Her look is knowing, kind.
Shipwright eats. It’s good. The bread dark as a hearth, the cheese sharp on her tongue.
‘You knew we were here?’
Thorndaughter nods. ‘A’course. Uplanders lighting fires like dogs. See you for miles. Smell you for miles after that.’
She sets herself down in the chair alongside Shipwright, her huge form folding up neatly as she sighs appreciatively. ‘Brought a bunch of strange magic down from the mountain, didn’t you? Can taste it on the wind.’
Shipwright nods, starts to explain. Thorndaughter waves a hand. ‘Lowlander magic. Uplander magic. It’s all the same. Hungry. Heedless. It won’t touch the forest.’
She refills Shipwright’s cup, slips more fruit onto her plate. ‘You brought the bone-binder too, didn’t you?’
Shipwright nods. ‘You can feel his magic too?’
Thorndaughter shakes her head. ‘No, salt-chuck, just see the marks of him on your face.’
‘He’s a good man,’ Shipwright says, reflexively.
‘Even good men are tiring, dear heart.’
Shipwright says nothing.
Thorndaughter shuffles her chair closer and puts an arm around her shoulders. ‘We cope with them by talking about them. Your sea might like it when you play the clam, but not me.’
Shipwright laughs at that, and all the tension of the past few weeks slides out of her. The laughter turns to sobs and Thorndaughter holds her through it, until it eventually subsides.
Shipwright takes a deep, shuddering breath. ‘How did you know I’d come?’
Thorndaughter smiles at the question. ‘Fifteen year back you first came, and then again every dip of the moon. You were due.’
Shipwright shakes her head, rubs at her red eyes. ‘I had no idea we’d be anywhere near here.’
Thorndaughter refills her pipe and draws deep. ‘The forest knew.’
Shipwright laughs again. ‘Oh, did it now?’
Thorndaughter’s eyes twinkle. ‘I know what the forest knows. And I knew you were due. You took a trail to get here though. Visited every half-bit black-burner in the forest first, huh?’
‘I didn’t want to impose,’ Shipwright says.
‘That’s your big problem,’ Thorndaughter says, jabbing with the pipe. ‘Never wanting to leave a ripple. Idiot girl. The forest always has time for you. And so do I. But not for the bone-binder.’ She sucks her pipe. ‘That’s a tough love you sowed for yourself there, salt-chuck. Forever in the reaping.’
Shipwright grimaces. ‘Thanks for the wisdom.’
Thorndaughter snorts and waves her arms expansively at the cluster of tents outside, ‘Wisdom, what have I got of wisdom? I have pretty boys with burning hearts and old men that remember being pretty boys, nothing more.’
Shipwright smiles. ‘Pretty boys. That reminds me, where’s Willowtooth?’
Thorndaughter refills her pipe, tamps it down, her heavy brows lowered. She smiles sadly. ‘He was the prettiest.’
Shipwright blushes. ‘He was. I always liked his …’
Thorndaughter leans forwards. ‘Arse?’
Shipwright chokes. ‘Laugh.’ She sips her drink, cups her hands around the rim. ‘But yeah, that wasn’t too bad either, now I come to think of it.’
Thorndaughter nods, her soft chin tucking into the folds of her neck. ‘Always a good lad to watch leaving.’
