by TJ Nichols
The pie was rather good. While he hadn’t asked what was in it—he’d learned not to when traveling because in a lot of towns pies were where the offcuts and offal went—it made a satisfying meal. Back home a pie would’ve been made with a good cut of meat. Duck was in favor at the moment.
This wasn’t duck.
And while he’d seen some cottage gardens, there were no farms here, so it was probably wild caught meat. It was best he didn’t ask as the townsfolk weren’t supposed to be hunting in the king’s forest. The forest folk could, but only enough to feed themselves.
Aubrey suspected they also sold to the town—they’d be foolish not to. He’d seen how his mother survived after being tossed aside and had seen enough to know that if the king wasn’t watching, then people did what they wanted and what they needed to survive. Hoods couldn’t be everywhere.
If Lyle supplied meat, it was no wonder he was friendly with the tavern owner.
“Why did you come here looking for work?”
“Why not? It’s on a trade route. I might head to the coast. For a town that must get a lot of strangers coming through, you don’t seem welcoming.”
“Maybe you’re the wrong kind of visitor.” Lyle sipped his drink.
Aubrey licked his fingers. Talking to this man wasn’t going to get him anywhere.
The king thought the forest folk were hiding the highwaymen and that the highwaymen had killed the hoods. But Aubrey wasn’t convinced. He needed more information. He made his excuses and left the tavern with the assurance that he would have a bed for the night; however, he didn’t trust the owner or his wife not to rummage through his things while he was out, so he kept his bag with him as he made his way back to the small shop he’d passed.
He’d expected people who lived so far from the city to be more superstitious, and while there were soothsayers in the city, they usually only told the futures the seeker wanted to hear or offered dubious charms for exorbitant prices. He’d known several young men buy charms to woo their latest love interest. As tempting as it had been at times, he’d much rather know someone was with him because they wanted to be, not because they had been swayed by magic—not that he believed in magic.
But he did believe in gossip, and soothsayers heard more than priests and were much more inclined to talk. Though given how unwelcoming everyone else had been, this one might be as buttoned-up tight as a priest’s undergarments. The door was open, so he didn’t knock, he went up the step and into the gloom. He blinked, letting his eyes adjust. Three lanterns hung from the rafter shedding molten-gold light over workbenches littered with candles and metal and herbs and bottles.
A smile formed, the sight so familiar from his grandmother’s shop. He may not believe in magic, but he wasn’t foolish enough to discount everything. But none of his grandmother’s charms had ever brought his mother back into favor with his father or brought more coin to her purse.
The day his father had reclaimed him had been the worst of his life. His smile faded.
His grandmother had died two years later, and he hadn’t been allowed to go home for the funeral. His father’s house had never been home, it had been a place he was required to be so he could be useful.
“Happy then sad. What troubles you, traveler?” The old woman was rail-thin, but not in the fragile way of court ladies. She looked as tough as sinew and as dangerous as a wolf, her eyes sharp and her words well-aimed.
Aubrey shook off his past. “Same as what troubles everyone. Family and things they can’t change.”
“That is the truth of living.” She reached over the workbench. “Give me your hand.”
He offered it, intrigued what she’d see in his palm. His grandmother had said he’d have grand adventures and live a world away. When he’d been volunteered to the Red Hoods, he’d thought her words eerily accurate, but then the Red Hoods was full of noble bastards paying for the sins of their fathers, so he shouldn’t have been surprised that was where he’d end up.
Her fingers gripped his, and she sprinkled something over his palm. For a moment, the dust turned his skin scarlet. Then it was gone the next blink. His heart paused, and he held his breath. Did that mean what he thought it did? He was well aware of the hoods’ reputation, and what many common folk called them—red hands. But she didn’t pull away. She touched the lines on his palm as though reading something finely written. The callouses on his hand from hours of sword practice gave her pause, but still she said nothing.
He forced himself to breathe slowly and evenly, even though he wanted to yank his hand away and be done with this foolishness. He should’ve hung around the tavern and followed the man into the forest.
“Why did you come to Nightlark?”
He couldn’t say because he’d been sent, but the lie that he was passing through wouldn’t form either. “Looking for something…a new truth for my life.”
“There are many kinds of truth, most of it no one believes.” Her finger traced a line on his palm.
“The truth can be dangerous.”
More dangerous than lies. Half the court was covering up what they did in their spare time. People lied for fun and told the truth to wound. He hated being stuck in the city with its deadly game of intrigues.
“You don’t seem like the kind of person who worries too much about danger. I know a swordsman’s hands when I see them.” She released his hand and sat. “So what truth would you like from me?”
Aubrey sat opposite her, the stool uneven on the floor. He found a point of balance so it didn’t tap-tap with every breath. “That depends on the price.”
“A wise man, too.” She smiled, all calculations as she contemplated what was in his coin purse, no doubt. “Some truths cost more than others, but you know that.”
He nodded, sure she knew what he was and why he was here. He placed two crowns on the table. “There are many stories about this place. Tell me one.”
“For that price I’ll give you two. You can decide which truth you want to believe.”
