Radley put his heavy hand on Anders shoulder. “I take it this cloak means something to you?”
Anders couldn't tear his eyes away from what he held in his hands. He nodded numbly. “It was my sister's.”
“Wake up,” Bedelia demanded, shaking Finn briskly by the shoulders.
Finn's eyes snapped open as she sat up, freeing herself from Bedelia's grasp. She glanced out the room’s small window to see only the barest hint of sunlight. “It’s barely dawn,” she groaned.
Bedelia stood and began pacing. “I need you to pack up our things, and be ready to leave at a moment’s notice.”
“Wha-” Finn began, but Bedelia cut her off with a sharp look.
Bedelia approached Finn a little too quickly, making her flinch away from the woman's confusing fervor. Bedelia stopped, and let her hands fall to her sides. “You'll just have to trust me,” she pleaded. “And please, don't leave this room. It's not safe. I'll be back to get you as soon as I've secured a ship.”
“A ship?” Finn questioned weakly, still sitting motionless in bed.
Bedelia nodded. “We'll not escape any other way. Now promise me you won't leave this room until I return.”
Finn's eyes widened, but she nodded.
Seemingly satisfied, Bedelia donned her cloak over her armor and left the room, slamming the door shut behind herself with a loud bang.
Finn jumped at the sound, then sunk back into her bedding, deep in thought. The previous night had been confusing, at best, and now Bedelia wanted to sneak away onto a ship. Finn pawed nervously at her tangled hair. She felt a kinship with Bedelia, and wanted to trust her, but if there was anything she'd learned over the past few weeks, it was that she shouldn't trust anyone . . . except for Iseult and Àed, that was.
She rose from her bed and began to pack Bedelia's supplies. She would wait for her friend to return, then demand an explanation. Even if Bedelia had one, she wouldn't be getting on that ship. She'd come to Migris to find her friends, and she wasn't leaving until she did just that. For all she knew, they could be reaching the city gates at that very moment.
Once she’d finished packing and straightening the room, she paced back and forth across the creaky, wooden floor. Her footsteps seemed to be keeping rhythm with her heart as she tried to focus on anything but the unbearable feeling of waiting. Bedelia had been gone over an hour, and Finn had long since lost her patience. While she was packing, she’d eaten some stale bread from their rations, so she was no longer starving, yet remaining in the small room was becoming near impossible, not only because she needed to speak with Bedelia, but because she didn’t feel at all safe in the inn. She could just imagine Maarav downstairs, planning some sort of trap while she sat around like livestock waiting to be slaughtered.
A shout paused her mid-pace. She waited, perfectly still, as more shouting ensued, filtering in through the room’s small window. She strode forward to look outside, curious about the clamor below. Using the window curtains to obscure herself as much as possible, she glanced down through the opening to see men milling about in brown uniforms, the same sort of men she and Bedelia had encountered on the road. A few of them stood apart from the others, questioning an old woman.
Finn doubted the tiny woman would even reach her shoulder in height, yet her ferocity held the three uniformed men at bay as they attempted to intimidate her. Onlookers had gathered around, yet none stepped in to help.
Sensing an opportunity to get some information, Finn turned and went for the door. Surely Bedelia couldn't be mad at her for leaving to aid an old woman.
Finn left the room and shut the door behind her. Bedelia had taken the only key, so she couldn't lock it, but she'd just be right outside anyhow. She hurried down the stairs and let out her breath when she saw that Maarav wasn't in the common room. She ventured out of the inn without paying much mind to the few patrons.
She began to feel more confident once exposed to the brisk morning air. Though she'd grown accustomed to human comforts, she still felt more at ease out in the sunlight. She hurried toward where she’d seen the old woman, being careful not to slosh through any mud puddles that dotted the wide, dirt street. The shouting had escalated, spurring her onward.
She rounded a corner and saw a uniformed man take hold of the old woman's arm. The woman continued to screech as he began to drag her away, but the onlookers did not aid her. Finn was surprised to see that even a few of the city guards watched the spectacle, making no move to interfere.
