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The two Elvish women exchange glances. So much passes between them in those brief seconds—questions, affirmations, courage, excitement, love. It’s the language of long years in each other’s company, of two minds synchronized—unique, yet unified.
It strikes me suddenly that I’m making this bargain not only for myself, but on Rupert’s behalf, too. The child would be his as well.
But he isn’t here, and in his absence, with our offspring still a possibility rather than a reality, I need to make the best choice I can.
“We have a bargain,” says Lannau, and Enthel clasps both hands over her heart, though her face remains pale and passive. “May the goddess strike down the one who breaks it.”
“Let it be so,” I confirm.
It’s a relief not to worry about financing the journey. Enthel and Lannau take care of everything—purchasing and packing supplies, hiring a carriage to bring us as close to the Riddenwold as possible. Enthel buys Bede and me some clothes and shoes as well, though I opt for keeping Rupert’s footwear. When I change into my new traveling outfit—a comfortable tunic, a corset-vest, and soft, pliant leather leggings—I transfer my notebook to the pocket of my leggings. I can’t believe Rupert kept it, and I’m grateful he did. It contains my list of goals, as well as many of my notes regarding the function of the mill and bakery business. In the back, there are notes about the inn I’d like to run someday.
We set off the next morning, all four of us in a carriage, with our packs tied onto the roof. Since the two Elves don’t seem very talkative, I take out my notebook and flip through it idly.
It’s been a handful of days since I last looked at this notebook, but already I feel like a different person than I was when I took down these notes, made these lists, and set these goals.
The book itself is different, too. Rupert has thrust a gold pin or needle into the leather and stitching of the book’s spine. I have no idea what it is or why he put it here, but he travels light and I suspect everything he brings along has a purpose. For all I know, this is some kind of magic needle. I decide to leave it in place.
In addition to the needle, there’s an odd thickness to the back cover, so I open the notebook to the last page and inspect the inner side of the leather cover. There’s a faint rectangular lump, slightly smaller than the cover itself, as if someone slit the leather, stuffed something between the layers, and then sealed it back up. When I touch it, there’s a faint hum under my fingers—the telltale vibration of magic.
Curiously I run my finger along the edges of the lump until I find a corner. There’s a paper-thin layer of something that looks like leather, but isn’t—the texture is different. And when I peel that layer slowly back, there’s a slender wax-paper packet beneath. Through its translucent surface I can see choppy bits, like dried tea leaves.
There’s a word written in miniscule script on the wax paper—fennisley.
This is it. This is where Rupert hid the charmed fennisley. A risky hiding place, I suppose, but then again, he didn’t expect to be taken prisoner and enslaved. He wanted to keep the stuff on his person, yet concealed. He must have sealed it to the inside cover of my notebook with magic.
“What is that?” asks Enthel, and I startle a little. I was so immersed in my discovery I forgot I wasn’t alone.
“Something I’ll need later, when I kill the King,” I tell her.
She lifts her eyebrows, but doesn’t question me further. Neither she nor her wife seem to care what happens to the monarchy of Darthage. They simply want to live and let live—a mindset I understand all too well.
As I turn the notebook over in my hands, my heart hollows out with sudden longing for Rupert. He clearly considered this a prized possession, something to be cherished, even a place to tuck away small items of value. When I see him again I’ll have to ask him why he kept it, and I’ll have to investigate the purpose of the golden needle.
Cautiously I draw the pin out of the book’s spine—and the second I do, Lannau straightens in the seat across from me, her gaze locked on the slim bit of gold. “What is that?”
“I’m not sure.” I prod the tip with the pad of my thumb.
“Careful!” exclaims Lannau. “Give it here.”
I hesitate, then hand it over. Lannau messes with the pin for a moment, muttering under her breath—and then with a flash of shining metal, the pin expands in size and a sword leaps into existence, nearly skewering Bede.
“By the goddess,” Lannau breathes. “Axidor.”
“Axidor?” I echo.
“The sword of Liacan, an Elvish warrior-priest, one of our most revered martyrs.” She moves it a little, and both Bede and I cringe back in our seats.
“Fuck, it’s incredible,” says Lannau. “This isn’t even its full length. For the true owner it can expand even longer and cast a few spells—temporary paralysis being one of them.
“It’s valuable?” I ask.
“Valuable? Oh yes.” Enthel reaches over to touch the sword reverently. “It has intrinsic, historical, and cultural value to our people. This is perhaps the most important sword ever crafted or wielded among Elvenkind.”
“Why did Rupert have it?”
“I’m guessing he killed the owner,” says Lannau. “Axidor must be won from its previous wielder in lethal combat. When I hold it, I feel its energy, but it doesn’t connect with me. I can’t wield any of its spells, or its full size. Which means it belongs to Rupert, and will be his until death.”
Then Rupert didn’t just find the dealer and pay for the fennisley… he killed the dealer.
