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Of course Em fit in. Of course Em would smile and play caravan guard and be exactly what Aric had asked her to be. The Shadow did that: unobtrusive if Aric was arguing with a village council over payment, coolly competent when faced with fen-gasts or hauntings, magical if magic became necessary.
He said to Ginger, aching with it, “We shouldn’t’ve done this one.” Ginger shook her mane in reply.
The wagons stirred. Lady Caris leaned out of her own, a glimpse of golden honey and scarlet-silk elegance over a core of profits and steel and power. She gave instructions, low. The riders, the guards, the world, moved in response.
Em swung up onto Starlight’s back, motion economical as ever; she glanced over at Aric after, while moving into neat formation at the side of their employer’s personal conveyance. He lifted a hand in reply.
Pedr—cheerfully married to Ethlyn, who was presently watching the back of the caravan; and like Aric instructed to be a scout, an outrider, for this job—came over to say, “Down as far as the Haver Falls bridge, today, then?” The melodies of the southern bays and waterlands laced his question; Aric had overheard him humming, singing, while checking paths and holloways for danger. His voice was generally considered nice; Aric, after three days, had contemplated throwing an apple at the man’s head and lecturing him about noise and good reconnaissance practices.
He said, “Sure,” and swung into Ginger’s saddle, making him taller than Pedr. “At least we’ll be out of the forest.” They had not seen any bandits, lurking wolf’s-heads, or serpentine jaculi; he was, at the moment, less worried about javelin-snakes and more about very human greed.
He knew how much the wealth of wools, linens, dyed purples and gold braid and patterned tiretaine, would be worth in Sudgarth. Lady Caris could’ve bought and sold his family’s long-gone small caravan at least three times over, Aric had estimated, judging fabrics and wagons and prices.
Emrys, a half-fairy shapeshifter raised by nuns, had said, “So actual human people will pay actual money for that hideous crimson with the green stripe?” Aric had opened his mouth to explain dyes and expense and production, had sighed internally, and had opted for, “Yep.”
Emrys, he thought, would be beautiful in crimson. Indigo. Dark shimmering gold, flattering that ink-swoop hair, those big grey eyes. Not that Em wasn’t also beautiful in flexible practical leathers and casual linen shirts and secret hold-out knives.
But maybe Em would like more, someday. Like a home, a place to land, the kind of house with a bathing-chamber, like Aric’s brother’s new house down in the equally new central city. They’d talked about it, once or twice; not now, not yet, but an idea. A future, perhaps.
But that was a fuzzily defined outline, a problem for later. At the moment they had a trail to scout, and an employer who might be a secret magician, not to mention a few other lurking concerns, like Em’s father, who’d been suspiciously quiet lately, not that Em had done much magic for him to track…particularly now, not even shifting aspects much, and that was also a concern, because Emrys had admitted to feeling uncomfortable…
Three days. Em had said that would be fine.
Aric sighed, and got on with his job for today; he rode out into the sharp-edged sunlight, watching for peril.
Chapter 3
The peril did not appear. The day remained serene. No claws, fangs, or flying spears. The forest dripped and plopped and splashed water, rain growing bored and wandering off. Aric dutifully kept an eye out for bandits, angry will-o-the-wisps, or fallen-tree hazards.
Nothing much had happened, aside from mud-puddles and some brush that needed clearing, by the time he circled back. The caravan would make camp at the bridge, and cross in the morning; Aric rode back to meet them on the way, lowering sun skipping through forest like daggers through green silk. The night, he thought, would be clear but ice-cold.
Em was more or less off duty by the time he got back: the evening shift had settled in to watch over glaringly expensive fabrics and Lady Caris’s personal wagon, but of course Em, like Aric himself, would never fully relax mid-job. She had been riding beside the wagon in question, and looked pensive; she nudged Starlight up to meet him and Ginger, and they settled into step, under dwindling light, along the forest road.
Aric said, “How was your day? Only a couple of downed branches and a giant tree-bat, not even a venomous one, over here.”
“I assume you frightened it away and didn’t kill it.”
“We’re in its forest, and giant non-venomous tree-bats deserve long and happy lives. Besides, hey, kind of cute. That long nose. Those ears.”
Em gazed at him, and held the utterly flat expression for long enough that Aric began laughing; Em’s smile leapt into existence like candleflame.
“I missed you,” Aric said, grinning. “Just so you know. It’s been a whole day.”
A movement at the side of the wagon caught his eye: a graceful hand, the flash of a ring, the stir of a covering. Caris did not approve of men much, he remembered, and also not public displays of sentiment, regardless of gender.
“It has,” Em said, “certainly been a day. I’ll tell you after we’ve eaten.” Her eyes had also gone to the wagon, and back to Aric. “No interference, though, magical or otherwise.”
But something. Not enough to interfere. Not enough that Emrys seemed unduly anxious; not that Em ever did, aside from certain magic-related exceptions. Aric reached over, caught her hand, squeezed, let go. “At least it’s not raining.”
Em sighed melodramatically. “I like rain.”
“Water-nymph,” Aric said. “Or—is it that you like thunderstorms? Like you like me? You know…storms…being…wielded?”
“That was my joke,” Em said. “Thank you for catching up.” Her face, her eyes, were everything that felt like home, everything Aric wanted, forever, at his side; he let Ginger and Starlight match steps, falling into a comfortable pace, moving along.
Lady Caris fed her people well; after caring for various horses, pack animals, wagons, and people, and after pork pies, lentil stew, white bread and good sharp cheese, and various tiny sweets of rosewater, cardamom, and apple, Aric found Em’s hand again and eased them both subtly off toward the tents. Nobody noticed them go—Revna had produced a guitar and was embarking on the ballad about the mermaid and the drunken sailor, with her audience loudly joining in—but Emrys paused for a moment, silently regarding thunderous water.
Aric said softly, “Something wrong?” The moon had come out, a sliver of pointed perilous horns; it was busy playing hide-and-be-found with the last tattered clouds above deep green trees. Starry light drifted like the music across the river, meeting answering tumult. The arch of the bridge spanned reflections below, made of mathematical angular wood.
