Tramella waves a dismissive hand, and I quickly get to my feet, bowing low. Yet as I reach the door, the Queen calls, “I look forward to hearing your ideas, Galiva. I hope they will impress me.”
Cockblocked
When on an assignment, it’s important to keep your gear close and in good condition. Magic is versatile, but having mundane necessities at hand is an easy way to conserve spells.
Magical Tactics by Eroland Lockhart
THE ROAD THROUGH THEmountains is just as long as I remember it being and twice as boring. It’s hard to believe that it’s been a little less than two years since I hitched a ride with that caravan to come to the Crux. It feels like an entire lifetime has passed since then. In a way, I guess it has.
Two years ago, I was no wizard. Hadn’t even known how magic was made. I’d been poor and desperate, in search of anything I could grab onto after the hunting accident took away my livelihood. And then I found a new home and so much more with it. I’ve gained three magical masteries, traveled across the entire continent. At the Crux, I found friendship and belonging and love.
And after nearly a week on the road, I realize just how lonely I feel without all of that.
Every night gets a little colder as I head further into the mountains, and in the evenings when I get settled down, I find myself longing for Olbric’s warmth a little more. I always stay up, waiting for a sending, but so far, another hasn’t appeared.
I dream about him often, reliving the memory of his kiss, the sound of his laughter. But not all of my dreams are as sweet. For the most part, they’re just... fucking weird. Lucien hasn’t shown up in more than just flashes. His face looks more filled out. He starts to look a little less like a corpse, but only barely.
Instead, the focus of my dreams is those magiline pillars. They’re far bigger than divining pillars, but the way they’re crossed makes me wonder if they could be used like that. Yet the pillars at the Crux have been... softened with the amount of time people spend touching them. Even when they’re not in use, they glow with colors like the ribbons that hang in the winter sky.
But the ones I keep seeing, crossed like the abandoned swords of giants, have a sharpness to them. There’s barely any color in the shine, but they glowbrilliantly.Like the Crux did when Arlon locked it down after the attack in the square.
Somehow, they feel... new.
I’ve started writing my dreams down when I wake up in the mornings before they can fade. The frantic notes that I write in the little notepad I brought along only make half-sense, but reading Solena’s journal has made me realize that I should probably try to keep some record.
If there’s one thing this trip has given me, it’s time to think. And I have to believe that if I’m not losing my mind, I’ve got to be seeing this shit for a reason.
It’s almost a full week before I finally reach the end of the narrows and the logging town of Crofton. It’s one of the bigger towns along the foothills, and I choose the larger of the two inns, in part because the beds are nicer, and in part because a busier inn makes it easier to be forgotten.
If Olbric’s right, if someone’s tracking me from the Crux, I need to make myself hard to find.
I get a room and hot dinner for a silver, feed and shelter for the horses for another two coppers. An extra copper gets me a hot bath, and fuck, but I’m glad Galiva showed me how much of my stipend I should be putting aside every month. Before the Crux, I was grateful to be able to afford a bed, but I’m not mad about having the extra coin to enjoy a bath. I soak my travel-weary body until the water goes cold.
Once I’m clean, I head down to the main room. I’m not exactly feeling social, but the temptation of a hot dinner is strong.
It’s a busy night, and the room is packed full of loggers talking and laughing loudly over their beers. This time of year, lots of folks move around as the logging operations wind down for the season and merchants haul off cartloads of lumber. It’s an easy task to get lost among the crowd as I slip into a vacant seat at the corner of the bar.
A moment later, the innkeeper slides a hearty bowl of stew and half a loaf of bread in front of me. “Where you from, lad? Don’t think I recognize you,” the kind old man says, though I wish he hadn’t. On top of the need to keep my head down, I don’t much feel like talking.
“Airedale,” I say. “Just heading back home for the winter.”
The bartender nods with passing interest before he’s called off by someone further down the bar. Then, a mandolin strums from the far corner of the room, and the familiar sound sends a thrill up my spine.
I whirl, eyes going wide as the last person I expected to see mounts the slightly raised stage. Vanya’s so short that I can barely see her through the throng of burly loggers, but I could never mistake that mischievous smile. Folks pay only passing attention as she gets set up, strumming another chord as she adjusts the pegs of her instrument. She lifts her head to scan the crowd but she finds me like she’s been guided by a lodestone.
She props her mandolin against the wall before she bounds off the stage towards me. My bad mood vanishes as she all but throws herself into my arms. I catch her with a laugh, hugging the little faenskamend tight.
“Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” I say as I set her back on her own two feet.
“Could say the same ta you, wizard,” she says breathlessly, her eyes bright.
I put my finger to her lips, shushing her as a few curious eyes look our way. “I’m nobody right now, yeah?”
She raises a skeptical eyebrow. “Is that so? Or is it that you just don’ want me to singBandit Layer? Some of my finest work, y’know.”
I laugh even as I try and figure out why she’s here. “Are you heading into the mountains?”
She pulls her coat a little more firmly around herself. “Going to Frostcliff for the winter. Ain’t never been that high before. Since Jessic was heading up, I figured I’d join for the season.”
