, darkened by years of smoke, with spiderwebs clinging to the corners where the light didn’t reach.

  A half-dozen tables sat uneven on a warped plank floor, most already taken. Two older men played cards at the far end, their voices rising and falling with each hand. Coins clicked softly against the table with every bet. Near the hearth, a pair of merchants hunched over their bowls, speaking in low tones that blurred under the crackle of the fire. A scarred mastiff dozed at their feet, its ears twitching now and then at the sound of boots on the floorboards.

  We took a table along the wall where I could keep the door in sight. Somewhere in the kitchen, a pan hissed as something was dropped into hot oil.

  A serving girl with dark hair in a kerchief came over, slate in hand. “Mornin’. Porridge or eggs? Both come with bread.”

  “Eggs,” I said.

  Celeste echoed me, and the girl scribbled it down before disappearing into the back. The warmth and low murmur of conversation pressed in. A farmer came in, stomping his boots, and called a greeting to one of the card players.

  “Quiet here,” Celeste said softly, her gaze drifting over the room.

  “Most small towns are, this early.” My gaze slid to the merchants by the fire. They’d been watching us since we walked in, not openly, but enough to notice. Could just be curiosity. Could be something else.

  The serving girl returned with our plates, the smell of fresh bread and fried eggs rising with the steam, still warm from the oven, and the eggs gleamed in the firelight.

  I waited until she was gone before speaking. “Eat,” I said, sliding hers toward her. “We’ll get supplies after this.”

  I let her focus on the food. My attention stayed on the room, the card players, the merchants, and even the mastiff before it settled back down.

  We left the tavern with the last of the frost still clinging to the eaves. The market square was busier now. Stallkeepers calling out prices, the smell of pine from a woodcutter’s cart mixing with the tang of tanned hides from the leather shop.

  I stopped at a stall, selling cured meat and hard cheese, trading a few coins while Celeste browsed the table beside it, her fingers brushing the handles of old tin cups and worn blankets. She didn’t linger long, moving instead toward the small general store at the far side of the square.

  Inside, the air was warmer, crowded with the smells of oil, flour, and leather. We gathered what we needed: salt, dried beans, and a new whetstone. She was quiet the whole time, her attention half on the shelves and half somewhere far off.

  When we stepped back into the street, she finally spoke. “My hometown isn’t far from here.”

  I glanced at her, but she was looking west, past the clustered rooftops and out toward the low hills beyond.

  “How far?”

  “A few leagues, half a day’s ride. Smaller than this place.” Her voice softened. “I haven’t been there since the raid. Not since they…” She trailed off, the rest caught somewhere in her throat.

  I didn’t push.

  She drew a breath, steadier this time. “I told myself I wouldn’t go back. But I need to see it. To know if there’s anything left. Maybe someone came back after… after the raiders left. And if not–” She shook her head. “At least I’ll know.”

  The square felt smaller suddenly, the walls closer. I studied her a moment before speaking.

  “It’s west of here,” I said finally. “That’s a bit of a detour.”

  “I know. But it’s close. And if we cut through there, we can still reach Avriel without taking the main road.”

  That last part was the practical truth, but it wasn’t the reason in her eyes.

  I nodded once and kept walking, but I didn’t like the idea of doubling back. We made a slow loop through the rest of the square, picking up a few last-minute items.

  When we arrived back at the inn, I told her I’d settle the bill, and she nodded, saying she’d fetch the horses and pay the stablehand. After grabbing our things from the room, she dropped mine off with me at the counter, and made her way to the stable.

  The innkeeper was behind the counter when I stepped inside, sleeves rolled to his elbows, counting a neat stack of coins. He looked up and slid the tally board toward me, the figures scrawled in chalk. Room, supper, breakfast, and a pitcher of small beer.

  “Fair rate,” he said. “Feed for the horses is separate, but the boy’ll have told your girl that.”

  I counted out the coins slowly, enough to make him glance once or twice at the weight of my purse. Outside, boots clomped on the porch as someone passed, the sound fading into the murmur of voices that were inside.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

  I asked him how the roads were looking towards her village.