Mustering all her courage, Finn pushed her way through the gawking people, then shoved herself in between the old woman and the soldier.
The man stopped his movements and looked down at Finn with impassive eyes, while the old woman gasped in surprise.
Finn felt like her stomach had turned to mush, but she forced herself to stand tall. “Is there a reason you're dragging this poor old woman away?” she demanded.
The man only stared at her, but one of the other soldiers stepped forward. He didn't look old enough to be a soldier, his scrawny shoulders barely filling out the jacket of his uniform. “We must question any who might be involved with Tuatha magic, lass,” he explained with a heavy accent, similar to the way Àed spoke.
“I'm but a simple herbwife!” the woman screeched from behind Finn.
Finn looked at the men like they were being silly. “You truly believe that this old woman could mean harm to this city?”
The younger man blushed, but the other two soldiers just stared at Finn blankly. The rest of their entourage shifted uncomfortably, some of the men looked the other way like they weren’t part of the spectacle. The one who'd grabbed the old woman crossed his arms. Once it became apparent that Finn had no intention of moving, he stated, “We are within our rights to question her, and to question you as well for aiding an alleged cohort of the Faie.”
Finn's eyes widened and all of her bluster came crashing down. She took a step back, moving the herbwife with her. The man reached forward to take hold of Finn, then someone in the distance screamed. He hesitated, looking over his shoulder toward the sound.
“A body!” someone else screamed.
The guards who'd been watching the spectacle finally rustled into motion, while the onlookers moved to get a peek at the new spectacle.
At that moment, caring more about her own life than that of a stranger whose life was already lost, Finn turned and pushed the old woman along. They entered the nearest alleyway, opposite the direction of the alleged dead body, then the herbwife took charge.
“This way, lass,” she whispered, taking hold of Finn's wrist to hurry her along.
Confused by the sudden trade off, Finn didn't argue.
The herbwife tugged her down another short back road, then turned a sharp corner. Finn's wrist was finally released as the old woman began searching the various pockets of her baggy dress while standing in front of a shabby door. Finn looked over her shoulder for any signs of pursuit, then heard the jingle of keys. She looked back to watch the old woman unlock the door.
“Come inside, lass,” she instructed.
Finn took a step back. “I can't. My friend will be looking for me. I wasn't supposed to leave the inn.”
The old woman rolled an eye at her. Now that Finn had the time to actually observe the woman's appearance, she noticed that the other eye was clouded over and didn't move with the good one. The woman had a mop of frizzy, dark gray hair, but didn't bother using it to cover the bad eye. She grinned, showcasing the few teeth she had left. “You'll not want to be seen until those men give up searching,” she explained. “When they say they'll question you, what they really mean is they'll put you in a large iron cage and burn you alive.”
Finn gasped, then allowed the herbwife to pull her through the doorway.
She had expected an interior as unkempt as the herbwife, but instead walked into a small, cozy home, squeaky clean and organized. There was a small stove, surrounded by bundles of drying herbs, with a large cauldron of liquid
boiling on its surface. Next to the stove were shelves upon shelves of glass vials, and larger containers holding dried roots and herbs.
The opposite side of the room held a small, straw mat for sleeping, a large basin of water, and several other pots similar to the one on the stove, stacked neatly and ready for use.
The space was lit by small windows placed high in the wall, too high to see out of, but expansive enough to let in a fair amount of sunlight. The herbwife had lowered herself into one of the four chairs that surrounded a small, circular table in the center of the room.
“Please sit,” she instructed. “You're making me nervous hovering about like that.”
Finn sat quickly, blushing with embarrassment.
The silence stretched out, making Finn feel like she might burst with anxiety. “Why were those men hassling you?” she asked suddenly, unable to keep it in any longer.
“They're called An Fiach,” the old woman explained with a sigh. “They intend to eradicate the Faie before another war can begin, but if you ask me, the war has already started. I've heard many stories, and I've treated my fair share of Faie inflicted injuries. At least, I treated them before the guard closed the gates to refugees and travelers alike.”
