At the well, I fill a few jugs with water and stow them in the cart. The mules are restive, ready to get moving; I share their sentiment.
But before we make our escape, Tillie and Millie push through the crowd and they both hug me around the thighs. I gently disengage them, crouching to embrace each of my sisters in turn. As I’m snuggling them, I discreetly check with spirit sight and let out a relieved sigh.
Tillie’s fine, thank the gods. No more encroaching tendrils.
I may never know what happened there, if it was something I did unconsciously or if the baron and baroness reached that far to fuel their evil, possibly through that rumored connection to my maternal line. In life, not every question is answered, and sometimes it’s messy and inexplicable. For me, it’s enough that Tillie’s alive and she can get stronger.
“Love you both. Grow up well and be good to each other,” I say.
Then I step back and let them go. If Da and Catherine are lurking somewhere in the crowd, I don’t care and I don’t look for them. I never will either.
It’s time to move on.
33.
Njål figures out how to get the mules moving; otherwise my grand goodbye could have become humiliating.
We leave Bitterburn, moving at a slow clip to collect Bart and Agatha, who are well able to keep up with the cart’s pace. In good weather, we’ll get ten or fifteen miles behind us, depending on how motivated the team feels. They’ve rested all winter, and it’s a minor miracle that Deo didn’t kill and eat them. He must have a kind heart.
Mentally, I assess our preparations. We have food in our storage bins, fodder on board for the mules and goats, and all the animals can free graze as we travel. There’s fresh water and—oh, I might as well relax and enjoy myself. If any problems crop up, we’ll face them together. Smiling, I tilt my head back, basking in the sunshine.
Njål aims a gentle glance at me. “How long do you think it’ll take to get to Kerkhof?”
“I’m not sure. I’m guessing we’ll be there by fall, even allowing for rest breaks, adverse weather, and setbacks.”
“If possible, I’d like to spend the winter there and travel onward in the spring.”
I nod enthusiastically. “I’ve always wanted to visit the Splinter Isles.”
“From there, Maharabad, the jewel of the singing sands?”
I let out an excited shriek, startling a bird as we pass, and blue wings flutter in the greening boughs, flashes of color through tender leaves. “That would be incredible.”
“Do you suppose Bart and Agatha will enjoy seafaring?”
“Only one way to find out.”
To my witchy, new senses, the world feels alive in a way it didn’t before. I’m attuned to the mouse scampering toward his burrow, to the squirrels darting along the branches overhead. The new stimulus is a bit overwhelming, but I’ll learn to manage it. With any luck, I’ll find a mentor in Kerkhof and I can spend the winter in daily studies and nightly adoration of my Njål.
In the afternoon, we pause at a small stream that parallels the road, probably a tributary that feeds the lake below the abandoned keep. The mules drink and eat the tender shoots on the riverbank while Agatha and Bart frolic in the rocky shallows. I smile watching them, and Njål offers me water in a metal cup.
“Should we name them?” he asks.
“The mules? Perhaps you weren’t paying attention during the negotiation, but Deo told me they’re called Bray and Bellow.” I indicate which is which with my free hand. The mules peer in our direction, ears flickering, proof that they know their names. I address the animals next. “It’s fine. Rest a bit more before we move on.”
With a delighted sigh, Njål sprawls in a dappled patch of sunlight. “How can this be real?” he wonders aloud. “It’s glorious.”
“You’re easily pleased.”
“Only because I’m with you.” He kisses my forehead to punctuate the sweet words.
The heat in my cheeks startles me. It’s because of the sun; I’m not blushing, not after everything we’ve seen and done. Embarrassed, I hastily pack the remainder of our meal while Njål hitches the mules to the cart. We keep moving until past nightfall.
Traveling southwest as we are, the road is a gentle slope from the mountains toward the foothills. We’re not far enough away to see a difference in the forest yet, but I bet the trees and bushes will change, the farther we get from Bitterburn. I never once left the town I was born in, until I went to the keep.
And that choice changed everything.
When the stars are up fully, Njål halts Bray and Bellow and we make camp in a clearing that’s been used by travelers before, enough that there are stones set and the remains of previous fires evident. I gather enough wood to build our own blaze, big enough to cook on. We have fresh veggies from the kitchen garden—I was a little sorry to leave it—and dried fish. I can make a nice soup to finish the day.
Belatedly, I wonder how my wards will impact the looters. Since I’m no longer in residence and they’re not trying to hurt me, it should be fine. In time, my magical mark on Bitterburn will fade since I’m not there to strengthen and feed it. One day, there will only be fallen stones, spiders, bats, and mice left. That’s a melancholy realization.
While I’ve been absently poking at the fire, Njål has tended the animals, feeding them and setting out water. Quickly, I fetch the cookware and ingredients to prepare our supper. At night, it’s
