“That’s me, lucky as they come. Good fortune in the looting.”
Cooper waves, the motion signaling the rest of his party that this conversation is done. “We may be at it for a while, so keep well, and my best to your family if I don’t see you before you take to the road.”
I return the salute, starting down the rutted track. It’s always much easier coming down the mountain than it is going up, but I won’t make this climb again. We walk for a few minutes in silence before Njål says softly, “It worked. They just . . . didn’t notice me.”
I take his hand. At some point after the fell magic died, he’s filed down his claws to make these intimacies easier and less risky for me. “You can travel as you wish and live as you please. This doesn’t change who you are, only how you seem.”
“It doesn’t matter where we go. Anything you deem worthwhile, I’m willing to follow you. My life is yours, and not because you saved it.” Njål swings our joined hands, taking pleasure in that simple gesture. “I can’t believe I’m out, walking in the sunshine.”
We’re halfway down the mountain when frenzied bleating makes me glance back. Bart and Agatha come racing after us and they butt our legs like they can’t believe we left without them. I scratch both their heads in turn.
I laugh. “Lord Buck. Lady Doe. Did you decide to accompany us?”
“We should call them Bart and Agatha. Since we’re no longer living in a castle, it might seem pretentious to be escorted by titled goats.” Only the glint of his eyes gives away the gentle humor, and affection surges within me.
“You’re right. Bart and Agatha it is.” To the goats, I add, “Come along then.”
To my amazement, they follow us like dogs, all the way to the outskirts of town. Here, they stop to graze, and I decide that might be best. The main road veers west from here, so once we finish our shopping, we can be off.
“We’ll be back presently,” Njål says.
Our arrival causes a bit of a stir, not because of him, but because I crept off on a winter night, and I expect even my family thought I must be dead and frozen by now. We’re surrounded by neighbors who can’t believe I’m alive. It takes me a while to placate them and handle all their greetings. It seems that spring and sunlight have softened them toward me; nobody is calling me that strange Brewer girl anymore.
“Yes,” I say eventually. “It’s good to see all of you too. But if you’ll excuse us, Njål and I have some shopping to do.”
“Njål? Is that your man’s name? How did you meet him?”
I can’t even tell who asked the question, just one of the eager gossip mongers who hangs around the well, and I make up an answer on the spot. “He’s a hunter who spent the winter with me at Bitterburn.”
A host of suggestive chuckles, then one man says, “Aye, then you’re cleaved for life. Might already be quickening, lass.”
That’s enough of that. Njål seems to agree because he shoulders through the crowd, pulling me with him, and then I take the lead because he has no idea where anything is. “Have you ever been here?” I ask softly. “I mean, before?”
Before the curse. Before he changed.
He nods. “When I first arrived, I sneaked out and went with some of the castle staff. The town is . . . unrecognizable.”
“What was it like then?”
“The streets were mud, pig shit everywhere. All the houses had thatched roofs.”
Again, I’m assailed by the sense of how old he is. I’ve tied him so that he can’t leave me, but will he regret our bond some day? I put that fear aside as best I can and turn my attention to practical matters.
“Right, let’s get what we need,” I say.
First stop is the rag and bone shop, where I pick out the biggest trousers and tunics I can find. They’re rough but clean. His cloak will do as we’re heading into spring and summer. With any luck, we’ll reach Kerkhof by autumn and we can buy something better there. I can’t believe I get to see the great city. Excitement clamors in my veins like the strongest of spirits, leaving me giddy.
“What did you pack anyway?” I ask, indicating his rucksack.
In answer he shows me his ragged cloak, some stockings, a money pouch, and two bottles of ale. “I couldn’t leave this. You made it for me.”
It’s absurd how touched I am. “It’s not even very good,” I mutter.
“It’s the first gift I’ve had since I left home,” he says. “Unless I count your arrival, in which case, it’s the second.”
Gods, but I could get used to this sweetness. Quickly I stretch up and kiss him, then continue our quest for supplies. Hopefully nobody will steal our goats while we’re otherwise occupied, though I suspect Bart and Agatha won’t make it easy. They seem to have chosen us without magical inducement, and I’m glad.
There’s plenty of room in Njål’s pack for the clothes we bought. Before we buy dry goods, I talk to Deo, the peddler who settled here recently. If I recall correctly, he’s got a cart and mules to sell. Bitterburn is small enough that I track him down quickly, as he’s married a widow and moved into her cottage on the edge of town. Sure enough, his old peddler cart—a sturdy wagon with a canvas top—sits behind the house and the mules graze in an enclosure nearby. Mules are expensive to feed and he’s not using them anymore. I can probably negotiate a deal.
An hour later—after some intense haggling and in exchange for three gold bracelets—I take possession of our new home. The peddler even includes the odds and ends he used on the road, such as cookware, bowls and cutlery, cushions and bedding to make our life cozier. Our progress draws interest, as we lead the mules through town.
Last stop
