Among the new arrivals was Agna, innkeeper ofThe Scout’s Lantern,one of the more popular establishments in Brackenrood. She was a stocky,round-faced woman with braided golden hair, flour on her apron, and a permanent flush in her cheeks. Her sharp eyes spotted Resh in the crowd, and she sidled over to him with all the charm of a merchant about to seal the deal of the week.
“Shadeslayer!” she called with a wink, her voice all warm thunder. “Morning to you, Commander. I’ve come bearing trade, temptations, and a list as long as my apron—”
Her hazel eyes snapped to Auryn, widening as Agna looked at her from head to toe.
“My,” she breathed, “what a little scrap of a thing you’ve found.” She gave Auryn a bright, unthinking smile, straight from the heart. “Hello, dear one. My name is Agna. What do I call you?”
The pull on Resh’s armor tie grew marginally.
Auryn tilted her head. “I am myself,” she said. Plain. Unapologetic. As though any and all should have seen that truth without the need to query it.
Resh cleared his throat when the silence in the wake of Auryn’s cheekiness lingered far too long.
“Agna,” he said, flashing his most charming smile, “I need a little help. I’m escorting this young woman East towards Stonewake, and we need a few supplies. Some shoes, perhaps. For travel.”
Agna arched a brow at Auryn’s bare feet. As though on reflex, small toes curled inward to hide beneath her cloak.
“Well,” the innkeeper drawled, placing a muscular hand on her hip. “Too small for anything of my son’s, but Joram’s lad just grew out of his hunting tunic a bit ago.” She sighed. “I’ll see what I can rummage up—clothes, rations, the lot. Make sure she eats proper meals, Shadeslayer.”
She bustled away before he could say another word.
That night, the town held a feast to celebrate their saviors and garner the gods’ favor for their travels. Tables set in the open green, lamps swinging from tree branches, music rising from hand drums and flutes. The event swelled in a wealth of noise and songs and dancing.
Most of his Reskala warriors kept to the edges, still not used to cheer or chatter even after nineteen years of Surface life. The villagers took no offense, letting them be as they were and only stepping close to offer gifts and prayers. Agna ensured the food and drink was endless, piling plates high and pressing mugs into empty hands.
Amid the whirlwind, Auryn sat near Resh in the borrowed clothes Agna had given her. They clung where they shouldn’t, cupped her hips too tight. Slight—but far from shapeless. He’d seen battlefields less distracting.
She watched the musicians with wide eyes, head tilted as if hearing something beneath the tune. Her striking hair left not a single eye indifferent. Men and women alike looked at her with wonder. When one younger Reskala lingered too long, Resh’s jaw flexed once before he looked away.
Zarrek circled the perimeter, brooding, shadows carved deep on his face. For now, Resh let him be. He had no reassurance he could give his Second about Auryn’s presence in their camp. There was no telling how Auryn’s presence would affect the Campaign. Would she follow him to Stonewake—or leave? The thought struck cold as iron. He had no claim on her, and he would not chain her to his side against her will.
Especially when choosing him meant Krystopolis. Doctrine. Rules. She would be lost and
alone. Unless—
“Kailorien.” Her voice razored through his fog of growing doubt, clear as a songbird crooning to the sunrise. “Your breath is heavy.”
On reflex, he smoothed his expression into a lighthearted smile. “Is it? Perhaps I need a drink after all. I wasn’t going to have any tonight, seeing as we depart at dawn.”
She searched his lies—saw them. Then—
“I will go with you, Kailorien.”
The floor beneath his feet spun as he lost himself within her eyes.
“Go?”
“To the city of stone.”
His shoulders tensed. “How do you know of—?”
“The warriors spoke of mountains. Open skies. The place where the Resh’Agar first woke the Stone. It sounds…bright.”
His lips moved before he could stop them. “I want that,” he rasped. “I want that very much.”
She smiled, then turned back to the bright-eyed dancers. A movement caught his attention from the corner of his eye, and he turned to find Zarrek’s golden gaze searing into him. Resh looked away, heat suffusing the tops of his cheekbones.
A young girl—perhaps nine—slipped from her mother’s side and approached Auryn with a shy little waddle. She held out a daisy, worn and sagging.
