Socair shook the concern away. She was here to see to a solution for greater problems. Pressing past the angered traders around her, she walked into the empty ground between the rabble and the guards. Hands went to swords and the crowd dulled their noise, at least at the front.
Socair pulled her papers from her brigandine and unfurled them to show Deifir’s seal.
“I am Socair of the Binse of Deifir, Treorai of Abhainnbaile, here at her behest. I would have you show me to your superior.”
“Bloody nobles!” It was the first and only shout Socair could make out before the din raised beyond comprehension. The guards split and waved her past with worried looks and quickly closed ranks behind her.
“Shut it, you lot! Nobody’s comin’ in!” The guards were at the crowd now, but Socair had given them reason to spit back.
A pale elf, tall with a beard wrapped around his square jaw, walked forward looking her over.
“You one o’ Deifir’s then? Wearin’ them colors.”
“I am.”
“Well, fuck off.”
Socair’s hand went to the hilt of her sword instinctively, as did the guard captain. “You will watch your tone.”
“I’ll not watch shite. This gate’s closed and ain’t a soul ‘cept mine walkin’ past it.”
Socair composed herself and straightened. “I understand you have your reasons, but I am here on official diplomatic business.”
The man relented as well and spit at the ground, looking at her sideways. “Business? Who with? The Regent?”
“No. With your Treo—”
“Well, she ain’t here. Fuck off.”
Socair pressed herself in close to the man, who did his best to chest up to her but could not match her height.
“I will make myself plain. Your men may kill me, but if your insults continue you will die here by my hand.”
“Then that’ll be the way of it. The gate’s closed. What you want ain’t in there.”
“My people need rest.”
“There’s inns aplenty back down the hill. And you’re welcome to ‘em. But I don’t give two squirts of goat piss who you are, where you come from, or who sent you. If I open that gate, these folk’ll be on my men like dogs on thrown meat. Maybe I spoke above my station, and I’ll be wrong on it and you’ve got my sorries right an’ proper, but these boys are goin’ home come sun up and they’ll do it breathin’. Best I can say is word puts the Treorai in Casúr.”
Socair breathed deep and gritted her teeth. She could not help but think of Meirge. “For your men, then. Send word to your Regent that I was here. And if you’ve any honor, tell him that my papers were valid and be clear about the manner in which you comported yourself.”
She turned and walked away. A call from behind her bid the guard file aside. There was cackling laughter immediately as she emerged to the crowd. Jeering and hooting and amazement that even nobles could not pass. Gruff as he had been, the guard captain would have to admit she had done him a favor he did not rightly deserve. Soon enough she was past any elves who knew what had transpired and the noise drifted off behind her.
Práta and Nath were where she had left them, neither doing anything but staring into the crowd for her face. Práta approached and Nath was forced behind her with the crowd blocking her path to Socair.
“Well?” Práta’s voice was impatient.
“An arse of a guard captain and an angry mob. We’ll be forced to bed down on the outskirts.”
“There are worse things.”
As Práta turned, Nath squeezed past and ran to Socair, grabbing her hand quietly and following along. They descended the hill and turned down a broader street that was lined with shops. There were a few inns on the street and Socair stopped into the first one they found. It was full, as were the next two. The fourth said the same but offered a small room off the kitchens when she showed the writ. The innkeep had family in Abhainnbaile province, she said, insisting she was happy to help with whatever she could.
The lodgings were modest, but comfortable. Práta had not spoken since the hill and Socair felt a knot forming in her stomach. When the bags were seen to, Socair walked Nath to the bed.
“I will be just outside, okay? You are safe here, nothing will harm you.”
Nath frowned and nodded before climbing into bed. Socair walked to the door, grabbing Práta’s hand gently as she walked past. The back door of the kitchen led to a small alley at the back of the inn. It was quiet compared to the main streets and there was no one to be seen.
“You’ve taken to the girl, haven’t you?” Práta crossed her arms. “Do you mean to raise her?”
“I took her, Práta. I am responsible for her.”
“You made yourself responsible for her when you kept her past Íobair.”
“She is broken, Práta. Can you not see?”
Práta turned and leaned toward Socair. “I see it, love. I see it well. There is pain in front of you, and you cannot turn away from it. And I… I love you for your heart, Socair. But what can you do for this girl? How do we explain her to the Treorai of a province under attack by hippocamps?”
Práta stopped there and waited. Socair lowered her eyes to the ground.
“If she is taken, as Vód was, what then? Or if we are attacked? She cannot fight. Will we die seeing to her life?”
“I looked away from all of Fásachbaile, Práta.” Socair’s fists had balled without her realizing. “I know my duty. I left a city, a province to suffer.”
“And thousands more will suffer.” Práta’s voice softened. “Your role is not as it was. You cannot save people with sword and blood any longer.”
Práta
