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“Must’ve been,” said Gwyn. “All of us have memories that hold gentle interactions with the king and queen.”
“Destin hasn’t mentioned them.” I dipped some of the bread into the broth. “Does he ever visit?”
“Not that I know,” Asger said. “Destin has shouldered the crown, and I think he’d like to keep it that way.”
“Asger,” Gwyn softly chastised. “It might be difficult to face family when you do not know if they will ever wake.”
“Perhaps.” Asger shrugged and glanced to me. “Kage is the one who’s overseen their care and this cottage.”
A bit of affection for my thieving prince bloomed in my chest.
“So, how did you all become friends, especially with a prince?”
“Is that a jab at our lowly status, Cricket?” Cy slurped the last of his stew.
“No.” Heat filled my cheeks. “No, you all just seem . . . different from each other, and, well, Kageisa prince.”
“As I recall it,” Cy went on. “I became the sparring second of Prince Kage. No more than twelve, we grew rather close and competitive.”
“My tale is similar,” Asger said. “I come from the cliffs of Myrkfell, a noble house there, and joined the battle mage studies the same season weave as Kage and Cy. After studies, Kage requested me as his guard, though he hardly needs one.”
“We were simply unwilling to break our band of misfits,” Cy said with a wink. “Naturally this meant we followed the prince to the palace and found a few positions to fill our time.”
Gwyn snickered. I covered my own smirk when Asger tossed a piece of bread at Cy’s head.
“Yes, how I wish I could return to that decision and take up a place in with the chefs, not the tyrant of thread and needles,” said Gwyn. “My memories are hazy, and not all the same as these two fools. I simply do not recall a time where Kage Wilder was not watching my back. He is . . . important. Like a brother I vowed to always look after.”
“I bet it’s frustrating to know your memories are muddled.”
“It was at first,” Cy admitted. “But we have some from the past. We recall each other, recall friendship. Now, we’ve made new memories. Better memories with the folk who matter most.”
“We hold onto our instincts, Adira.” Gwyn leaned onto the table, holding my stare with her dark, satin eyes. “The past is unclear at times, but the feeling in the gut regarding the ones we can trust, those who matter, those cannot be taken.”
“The heart knows, Sweet Iron,” Gaina said, voice soft. “A heart does not forget. Tis how we know the steps we take in this uncertain land. We cling to those who speak to our hearts. We fight for them and do not let them go.”
Gaina spoke with such fervor as though she wanted me to hear her words, break them apart, and stow them inside my mind, always. As though she were trying to tell me something without truly saying it.
Or perhaps she was merely passionate.
“I think my magic fought against the Immorti,” I murmured, low and hesitant.
“How did you summon it?” Asger asked.
How did I say this without admitting something had gone on between me and Kage? “I didn’t want him to die. I didn’t know what to do, but when I saw those creatures, something sort of snapped. My body overheated, and whenever I faced one . . . they started turning into heaps of just . . . gore.”
Gwyn clapped her hands, beaming. “By the skies, I’ve missed blood mages.”
Cy stroked my hair, like I was his treasure. “I am grateful you were here, Cricket.”
There was a simplicity about the camaraderie building around the meager feast. Peace, acceptance, a deep-rooted loyalty between these people who’d once robbed me blind. They stood with each other, muddled memories and all, because their hearts were fastened.
Conversation drifted to Kage’s assertion that we ought to make our way to the Sanctuary of Seers to visit the Well of Urd. Asger found ways to insist the journey would be dangerous, Cy was prepared to go, so long as he could invite Hugo, and Gwyn wassomber about the notion, but insisted if that is what we chose, she would stand beside it.
When the single candle was nearly spent in the center of the table, Gaina forced the lot of us to find places to rest our heads for the night.
“My golden boy should be sturdier come the dawn,” said the woman.
“Why do you call him your golden boy?”
