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The Tipsy Willow
Verve’s calves ached from balancing on the raft for the better part of a day. After leaving Freehold, she’d ridden on horseback for three days and nights, camping under the open sky, until reaching the town of Cypress Edge. There, she’d procured the torturous contraption that had already dumped her into the black swamp water three times. Thank the One, her puffer smokes and most of her spare clothes were wrapped in oiled cloth so they’d hopefully stay dry, but she was drenched in water that smelled like the wrong end of a wild boar.
Worst of all, her long, black hair was soaked, and it took forever to dry.
Careful not to lose her balance, she shook out her braids, checked her grip on the line attached to the raft, then shoved the pole down once more to propel herself forward.
Greenhill Province certainly lived up to its name. Hilly tufts of sawgrass swayed between low pools and streams of murky water, interspersed with the occasional copse of cypress trees covered in stringy gray moss, like old men’s beards. The air smelled fetid and dank, and Verve spotted more than a few huge, nebulous shapes roving beneath the dark water.
A high-pitched whine sounded in her ear. Verve tried to swat the mosquito away without taking yet another accidental bath. The blood-sucking bastards were everywhere, and all the neem oil repellent in the world didn’t seem to deter them for long.
“Why couldn’t Lotis be on solid ground?” she muttered to herself as she poled the raft along. She’d given up looking at her map hours ago, and had strayed east, following the directions she’d gotten from a merchant in Cypress Edge. By the merchant’s account, she should have been in Lotis by now, but all she saw around her was swamp. And mosquitoes.
The cypress trees thickened, blocking the sky and surrounding Verve with their knobby knees and the creepy dangling moss. Something smelled foul—likely a decaying animal—and she wrinkled her nose. First the pitch-black caverns, now a fetid swamp. Trust Danya to always send her to the worst possible places in Aredia. Verve shook away her discomfort and tried to focus on her mission — and on not losing her balance. Again.
By the first signs of dusk, the cypress trees had not relented, only grown more dense. Shadows closed around Verve again, sending her heart-rate into a gallop, but she tried—she tried—to push away her fear. She wasn’t a cowering child anymore, but a woman grown and capable. Besides, darkness was a hunter’s friend.
If only her racing heart would believe that old lie.
Something huge surfaced about an arm’s length from the raft. A monstrous creature stuck its head out of the water, dark liquid eyes fixed on her. Verve froze, letting the raft drift with the mild current. A long snout and a wide body ridged with scales emerged after the head, and Verve’s mouth fell open. By the One god, the damn thing was longer than her raft. Surely it could swallow her whole! She held as still as she dared as the current carried her past the monster and prayed it wasn’t too hungry. Her crossbow was secure at her back, and she mentally prepared to shift her balance should she need it and her bolts.
The raft floated by the creature, who watched her with unblinking eyes. Verve let out a relieved breath, then the monster dove. The wake from its movement tossed Verve from the raft, sending her with a splash into the rolling black water. Cold enveloped her, water slid into her nose and mouth, and for a few terrifying seconds she couldn’t tell up from down, let alone where the swamp creature might be. The long line attached to her raft wavered uselessly. She couldn’t find her footing and her chest strained with the ache of holding her breath. A flash of light caught her eye and she kicked hard towards it, arms working to bring her to what she hoped was the surface. Something scaly brushed her hand and she bit back a scream, and swam harder.
She broke free of the dark water with a gasp, and scrambled for her crossbow, which she kept loaded for emergencies while traveling. Kicking her feet to stay upright, she caught movement out of the corner of her eye and whirled to see a gaping maw and rows of jagged teeth, and fired. The crossbow bolt bounced off the creature’s head and landed with a delicate splash back into the water.
Shit.
Nothing for it. Verve threw herself into swimming, arms and legs pumping as best they could while she gripped her weapon and tried to tug the raft along, and she made for the nearest bit of shore. By some miracle, her supplies were still secure, so within moments she’d sloshed to what passed for solid ground here, clutching her crossbow and the line to her raft. A glance back at the water showed the creature swimming on, unbothered by her antics, until it disappeared once more beneath the murky water.
Weak-kneed relief washed over Verve, followed by the realization that she was once more soaking wet. And the mosquitoes had found her again. Well, the good news was that the ground here was more solid than not, which meant she could walk some of the way.
She stood in place for a few moments to ensure the creature wasn’t returning, then rifled through her bag to assess the damage. When her fingers brushed the familiar fabric, she sighed in yet another bout of relief as she examined the embroidery. The water hadn’t touched the leaves and flowers sewn into the precious scarf: the only piece of her mother she had left. Verve resisted the urge to stroke the silk and tucked it back securely into its oiled cloth. She shouldered her pack and her crossbow, checked her other weapons, grabbed the raft’s line, and continued on foot.
* * *
Mercifully, the solid ground more or less continued for the rest of Verve’s journey. But by the time she spotted the assortment of ramshackle wood buildings that she prayed made up the village of Lotis, true dark had fallen and her nerves were rebelling. Every sound made her heart leap into her throat, and she couldn’t stop the tremble in her hands as she adjusted the pack over her shoulder and checked over her various daggers.
She assessed the buildings again, squinting through the dim light of the odd torch to determine which dump might hold a tavern. Even the tiniest villages always had a tavern. Sure enough, she spotted a painted sign above one of the building’s doors: The Tipsy Willow.
Perfect.
After a brief internal debate, Verve rummaged through her pack again and withdrew her scarf. The swathe of silk was double-sided, with one side holding intricate floral embroidery, and the other a plain, deep charcoal color. Verve’s nerves eased a little when her fingers brushed the smooth, familiar material. Not that she needed comfort now, of course, but wrapping her damp braids beneath the scarf, leaving the dark side out, gave her fortitude a much-needed boost.
Thanks, ahmma. Although Verve had not spoken a word of the Sufani language aloud in years, even thinking of her mother brought her a flash of comfort.
Before entering the tavern, she nestled her crossbow into its case and secured the latch. The weapon’s appearance often made folks wary, and she was trying to keep a low profile. Besides, she was intimidating enough that most people left her alone. Even so, as she approached the tavern, she toyed with the steel wire wrapped several times around her wrist like a bracelet.
The Tipsy Willow was on the water’s edge, accessible by a dock that embraced the building like an overeager lover. Verve’s boots thudded gently against the wooden dock; old fear flooded her veins at the sound. She cast a glance out over the rippling black water that blended with the trees and the night sky. She was alone. There was nothing to fear. Even so, she shuddered and slipped into the tavern.
Warmth and light greeted her, followed by the sweet, honey-citrus scent of jessamin flowers. The tavern was close and small, but held a few townsfolk, who all predictably went silent when she stepped in. She didn’t blame the locals for their consternation at seeing the tall, forbidding stranger enter their home, so she kept her expression neutral as she went to the bar with swift, certain steps.
She set her belongings down and slid onto a stool at the counter, then glanced around for the barkeep. A man about her age appeared out of the back, a couple jars of something like honey in his hands. Verve’s breath caught at the sight of his golden skin and long, black hair neatly braided into two tails that hung over his broad shoulders. Dark eyes, cheekbones that could cut glass, full lips…
Then he glanced up and their gazes met, and he smiled. Her stomach fluttered at the simple expression, one he gave so freely — and to a stranger, no less. His smile was real, and for the space of one heartbeat, she forgot everything else and simply stared at the most beautiful person she’d ever seen. How in the stars had someone like him ended up in this dank swamp?
He set the jars down and came toward her, but when his gaze landed on the crossbow case she’d set on the bar beside her, the line of his jaw hardened.
“No weapons allowed,” he said.