  “Road to Avriel’s been clear, so they say, but if you’re headed that way, watch for ice on the north bridge. Last week a wagon nearly went over.”

  I made a noncommittal sound, let him keep talking. The longer I stood there, the less it looked like I was hurrying anywhere.

  He gave the counter a wipe with a damp cloth, told me about a merchant who’d lost half his goods to a flood, then drifted into a story about some trouble near Rodin. I thanked him and tucked the receipt into my coat.

  When I finally stepped back into the cold, the sun had edged higher, cutting long shadows between the buildings. The stables sat down the lane, the wide doors open to the smell of hay and horse.

  Halfway there, I saw them – the same two from the tavern along with a third I didn’t recognize, fanned out in the stable doorway, talking to Celeste. She had one hand on the mare’s reins, her head tilted slightly as if listening but not leaning in.

  I quickly made my way over, keeping my steps quiet out of habit.

  The younger one smirked faintly. “Travel’s dangerous these days. You make the trip alone?”

  She hesitated. Didn’t answer. And in that pause, something passed between the two of them. A flicker of interest that had nothing to do with idle talk.

  “That depends,” I said.

  Both men turned, surprise flashing quick before they masked it. I closed the distance, letting my gaze rest on each in turn. “On who’s asking.”

  The older one, gray-bearded and weathered, gave a small shrug. “Just conversatin’.”

  “Then I assume you had a pleasant talk.” I took the reins from Celeste and placed my belongings on the horse, the weight of her gaze on me now as much as theirs. “We’ll be on our way.”

  Neither moved to stop us. But I could feel their eyes on our backs as we led the horses out into the light.

  We didn’t speak as we led the horses out. Boots and wagon wheels still tracked damp prints through the packed dirt of the street.

  Celeste walked ahead toward the edge of town, the mare following with a lazy flick of her ears. I stayed close, one hand on the reins, the other near my coat where my knife rested.

  I could still feel the weight of those men’s eyes, even with the stables behind us. A glance over my shoulder caught them just stepping out into the street, half in shadow. They weren’t rushing after us, but they weren’t heading anywhere else either.

  We cut through the square, past the woodcutter’s cart and a cluster of women trading loaves for a sack of grain. The noise and movement masked us for a while, but every so often I caught a shape in the crowd that looked too still.

  The last of the buildings thinned into open road. Celeste glanced back once, her eyes meeting mine briefly, just enough for me to know she’d noticed too.

  “They followed us to the edge of town,” she said quietly.

  “I know.” I tightened my grip on the reins. “Let’s get out of here.”

  I waited until the town was behind us before speaking. “What did they want?”

  Celeste kept her eyes on the road ahead. “They were feeling me out. They acted like they were just making conversation.”

  “About what?”

  “They said they’d seen me before, on the road yesterday. Asked where I was headed, and if I was traveling alone.” She shifted the reins in her hands. “They started mentioning safe roads and dangerous ones. Noticed my horse, said the saddle was of a good make.”

  I glanced at her. “Anything else?”

  She shook her head. “They kept coming back to whether I came from far away. The whole time they smiled like they were just talking. Glad you came when you did.”

  My jaw tightened. “Men who talk that much without saying anything usually already know the answers.”

  We left the town in an easy gait, only picking up speed once it was safely out of view. The road wound between low hills and the occasional blackthorn hedge, the air crisp enough to sting the lungs. By midmorning, the roofs and smoke of the village were long gone behind us, leaving only the open country and the faint line of the western hills.

  Celeste rode ahead by a few paces, her red hair bright in the pale sun. It caught the light with every small movement, impossible to miss against the muted browns and grays of winter. I could see why the men in the tavern noticed her. Why anyone would.

  For a time, we rode in silence. The sound of the horses on the packed earth filled the quiet well enough.

  It was Celeste who finally broke it.

  “The war between AurenVale and VarnHallow… It’s been going on for as long as I can remember.” Her voice was steady, but there was pain in it that didn’t come from the cold.

  I didn’t say anything. I’d learned that with some people, silence was permission to keep going.

