Damon knew it would be foolhardy to actually head into the town, even with the hood of his cloak masking his identity. What he hadn’t expected was to be spotted by a guard in his position outside of town, several hundred feet away from anything he considered to be of interest.
A young man with a spear and clad in light winter clothing jogged over to him, eyes serious, expression grim. Damon waved a hand and made as though to move on back toward the road. The guard wasn’t having it.
“Hold there,” he called. “This town has seen enough trouble in recent times. What’s your business, stranger?”
“Just passing through,” said Damon.
In his mind, that should have been the end of the exchange. He knew the guard was new to his job, as he wasn’t someone Damon had ever seen at the inn before. His inexperience seemed to show in the way he started toward Damon, holding the spear at the ready, making far too much out of a nothing situation.
“Take your hood down,” said the guard.
“Now why would I do that?” asked Damon. “You think I’m some kind of outlaw?”
His voice came out with more dark humor than he’d intended, and it wasn’t lost on the other man.
“Turn around and take down your hood, or me and a few of the others looking out for this area are going to make short work of you!” shouted the man.
Damon cackled and set a hand on his sword. “You really shouldn’t make threats that you can’t back up.”
“Get your hand off your weapon, stranger!”
Damon wanted to draw his sword instead, though he knew it was the wrong move, twice over. He should have just taken his hood down. Of course, if the man had recognized his face as the infamous outlaw Damon Al-Kendras, he would have stood no chance at continuing to hide out at the inn. A chance which, he admitted, would still be remote unless he could calm the current situation.
“Look,” he said. “I’m just a traveler looking for somewhere to get out of the cold.”
“Give me your name, show me your face, and then maybe, we’ll see about—"
“Easy, Ned,” barked a familiar voice. “It’s the winter. People don’t make mischief the same way they might in the hotter months, with their blood boiling. You know that.”
Damon let out a small sigh of relief as he saw Arturius step up behind the young guard and clap a hand down on his shoulder. The sense of relief faded when he saw the flicker of recognition in the old man’s gaze. He knew Damon by sword and stance, regardless of whether he could see his face.
“We can’t just let him walk around behind our town without checking on him,” said the young man.
“Haven’t you checked on him, though?” asked Arturius. “Doesn’t seem like he’s doing much more than walking by.”
The young man stuck his spear butt into the ice and looked as though he wanted to argue his point. Arturius pushed him in the direction of the market square with enough force to make him stumble.
“You go do the rounds,” said Arturius. “Let me handle this.”
“Yes sir.”
Damon waited until the young man was out of sight before pulling his hood back far enough to reveal his face. “You got them calling you sir, now? Should I call you Captain Arturius, or…?”
The old man didn’t smile. They’d fought before. Damon recalled it well, mainly because it was one of the few times he’d lost in recent years.
“Seemed prudent to keep a tighter watch on the town after what happened.” Arturius folded his arms. “What are you doing here, lad? Didn’t Doogle make it expressly clear that you needed to move on?”
“I did, for a time,” he said. “I’m not staying. I just came back to meet with… Violet. She woke up, you know?”
“Keiza said as much. I was happy for her.”
“She said she’d be back around this time. I’m going to wait for her at the inn. That’s it.”
Arturius didn’t say anything for a while. “Well, I suppose that’s it, then. Get going. I’ll bring by some food and brandy for you. Wouldn’t be safe for me to be seen entering and leaving the inn, so I’ll just leave it by the back window.”
“Thank you,” he said. “I’m grateful.”
“So am I. I don’t forget like some do. Been telling the story of what actually happened on the day the Emperor’s bastard took a shit on our town. Damon Al-Kendras might not be the most popular fellow hereabouts, but Anders Rosewood is a hero to us. Serious when I say that, lad. Don’t you forget.”
“There is no Anders Rosewood.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that.”
***
Arturius was true to his word. About an hour after Damon arrived back at the inn, he heard a soft tap at one of the windows. A basket waited for him on the other side with two bottles of brandy, a slab of fresh venison, a loaf of bread, half a wheel of cashew cheese, and most wonderful of all, a bundle of winterscotch cookies, still warm from the oven.
He resisted the urge to feast immediately. It was the night of the full moon, and it felt as though eating early would be doubting Vel’s word on her return. Though, the temptation of the cookies proved to be too much, and he ate one while they were still warm. It was so sweet and flaky that he was left groaning with satisfaction.
He didn’t light the fire in the hearth, still remembering what Keiza had said about it being obvious from outside. The inn was cold, and for the first time in a long time, the cold was oppressive. He roamed from room to room barefoot, lost in his own thoughts.
Hours passed by in a slow progression of silence and contemplation. Damon was beginning to think he might have to wait another day, or perhaps give up waiting and go back to searching, when the door finally opened. He hadn’t bothered to so much as light a lantern and couldn’t make out more than a silhouette.
He heard a sharp twang and threw himself to the ground on reflex. A crossbow bolt thudded into the wall behind him. Damon rolled, yanking his myrblade out of his sheath and coming back to standing. He was about to attack, but he hesitated as a whisper came from his new, apparent enemy.
“Damon?” asked Vel. “Is that you?”