“Injuries?” Finn questioned distantly, thinking of Bedelia's bite.
The woman shrugged. “Sometimes infected bites or scrapes, but more often they are injuries of the mind. Some I can help, some I cannot.”
That gave Finn even more to think about. Perhaps she could fix Branwen . . . if she ever found her. “What about a wolf bite?” Finn asked hopefully.
The woman raised an eyebrow. “Normally I'd ask what a wolf bite might have to do with the Faie, but my guess is you're not talking about ordinary wolves.”
Finn leaned forward in her seat. “So there have been others?”
The herbwife nodded. “Several others. Those wolves have invaded the forested regions all around Migris over the past two weeks.” She looked Finn up and down. “I take it you're asking for someone else? You don't seem ill.”
“My friend,” Finn admitted. “She was bitten a few days ago. She claims she's fine, but I can tell she's not feeling well.”
“She'll feel much worse before long,” the old woman said as she stood. “The bite of the Faie wolves is poisonous.”
Finn gasped and stood abruptly. “I must warn her!”
The herbwife rolled her good eye. “Sit down, lass. I'll brew her up a tincture that will make her vibrant once more.”
Finn slumped back to her chair in relief as the woman approached her stove. She began to crumple herbs into the boiling pot. “What's your name, anyhow?”
“Branwen,” Finn answered, giving her the same lie she'd given Bedelia, a lie she still felt guilty over.
“I'm Venetia,” the herbwife replied as she began collecting several small vials from the shelves beside the stove, leaving the liquid to boil, “and since you aided me against An Fiach, I will help your friend for free.”
Relief washed through Finn. Surely Bedelia couldn't be angry with her for leaving the inn if she returned with a life-saving tincture. She watched with interest as Venetia poured several liquids from different vials into the cauldron, then added a chunk of dried root, and a few different herbs.
“Won't be more than a few minutes,” Venetia explained as she turned back to Finn, wiping her aged hands on her baggy dress. “She'll need to take it all at once. As long as the infection isn't too far along, she should be fine.”
Unable to contain herself, Finn stood and wrapped Venetia in a tight hug. “I can't express how grateful I am,” she sighed. “Bedelia is the only reason I'm alive right now. I couldn't stand it if she were to die when I could have helped her.”
Finn felt Venetia tense, or maybe it was just her imagination. Regardless, she let her go and both women resumed their seats.
They discussed Venetia's business, and the latest happenings in Migris until the cauldron began to emit a thick, earthy scent. Venetia rose and returned to the stove, then strained the liquid into a large bowl for it to cool. They continued their conversation as they waited, and soon Finn had the precious, glass vial in her hands. The vial that would save her friends life.
“I can't thank you enough for this,” she said with a smile, gripping the mixture tightly in her palm. “I really should go find her.”
Venetia nodded, and opened her mouth to speak, but was interrupted by a knock on the door. She excused herself, slipped out the door, then disappeared into the alleyway where whoever had knocked awaited.
Finn stayed seated, gazing down at the vial in her palm for a moment before securing it within the bodice of her dress. She knew she should leave, but didn't want to interrupt Venetia, especially if she was with a customer. Bedelia would have to wait just a few moments longer.
Eventually Venetia returned, and came to stand in front of Finn. “I'm sorry, lass-” she began, but was interrupted by a second pair of footsteps.
Finn tensed, and prepared to stand, then a hand pressed tightly over her mouth. Rough cloth scratched her nose and lips, permeating her lungs with an acrid, dizzying smell. Her hands fluttered around her attacker’s grip like dying butterflies as she felt her senses leaving her.
As her vision faded, the person behind her wrapped an arm around her waist and lifted her to her feet. She couldn't see Venetia as she was dragged away, but thought she heard her mumble, “A Faie girl, right here in the middle of my home . . . ”
Cool air hit Finn's face as she was led out into the street, just before she lost consciousness.
