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Luka brushed his nose, staying quiet for a bit, then he timidly said, “I can’t go back.”
In that moment, his clouded reflection clarified, and she saw Luka and no one else.
I never should have left this place.
Chapter Twelve
1730, 9th Rion
Lily tucked the loose strands of her hair into her headscarf. Although not from Acadia, the village was close enough that the need to hide never left. There were far more reapers with silver hair on the peninsula, but she could never be too careful. Their visits into the village were infrequent, and most didn’t linger or ask too many questions, only caring about trading the literal fruits of Luka’s labor or a pelt or two from Lily’s hunts.
The village was small. Old-fashioned, Reina would have called it. Cottages speckled across the lush, green patches of farmland and over gentle rolling hills unique to the peninsula. A single thoroughfare marked the main street, lined with shops and stoops to homes as it winded and weaved up against a tall rocky hill. Large oak trees shaded the road, their roots pushing up the old brick path. The early autumn air was warm, the air fresh, and it felt like home.
“Here you are.” The gunsmith, Norman, stepped out of his shop. “I think this does it for you.”
With shaking and liver-spotted hands, he handed Lily the rifle he had sold her many months ago. It was used, bulky, and way too gods damn slow, but she took it with care, running her fingers over the barrel to make sure it was reassembled properly this time, wishing she had the foresight to pack her ghosted rifle the night everything went to shit.
“Took it fully apart today, just like you asked,” the old man said. He lifted a quivering finger toward the gun. “The chamber was rather gunky, but the barrel was clean as a pretty platinum piece. Not bad for as often as you say it’s used.”
Lily peered out the scope, ignoring a crack in the glass she didn’t want to pay to fix. “And the sight’s okay?”
“Seems fine to me.” He laughed, lifting an already shaking hand, leaving Lily to wonder how much of a sense of humor hid under all the grease coating him from head to toe.
Lily let out a slight laugh herself, hitching the gun back to its place over her shoulder. “Thanks. I’d be lucky to find a better gunsmith on this side of the border.”
“Bah!” He waved her off. “Don’t lie to me, girl. I know I’m on my way out. I’ve only got a few more years in me, and my pocketbook suffers for it.”
Her next laugh was more genuine, in part from his comment and the fact she’d be able to tell long before he could. “Then you’re the third best gunsmith I know, behind myself.” His bushy brows came together, and Lily pulled out her coin purse. “You don’t happen to have any traps for sale, do you? I’ve got a predator problem I need solving.”
“Didn’t we just go over the state of my motor skills? You think I have the stability to make traps?”
“You never know.” Lily shrugged. “Will the usual cover it? Or would you like extra for the hurt feelings?”
Norman waved her off again. “Your service was covered this morning.”
She frowned. “By who?”
“The cobbler’s boy.”
That explained things. The scrawny apprentice had been eyeing her for weeks in that way younger men have a hard time hiding. Still, a free cleaning was appreciated.
“Tell him not to worry about it next time.”
“Take the help when you can get it,” Norman grumbled, peering over her shoulder.
Lily mirrored his movements and found Luka scrambling over a low stone wall on the other side of the road, guiding a smaller child after him while taking care not to disturb the small, aging statuette of a horned animal perched atop it.
Not this again.
“He’s old enough to take on a trade. I’ll make a fine blacksmith out of him.”
“He doesn’t have the talent for metal work.”
“Cultivation and smithing aren’t so different. Both shape raw material into tools for survival.”
Lily handed off the coins with a tight smile. “He’s not interested.”
Norman sighed. “It’s a shame seeing someone so young raise someone else’s child. You don’t have your eye on any of Acadia’s finest to help lift some of the burden?”