“True Divine, Vel,” he muttered. “A crossbow? Really?”
CHAPTER 10
Damon’s annoyance lasted for only an instant before he was against Vel, pulling her into a tight embrace. She still had her traveling pack on. The door was still open. Everything fell to the wayside in favor of simply hugging her, holding her, having her back in his life again.
“Damon…” she muttered. “You’re squeezing me too tight.”
“Good.” He did relent a bit, but kept her in his arms. “I missed you.”
“I love you.”
“I know.”
He closed his eyes as he stepped back, holding her shoulders. He took a breath, his heart torn in two directions as he considered what he needed to tell her, and how much it was going to hurt.
“I have to say this now, because if I don’t… I’m not sure I’ll be able to.” He met her gaze in the dark and wondered if she could see the tears already beading in the corners of his eyes. “Vel… Ria is… she’s not coming back.”
His tight throat made his words sound raspy and pained. They were pained, and it was a pain that he wished he could spare her. He was so mad at himself for his failure, the feeling born anew. He wanted Vel to yell at him, to vocalize the loathing that had to that point only echoed through his own mind.
“I know,” said Vel. “Well, at least not right away. She’s pretty busy right now. Do you mind if I shut the door? It’s freezing out there.”
She pulled away from him and shut the door to the common room, shivering slightly as she shrugged her way out of her traveling pack. She wore several layers, a winter cloak over one of Malon’s old maroon tunics, over one of her own long-sleeved shirts. Her hair was in a braid, almost like Malon’s, though with a few stubborn, curling strands left loose on the sides and across her forehead.
“No, Vel,” he said, shaking his hea
d, heart still in shards. “You don’t understand. I couldn’t protect her. I wasn’t… strong enough. She was in the palace in Yvvestrosai when Avarice burned it down.”
“Damon,” said Vel. “Ria is fine. At least, she was the last time I checked.”
“You aren’t hearing what I’m—"
“Damon!” She took his face in her hands and spoke slowly, as though he’d just suffered a blow to the head. “Ria is fine. I’ve been checking in on her with my dreamspelling. She, at least, has had the good sense to wear her amethyst dreamspell amulet every now and then. Why don’t you?”
“I…” He shook his head, overwhelmed by her words. “I thought it would be too hard to have to tell aesta about Ria in a dream. You’re sure? She’s… alive?”
“I’m positive. I last spoke with her two, three days ago? She’s back in the Malagantyan now, trying to organize with some of the Rem helping the refugees from Yvvestrosai. The only thing wrong with her is the fact that, last I checked, she still had doubts about whether you were currently alive.”
Damon was left reeling from the various consequences of what she’d just told him. He watched as Vel kicked her boots off with cute, almost childish movements and made her way over to the hearth. He drew his focus back to the moment, as it was all he felt he could currently make sense of.
“Ah, you probably shouldn’t light that,” he told her.
“Why not? I live here.” She gave him a challenging look over her shoulder as she began sparking the flint lighter. “Not all of us are wanted outlaws like the famous Damon Al-Kendras.”
“Shut up,” he said.
“Oh no, the evil outlaw is offended by my teasing! My life is as good as forfeit!”
“You’re annoying,” he said, grinning. He came up behind her and pulled her into another tight embrace, her body so small and familiar against his. He kissed her, all but reveling in the eagerness with which her lips responded.
“Easy,” she said, setting her hand on his chest. “Let’s start a fire, first. Do you have any food here?”
“Plenty, courtesy of Arturius.”
“Aren’t you supposed to be keeping a low profile?”
He sighed and waved a dismissive arm through the air. “When do things ever work out just as intended?”
Vel shifted her arms back around his chest and looked up at him with dreamy, hopeful eyes. “Today, apparently.”
They both started the fire together, sharing several more kisses and loving caresses in the process. Damon pulled two chairs down off one of the inn’s unused tables, and they sat together in the bloom of the fire’s heat.
“What happened?” he asked.
“I woke up,” she said, coyly.
“Obviously.” Damon bumped his knee into hers. “After what we tried with you dreamspelling us to Hearthold, I wasn’t sure if you ever would.”
“Jilou was in a coma,” whispered Vel. “She… her body, I should say, wasn’t capable of releasing the dreamspell because of it. I was there with her for several long weeks, nearly a month.”
“With her… where?”
“In a dream,” said Vel. “But, you know, it wasn’t as though we were having fun, or anything. We were friendly with one another, and it was interesting being able to spend so much time in a realm where nothing is impossible and anything can happen with enough will. I swear though, I didn’t enjoy it! Well, not really.”
“So, you and Jilou were sipping dream tea and living imaginary lives,” said Damon. “Sure. That’s sounds so painful and arduous.”
“Oh, shush,” said Vel. “I was back to business as soon as I woke up. What happened next is already in the note I left you. I spent some time with Keiza, but she didn’t have any clue where aesta had disappeared to either. I didn’t see any other option beyond going looking for her myself.”
“You could have just waited here!” said Damon, a touch harsher than he’d intended to. “Do you have any idea how dangerous it is for a pretty young woman like you to go wandering the roads on her own?”