  “My brother was drafted two years ago,” she continued. “He wasn’t a caster – couldn’t even light a lamp without flint. But they’re taking everyone now. Even farmers. Even boy’s who’ve never held a blade.” She glanced down at her hands. The mare’s ears flicked back at her tone.

  “I don’t even know if he’s alive.”

  She drew in a sharp breath, exhaling shakily.

  “I was out that day. Picking up grain from a farm less than half a day’s ride. Trading that far wasn’t unusual. Grinding was local, growing wasn’t. I’d made the trip to the Branlow farm many times.”

  Her knuckles whitened as she tightened the grip on the reins.

  “The bag was still warm from the mill when I headed back. How stupid it was to feel proud about something so small.”

  Her eyes stayed forward.

  “I made it back right as the sun had set. I smelled it before I saw it. The smoke.

  At first, I thought it was someone burning brush. But then I’d heard–”

  She stopped. Took a second as she swallowed before continuing.

  “Yelling. Screaming. I came over the ridge and saw my village. Not gone, just… torn apart. Fires spread everywhere. Men I’d never seen before hauling sacks out of homes. People in the street. People I knew. Some moving. Some…not. Then I saw–”

  Her voice thinned.

  “I found my mother by the well. Her dress was torn. Blood, just, everywhere... She was still barely breathing. I dropped the grain, and I ran. I put my hands on top of her. Her whole body was…”

  I could see her shoulders shaking. I kept quiet.

  “I didn’t even know where to put my hands... I couldn’t stop shaking. My Healing Light kept flickering. There was just so much blood. I just… I couldn’t. I didn’t know what to do.”

  Her jaw tightened.

  “Men came over and stood nearby... Laughing. Talking to each other.

  ‘Let her patch her up,’ one said. ‘We’ll break ‘em both in after.’”

  Her voice cracked, then the words spilled out of her. “I kept working – I swear I was – she was fading, I could see it, but they said I was taking too long and one of them just – he grabbed me – pulled me back–” Her breath hitched, chest rising fast. “They pulled me. I was screaming, I told them – told them I could save her, I could still save her–” She hitched. “They wouldn’t listen, they never listened, they just–” She shook her head.

  Her mouth clamped shut, lips trembling. Tears streaked her face. For a moment she didn’t speak, simply stared past the road.

  Her lips parted, then closed again.

  When she finally went on, her voice was quieter. “The last thing I saw as they dragged me away was her looking at me.” She took a sharp breath. “And then–” She blinked hard, but the tears slipped free anyway. “And then she was gone...”

  Her hands stayed in her lap, the reins loose now. She didn’t wipe her face.

  We rode on without a word. The grasses whispered in the wind, bending in waves across the hills, but even that sound seemed distant.

  When she spoke again, it was different. Hollow and worn down. Like she’d ground the edges off the words.

  “They kept me with them. Moved from place to place. Once they seen I was a Healer, that made me valuable.”

  Her gaze stayed fixed somewhere far ahead. “They hit another village, doing the same thing there.”

  The mare’s hooves clopped dully against the dirt. A crow called once from the trees and went quiet again.

  “A few weeks later, they sold me. Sold me off to Teresa’s group. I was there for a couple months. Then… I escaped.”

  And just like that, she was quiet again. But the weight of her story still lingered heavy between us, visible in the tight set of her jaw and the way her hands curled tight around the reins like she needed something to hold onto.

  I didn’t say anything. There was nothing to say that wouldn’t sound small against what she’d just given me.

  We’d been riding for a while, the cold settling into my gloves. The road wound between knolls, each bend making me check the ridgeline before we passed it.

  Her story was still in the air between us. She rode ahead, shoulders set, hair pulled loose by the wind.

  The wind cut across the path, tugging at her hair, but she didn’t flinch.

  I’d seen wounds close. I’d made them close. But some things didn’t knit back together, no matter how hard you cast.

  If any of the bastards from her story were still breathing, I hoped fate would bring us face to face.

  Because if it did, I’d be sure to tear them apart until they begged for death. But I wouldn’t give it to them.

  We kept riding. The forest swallowed the quiet rhythm of our passing, and her silence settled into mine until there was nothing left but the steady beat of hooves on cold dirt.