Page 42 of The Blight of Hollowmire

“No fancy ball where you get to be the center of attention, admired by handsome young men and envious ladies?” I tease.

Vireth’s face twists in disgust, and I chuckle.

“I’d sooner pull my fangs out with a pair of blacksmith tongs,” she utters darkly. “I enjoy merrymaking as much as anyone, and I don’t begrudge my sisters their preferences, but the only time I’ve ever succeeded as the center of attention has been an embarrassment for all involved.”

“Ah, yes, I suppose that would color one’s opinion of the matter.”

“And what about you? As a knight, I suppose you’ve seen your fair share of courtly gatherings. Is that what you would wish for? To stand at the right hand of the king in your glittering ceremonial armor while nubile young ladies fawn over you and lust for your favor?”

“It is what many knights wish for,” I admit. “But therein lies one of my many failings. I was always gifted with the sword, but lacked the wit to play the political game. It cost me much, in the end.”

She makes a thoughtful noise, but does not press, and I’m grateful for the small grace. After a few moments, my companion surprises me again when she adds, almost as an afterthought, “Actually, I left court recently.”

I suspected as much. If she’s talking about feasts and betrothals, she’s obviously an aristocrat of some kind. A lady-in-waiting, perhaps.

“Voluntarily?”

The pause is heavy with suspicion while she weighs my trustworthiness.

“Yes.”

“And does this departure have more to do with the abominable reputation or the rendezvous with the seer?” It’s a risk, asking this personal of a question. Yet I cannot seem to help myself. Once more I find myself inexorably drawn in by this mysterious fae woman.

“I suppose it’s a bit of both. I’m hoping to get something resolved, and then I plan to journey northwest to Moontide. I’ve heard there are plots of land for sale overlooking the sea. A quiet life away from idle judgments and the suffocation of expectation is where my future lies,” she says, as much to herself as to me.

I incline my head. “I can understand that desire better than you know, Lady Fae.”

Nibblebones scampers up Vireth’s leg to coil around her neck and offers a trilling agreement.

We walk on in silence after that, the mountains rising ahead of us, their peaks lost beneath blankets of cloud. The pass ahead is narrow, the path winding between steep, rocky slopes that look ready to tumble into an avalanche at any moment. Snow begins to fall again—not the soft sleepy clumps from before, but icy shards that sting with cold when they meet skin.

My knee gives a painful throb and I glance up at the sky, frowning as the clouds darken to ultramarine-washed gray.

“We’ll need shelter,” I say.

“Your knee again?” she asks, her voice threaded with a lilt of humor.

I scowl, attempting to quell my shuddering as the temperature drops even further.

“My knee, yes, but also a lifetime of experience on campaign.”

Vireth harrumphs at that, but begins to scan our surroundings.

“There,” she replies, pointing toward a dark opening in the rock face ahead.

The cave is a jagged slash of black in the mountain, yawning like some great stone-lipped maw. The light fades almost too easily beyond the threshold in a way that feels unnatural to me, but I am beginning to make peace with how unnatural the natural world of this realm is.

“Caves almost always house some kind of ill-tempered creature, in my experience. Is that not the case here in Hollowmire?” I ask, daring to hope for an easy night.

“Oh, it is,” Vireth replies, matter-of-factly. “But our choices are to challenge whatever almost certainly lies within the cave, or challenge the gods of the impending blizzard. I fancy our chances in the cave only slightly higher than carrying on in this, don’t you?”

There’s a devil-may-care air to Vireth’s words, but it is plain there’s unease beneath.

“Very well,” I say.

“Steel yourself, Farmer Knight,” she says, drawing her own blade and moving ahead of Magnar, who I bid to stay outside the cave’s entrance. Without further prompting, Nibblebones twists down from her shoulder and climbs atop Magnar’s saddle.

We approach cautiously. The entrance is narrow but deep enough to offer protection from the wind and snow, which will serve our purpose. I reach for the torch in my pack while Vireth tips her head up to scent what lies within.