“Aw, thank you! But I do know. It’s why I bought this before leaving town with the money left over from that treasure you mailed us while in Captain Aldric’s body.”
She lifted the crossbow, which she’d reloaded at some point, and pointed it in his face.
“True Divine, Vel!” he shouted, ducking out of the way.
“What? It’s hardly any different from the shortbow you taught me how to use.”
“Do you have any semblance of what proper trigger etiquette for a crossbow entails?”
“Um… No?”
Damon sighed, but despite himself, he couldn’t stop smiling. He took the crossbow from Vel’s hands and gently set it down in a spot where an accidentally discharged bolt wouldn’t kill someone or break a window.
“We still have a lot to talk about, but I haven’t eaten all day,” said Damon. “Let’s finish this discussion over dinner.”
“Didn’t you say Arturius gave you food?”
“He did. I was waiting for you to get back so we could eat together.”
“Damon!” Vel grinned at him. “You do know how to be sweet when you want to. I’m hungry too, but I’d also like to grab a bath before dinner.”
“I’ll handle the cooking, then,” he said.
She leaned over and kissed him and then bounced up the stairs to her room to get a towel and a change of clothing. It was hard for Damon to put the full extent of the relief he felt into words. Vel was back, and Ria was alive. True Divine, Ria was alive!
Even the issue of finding Malon seemed more manageable in the newly provided context Vel had given him. Their aesta was surely capable enough to manage on her own. If Vel could travel safely with no more than a crossbow and a smile, Malon, with her crest magic and experience, would doubtless be fine on her own.
He wanted to believe it.
CHAPTER 11
Damon took his time cooking, nostalgic for the days of running the inn alongside Malon and the others. He brought out his aesta’s favorite stew pot and surveyed the kitchen for ingredients, finding plenty of spices, potatoes, and a jar of lightly pickled cabbage.
He settled for venison stew, cutting up the meat and potatoes and giving each a sear over the fire as he brought the broth to a boil. He knew right away that he was making more than he and Vel would eat that night, but the leftovers would still be good tomorrow, not to mention the option of using the snow to store them for longer if needed.
He stirred in the venison and potatoes, adding the cabbage, but not much of the juice that came with them. He stirred and slowly added spices, and then covered the pot and turned his attention elsewhere.
The brandy was calling his name. He poured himself a generous cup as he cut and buttered bread to warm next to the fire. The cheese Arturius had provided him was good to eat on its own, which he proved by sampling it himself. The winterscotch cookies were, well, winterscotch cookies. He got the sense that Vel would devour them when presented with the opportunity.
He stood at the bar while the stew cooked, remembering so many previous days and nights in which the inn had been a place of lively company and conversation. Part of him still held out hope that they might find a way to return to that life, picking up from where they’d left off and playing at being a happy, humble family again. The rest of him knew it would never be.
Vel emerged from the basement barefoot and clad in a plain black nightgown. She was still toweling off her hair, her blonde locks made wet and scraggly by the heavy scrubbing she’d given them. She was shivering, no surprise given how cold the water must have been, and came to stand in front of the hearth to warm up.
“The food’s almost ready,” said Damon. “The stew’s thirty coppers a bowl, but it comes with bread and cheese.”
“You’re hilarious,” said Vel, rolling her eyes.
“I didn’t even mention the cookies,” said Damon. “They’re five pennies.”
“Cookies? Are you still joking, or…?”
“Dead serious. Winterscotch.”
Vel disappeared past him into the kitchen and came back chewing, with half a cookie in hand. Damon wasn’t quite sure why it amused him so much to see her enjoying sweets, but it did, and he held onto that image of her: barefoot, hair damp from the bath, licking sugar crumbs from her finger.
They settled down at one of the tables. Damon ladled the steaming stew into bowls for each of them. It was still too hot to immediately start eating, so they nibbled on the bread and cheese.
“What happened during your search for aesta, Vel?” he asked.
Her face grew serious, and she set a spoonful of stew she’d been blowing back into the bowl. “Well, as you no doubt guessed from the fact that I arrived here alone, I didn’t find her. But I did manage to unearth a clue, I think.”
“I’m listening.”
“I managed to find a few people who saw her traveling north out of town,” said Vel. “I went north. I eventually found an inn where she’d stayed, with an innkeeper who swears that she asked him about the village of Anliwich.”
Damon sat up straighter in his chair. “Vel, Anliwich was also the town I followed aesta to, back when she disappeared a few months ago. It’s the village where…” He glanced at the door, and then at the windows, feeling a genuine concern for being overheard even though they were alone.
“I think I know already,” said Vel, nodding. “Lascivious. When I reached Anliwich, she wasn’t there, but something had happened recently. One of the homes had burned down, a place where a married couple lived, along with a little girl. Tonia, Carter, and Seffarina.”
Damon laced his fingers together and tried to do the same with the clues piling up. “Alright. Aesta leaves the inn with no warning, even though you’re still here, asleep, and unwell. She’d only do that if Lascivious summoned her, right?”
“Hold on, Damon,” said Vel. “It’s your turn to explain. This woman, Tonia. You’re sure she’s Lascivious?”
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