This was a strange turn of events, thought Maarav as Bedelia's unconscious friend was dragged away, though he wasn’t surprised to see who was doing the dragging. She’d been in his inn less than an hour before, questioning him about a bounty on a tree girl. Maarav knew all about the bounty, and knew that it was for Finn, but that was not why he’d pointed the woman in Finn’s direction, nor was it why he’d followed shortly after.
It had all been rather convenient, with Finn running out to protect the herbwife, then following her into her home. It left far fewer witnesses than it would had Finn remained at his inn.
As he hid in the shadows of a nearby alleyway, the herbwife peeked out into the street warily, then shut her little door. Maarav could hear the lock sliding into place as he approached.
At his feet was a small, glass vial. Something Finn had carried. He crouched to retrieve it, then scrawled a mark with black coal on the herbwive’s door. The mark would tie up that loose end nicely, as he didn't have time to take care of the old woman himself.
He strode away with a spring in his step. Everyone had their part to play in the grand dance of war, and Maarav had never missed a single step.
The number of refugees camped outside the gate had Kai feeling jumpy. Many of them had already awoken, and stared longingly at the sun as it made its slow progress over the horizon. It had been a cold night for all, and Kai could not blame the destitute people for craving the sun’s warmth.
He turned his attention forward, feeling a sickening kinship with the poor, skinny children asking their parents why they weren’t allowed into the city. He'd been one of those poor, skinny children, lorded over by the wealthy people of Sormyr, the Gray City, with their fine homes and warm winter clothes.
He looked forward to the imposing gates of Migris, as yet another family was turned away. People had fled the smaller burghs, abandoning their farms and possessions, in hopes that the larger cities would protect them from the Faie. They were fools to believe that the rich cared for their well-being, even as they depended on the food from the now abandoned farms.
Iseult rode next to Kai silently. He glared coldly at the city walls, like the stones and mortar were something living that he could fight. Àed and Ealasaid rode behind them. Kai still wasn't sure why the old man had invited Ealasaid along, but he didn't really mind. You never knew who might prove useful.
Kai almost voiced his opinion that th
ey shouldn't bother with the guards at the gate, but Iseult appeared so frighteningly determined that Kai thought he might actually stand a chance. He would let Iseult try his way to get into the city, then Kai would try his own.
They reached the end of the line of folk waiting before the gates. Kai shifted atop his horse as his stomach growled. Though he wasn’t looking forward to spending time amongst the higher classes, he wouldn’t mind a day without riding, and a night with a proper bed. He briefly thought back to his time in Malida’s home with Finn, back in Port Ainfean, then shoved the memories away. He was there to prove Finn wrong, nothing more.
The line moved quickly as the poor folk were turned away before they could even speak. Four riders on horseback would not be deemed poor, but they might be turned away for other reasons. It probably wouldn’t help that Iseult looked like a tall, dark, killer, ready to take the city by force all on his own.
Soon they were next in line. Kai observed each of the guards in turn, then tensed as his eyes landed on the one actually speaking to those who approached. He’d encountered that guard before, which might have helped them gain entrance to the city if Kai hadn’t been doing something illegal at the time. Gambling was frowned upon in Migris. Organizing an underground, gambling empire got you thrown in the stocks. Kai had escaped his misdeeds unscathed, but had avoided Migris for several months afterward, as rough drawings of his face were hung in most of the larger inns. The incident had occurred nearly a year ago, but Kai had no doubt the one guard would still recognize him. A man would not readily forget the face of someone who’d escaped arrest by tying his pursuer’s boot strings together, tripping him up and humiliating him in front of several women.
Kai tried to gain Iseult’s attention, but it was too late. He’d already dismounted to lead his horse forward. Needing to act fast, Kai dismounted, shielding his face as much as possible, to lead his horse away with the latest group of rejected refugees.
Àed and Ealasaid didn’t seem to notice, as they had ventured forward to stand at Iseult’s side, the three of them intent on the guards before them as the next group moved away.
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