“I must ask now. Do you mean to live here?” Óraithe looked solemnly past her into the night.
Scaa laughed. “It is tempting, but no. I know what we were. What we began. It was work no one was willing to do, Óraithe. Still, they are not willing. But they can be led.”
Óraithe shook her head. “I worried, you know. That I would be alone. That I would walk myself to the Bastion and die there full of swords with nothing left. I prepared for it. Dreamed of it.” She stopped there. “Have I changed?” Óraithe’s voice was quiet. She worried what the answer might be.
Scaa looked at her for a while and then shook her head. “No. Not in the way you mean, I think. Your eyes are deeper now, but they tell me the same story as I heard in that Low District alley. Things must change and I believe you are the one for it. Now more than ever.”
Óraithe looked back to the city. She could not hear the water from where they stood. “How many do we have?”
“Five hundred. Less who can fight.”
Enough to come past the gates if the walls were guarded as they had been not so long ago.
Scaa yawned. “I have shown you what I can tonight. Tomorrow will be very interesting. Will you sleep?”
“No,” Óraithe said, taking Scaa by the hand and starting back toward the house they now shared. “Almost never anymore.”
And even if she did, Óraithe thought, how could she now?
R
Rianaire
Rianaire found that she was being shaken from a perfectly good sleep. She opened her eyes to find Síocháin standing over her already dressed.
“Surely the inn is aflame and we are minutes from death.”
“Would it hasten your rising from the bed?” Síocháin’s flat response only served to make the bed seem more inviting.
“Unlikely.” Rianaire sat up groggily and looked to the window. The sun was not up nearly high enough to warrant her being pulled from bed, there must’ve been something. “Why am I awake?”
“It is the Binseman from the south. Socair. She has come to travel with us to Theasín as you instructed.”
Rianaire groaned, remembering she had said such a thing.
“Should I send her away?”
“No. We cannot make ourselves enemies of the south any more than we can leave horsefolk in our woods.”
It was not worth complaining any further to Síocháin as she’d brought the early morning upon herself. She stood and pulled on a dark blue dress which was more covering than she liked, but it clung to her hips well and was warm. With the snows falling, the temperature would be quick behind it and the carriage had nothing beyond its own insulation. Rianaire did not hate the cold but, like so many things in her life, it seemed an unnecessary discomfort. She had called on a local carrosserie to see to the problem, but it was to no avail. Shielding the wood from the heat of coals proved a problem for most of the proposals and others involved the coach lanterns, but either failed against the chill of the season or required oil beyond reasonable measure.
She had been lost in thought over carriages for so long that Síocháin had finished seeing to her buttons. Síocháin went first to the door with Rianaire behind. Inney was waiting there for the two of them, her false face passive and eyes closed. Rianaire placed a hand on her head and ruffled her hair as she passed.
Síocháin opened the door to Socair waiting in the hall. She seemed to stand a bit taller than yesterday. Her brigandine had been cleaned and polished and her hair was in much better order than it had been the day before. The alehouse had made a mess of her but Rianaire could not help but see how legends came to be about such a creature.
“A morning sight to stir the loins.” Rianaire looked up at her and smiled. “I trust you found us with no trouble.”
Socair nodded stiffly. “No, there was no trouble. I, er, expected that if we were to reach Theasín with time enough for anything, an early start was in order. I apologize if I woke you.”
“Of course, you’re correct. But first we should eat, should we not?” Rianaire turned to Síocháin as she asked the question and back to Socair after. “Have you eaten?”
“I… have not.”
“Wonderful! Then let us go. The carriages can be seen to in the meanwhile.”
The small dining room was empty still and from the reaction of the innkeep, it seemed likely that the cook would have to be woken and dragged into the kitchen to do his work. Socair wore a look of guilt watching the innkeep scramble. It was a good look for a person of her position, one Rianaire saw far too frequently. For half a moment she even regretted that she was wasting the woman’s time.
Breakfast was made quick. Fish sausage with eggs and beans and toast as well. As they ate, Rianaire watched Socair closely. She ate quickly and with a peculiar sort of focus.
“I heard a story not so long ago,” Rianaire began. Socair sat upright and wiped her mouth, seeming to remember herself. “That you were in Drocham and were ambushed.”
Socair’s expression dropped and her eyes seemed to look off at nothing.
“Is it not a tale I should have mentioned? As I heard it you slew three satyr by yourself.”
“I did.” Socair’s voice wavered just the slightest bit. She cleared her throat and shook away the hollow look from her eyes. “I paid a terrible price for it. In truth, I ought to have died. I was saved by a man called Liath and the Sister’s grace.”
“Still,” Rianaire continued unabated. “I have not heard of an elf surviving such a thing since the old tales of my mother’s mother.”
Socair poked at her food. “Survival is only a part of living.”
The girl was young. Far too young for such a thought if her life had been as most were.