“That seems fair since we are speaking truths.”
“Just because you aren’t lying doesn’t make it true, remember that. Now…the first is that a great many problems are caused when there is great wealth involved.”
“I didn’t have to leave the city to know that.” And if that was all she was going to tell him, he’d wasted his crowns.
“It’s no different here, maybe worse because there is so little, and everyone wants that one chance to be more.”
“The highwaymen?” They were usually men with nothing to their name needing to make coin for the family. A few were hardened criminals who delighted in the theft and murder. No one had been killed here except the hoods.
“Pfft. We both know that there are far more dangerous roads that lead to the city. Follow the trail of coins…though that may lead you to more trouble than you care for.”
“And the other truth?”
“Is equally dangerous. You are drawing it to you, and this time you won’t be able to escape like you have before.”
Aubrey shuddered as though someone had poured winter-cold water down his back. His grandmother had warned him once that he had a nose for trouble. It had always been a useful skill. Now it seemed like a curse.
She pulled something out of a drawer beneath the table and ran it through her fingers. He couldn’t see what it was.
“The forest is inhabited. I grew up with the forest folk before leaving the trees for what I thought a better life in town. I’d fallen in love, you see—something that always clouds the mind. If you venture into the forest, which I know you will, be aware you will be watched.” She handed the thing she’d been twisting in her fingers to him.
It was a simple braid of coarse gray hair, knotted to form a bracelet. It was a little greasy from being well-handled. It wasn’t her hair; her hair was white and long.
“This will protect you.”
“From what?”
“From what lives in the forest.”
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“What lives in the forest?”
If she said werewolves, he was going to get up and take his coins and walk out. But a part of him wanted her to say that. That would mean the old tales weren’t just tales, they were truth. What that would mean he didn’t know. But if even the king had suspicions?
She stared at him then shrugged. “Forest folk and wild animals.”
How would a bracelet of hair protect him? “And this?”
“Has a little magic. They don’t make them anymore. No human has been worthy of wearing such a gift.”
“What makes you think I am?” Did she mean the forest folk had made this? It didn’t feel magical. What did something magical feel like?
“Maybe you are, maybe you aren’t. That is your truth to discover. But I am old and I do not want that to fall into the wrong hands.”
“Whose hands would they be?”
“That would make it three truths between us, and you might want to save that for when you have a better question.” She stood. “It’s dark out, and I want to have supper.”
Aubrey stood, slipping the bracelet on. Two crowns for her past, a braid of hair, and something he’d learned his first month at court. However, he was more convinced than ever that she knew what was going on.
If he asked her about the missing hoods outright, would she answer? Could he ask without admitting what he was? No. He was in a bind. He paused before stepping outside and held up his wrist, the bracelet visible. “What’s this made of?”
“Wolf fur.” She smiled as if sharing a secret with him.
He should know what that meant, but he didn’t, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to know. He stepped down onto the road. “Thank you for your time.”
She glanced at the sky, the half-moon sliding between clouds. “Unravel this mess so it can be put to bed.” When her gaze drifted to the fancy house at the end of the street, she spat.
Chapter 3
Lyle grabbed Jardin’s hand and drew him away from the communal dinner. He was sure one of them was supposed to help with the dishes tonight, but he wasn’t sure whose turn it was, and Jardin had been trying to pry information out of him from the moment he’d returned from town. With so many ears listening, Lyle had been forced to hold his tongue until they were alone.
They slunk into the shadows of their house. Their village was built among the trees, and the trees hid the houses well. The houses were dug into the ground, making them snug. They’d been in this location a while. They’d be moving soon. If not next summer, then the one after. It was tempting to go inside, but someone would knock on the door searching for them to do their chores and assume the reason they were sneaking off. He could do without the knowing looks.
“How was your trip into town?” Jardin rested a hand on the roof.
They’d been fixing it up, ready for winter, but there was still half to go. Stacked against a wall to the side were the wooden shingles Jardin had spent the day making while Lyle had been in town.
“Did the trades, same as usual.”
“I can smell him on you. Who is he?”
Lyle stepped closer and cupped Jardin’s jaw. “No one you need to worry about.” He kissed him. “A traveler I spoke with over a late lunch, nothing more.”
Jardin considered that morsel for a moment. “Was he trading?”
“No, just passing through. Wanting for work, I think.” He shrugged. For all that the man was pretty, there’d been nothing remarkable about him.
“What else?”
“Nothing.”
They’d discussed little, and Lyle had learned little in return. Perhaps that was why he seemed bland. Men who traveled usually had a tale to tell and liked to talk about themselves. Aubrey hadn’t.
“A hood?”
“I would have mentioned that first.” He stepped back. Did Jardin think him stupid, a poor little human who couldn’t work out which end of the knife to use to cut his meat? That wasn’t fair to his lover. Worry pinched the edges of Jardin’s eyes, crinkling the corners. The business with the hoods was troubling him more deeply than he was letting on.
Jardin grabbed his hand. “I know…but just because he wasn’t wearing the cloak—”
“He rode in on the back of a cart and wasn’t well-decorated. His clothing was no better than ours.”
But Jardin was still scowling. “It was three weeks between them all.”
The timing fit. But he couldn’t imagine Aubrey in a scarlet hood, sword in one hand as he dispensed the king’s injustice.
“You think a hood would sneak in?” Lyle hoped Aubrey wasn’t a hood, but the soothsayer’s charm in his pocket had suddenly become a lead weight. She’d known another would come and had told him he had to help the hood. She was never wrong. His visit to her might have only bought him trouble, not luck.
“I don’t know, probably not. I’m just on edge.”
“Everyone is.”
“Leader wants to know who the highwaymen are. He thinks they brought the hoods here.”
“They did, didn’t they?” He didn’t want to say ‘we’, in case the trees carried whispers of their words to the wrong ears.
They weren’t the first to take a little extra from the rich on the roads. But they hadn’t started with pack blessing. Things like that had to be voted on, and all the coin should be shared. While they were sharing some, they were keeping more. Ready for when they left.
Jardin shook his head. He leaned in close, his lips on Lyle’s ear. Lyle shivered, his body tensing. Why did they have dish duty tonight? All he wanted was to go inside, shut their door, and slide into bed. Maybe they should’ve done that. Let them bang on the door. The dishes would wait.
“The first was found in the ruins. He was dealt with.” Jardin drew back and gave Lyle a look that indicated he needed to put together the parts.
Jardin shouldn’t have been telling him anything about what had happened at the ruins, that was wolf business only. While he knew the ruins existed, he didn’t know where they were. He much preferred being able to imagine from the tales what the wolf cities had once been like. That a hood had been there?
That was unbelievable.
“How did he know?”
“He didn’t say.” Jardin was close enough now that their breath mingled on the cool air.
The wolves would’ve tried to find out. They were discussing murder while standing like lovers contemplating moving their tryst to somewhere more suitable.
“And the others?”
“I don’t know…I was just lucky enough to be told to deal with the bodies. You know as much as I do now.”
Lyle pressed his lips together. That meant both other bodies had been dumped in the woods—because people wanted to blame the wolves or because the dumper was hoping they’d never be found?
“There you both are…who’s helping with the washing up?” the woman said, her blue eyes bright in the starlight. She was a wolf.
Jardin glanced at Lyle and smiled.
“No,” Lyle said. But he wouldn’t be able to talk Jardin out of what he was planning. He knew that smiled and pleading glance too well.
“Please.” Jardin widened his grin.
“One of us will be there in a moment,” Lyle said. He grasped Jardin’s hands. “Don’t do anything stupid.”
“I won’t.” But he was still grinning like he had it all planned out.
“You will, so don’t get caught.”
If the townsfolk caught an actual werewolf in their midst there would be trouble. He doubted even Jardin would be able to get free—he’d be broken up and sold for parts.
Jardin tilted his head. “You aren’t going to send me on dish duty?”
“Why? This way you’ll be back sooner. Don’t be late.”
He pressed a lingering kiss to Jardin’s lips, giving him more than enough reasons to hurry up home. If the leader caught Jardin sneaking off to town, he’d be banned from leaving their village for a month, but with everyone still fussing about after din
ner, now was the time to slip away.
Jardin gave his hands a squeeze. “Love you.”
“Be safe.” He released his lover’s hands. “You owe me.”
“I know. And I will pay you back.”
“Yeah.” This was why he could never remember whose turn it was to help out. But Jardin would be able to find out more about the traveler with one sniff than he could find out in a day’s worth of questions.
Jardin shouldn’t be sneaking away, but someone had to check out this new person. Maybe they would head off, maybe they were a no one, but things were odd at the moment, and he didn’t believe this was random chance. Not given the timing. As a wolf, Jardin loped through the woods. He could get there and back and still slide into bed next to Lyle’s warm body before dawn.
If he’d stayed, he’d be warm now. From that kiss, the taste of Lyle was on his tongue. And if he hadn’t buried three hoods, he might’ve stayed home.
Three.
One killed by wolves, torn apart by the elders.
One with all his fingers cut off then stabbed repeatedly.
One with a slashed throat.
None of it made sense. He wished that first hood had never been killed, but they couldn’t let him live, not after he’d invaded what was left of their city. He might have told others, and then what would happen?
Jardin slowed as the farms on the edge of town came into view. The scent of goat filled his lungs, but they’d all been brought in for the night, and eating one would only draw the wrong attention to all the wolves that lived in the woods. Closer to town there were horses, but he kept moving, staying to the darkest shadows and watchful for any movement. But at this time of night, most good folk were inside if not preparing for sleep.
The town was too small for there to be any troublemakers—most folk believed they all lived in the forest. The mayor kept a tight rein on those who lived in the town—it wasn’t a secret that he wanted to exert that same control over the forest folk, so he could claim taxes from them. Jardin had never understood why people came here to town when they could be free in forest. But he understood the need to leave, to want more than scraping to get by. He stopped to piss on the fence out the back of the mayor’s house. Every time he did it, he grinned.
