Athan frowned up at the beads. “What do you want me to say? I assume she told you about the raven, too?”
“Yes, and I plan on going bird hunting later.” Garrett uncrossed his legs then crossed them the other way with another agitated huff. After a quiet breath, his voice softened. “I want to know why you didn’t trust me, Athan.”
Yes, Garrett was certainly offended. Athan rolled his head to the side to look over at him, Garrett’s profile cast in patches of sunlight and shadow. They’d known each other for years, and denying their friendship had become part of why their friendship had always worked. The immediate distaste for Garrett’s opulent attire and outward snobbery had fragmented once Athan had figured it all out to be a mask which hid a fragile heart worn too close to the surface and a bottomless compassion protectively concealed under an air of indifference.
They both wore masks for the world to see, and Garrett had seen past the one Athan wore around Lee’s Mill; a kind hearted, unselfish forester who was easy to smile and helped others without hesitation. Athan wasn’t unselfish. Every smile and gift and opportunity to help had held its own motive. Beothen gave him access to the guards and allowed him to come and go from Lee’s Mill without harassment. Tobin always knew the truths and rumors around town, and Penna’s cornbread really was the best in the kingdom. Phineaus had access to rare things Athan needed, and Garrett held the reigns of bureaucracy in the area, even if his father held the official titles. These connections and favors helped Athan survive and create the trap he’d one day need, a trap that had quickly unraveled around him when its intended target had turned out to be so much less of a monster than himself. Then, to have those people he’d conned and cajoled come to his aid? That bitter knife dug deeper and hurt more than the silver one in his chest ever could.
No, Athan was not a good man, and Garrett was the only one in Lee’s Mill to see it. For that, he supposed, he owed Garrett the truth. Even if he wasn’t sure what the truth was anymore.
“Would you have believed me?” Athan asked.
Garrett snorted. “I would’ve thought you blightmad, but that’s not the point.”
“No, I don’t suppose it is.” Athan gazed back up at the strips of colored cloth and swaying beads. “Trust doesn’t come easy to me, not since...”
“Not since a mage dressed as a raven turned your brother into a mule?” Garrett finished. “I suppose I can understand that. It is all rather absurd.”
“This whole world is absurd.” Athan coughed. “Magic and dragons and gods taking girls hostage in towers.”
“Towers that fell into ruin centuries ago,” Garrett added. “I had Jenny check the land registries while in Haden’s Crossing. No one has claimed ownership nor built anything in the Thorngrove in the six hundred years that Haden’s records go back to. It’s protected land, the entire forest from Farfield to the Axeblades to the Ashfall River. No one can say by whom, but not even the crown can stake claim there. Rumors say those that have tried were never seen again.”
“But you saw the tower,” Athan argued, the news not unexpected even if leaving the tower’s existence unexplained. “Broken as it is, it’s still there.”
“Oh, I saw it. Doesn’t change the fact that it shouldn’t be there, or that Dnara couldn’t have possibly lived there... At least, not recently,” Garrett finished reluctantly.
Athan, too, felt reluctant to put all the pieces together in the pattern they seemed to fit best. “Could magic do that? Make the tower appear older, or...” He didn’t finish the thought, the impossible stretching into the unfathomable.
Garrett leaned back into the sunbeam. “You, my friend, are asking the wrong person. I wouldn’t have thought it possible for a mage to turn a boy into an animal, but here we are. I mean, there are stories of such magic, certainly; fables and legends and old wives’ tales.”
“Magic isn’t what it used to be,” Phineaus said, suddenly joining the conversation through a small wooden panel slid open behind the driver’s bench.
“Shouldn’t you be watching the road?” Garrett fumed. “I asked for less bumps, not to be blindly steered into a ditch!”
“Calm yourself, Master Garrett,” Phineaus grinned through a thick curly beard. “Treven is now driving, leading my oxen around those ruts you wish to avoid.”
As Garrett swallowed his ire, Phineaus turned the grin on Athan. “It is good to see you awake, my friend! Your brother has been worried, pacing and neighing and flicking his withers at every passing cart.”
Athan attempted to sit up but only got a few inches before the pain stopped him. “You don’t seem all that alarmed about my mule being my brother, ...or rather that my brother is a mule.”
Phineaus let out his signature belly laugh. “Oh, lad, if you knew the things I know, saw the things I’ve seen, a man as a mule or a mule as a man would not be a shock to you, either.”
Hearing those words, and even seeing Phineaus’s plump face through the tiny opening, gave Athan some comfort. Phineaus, for all his antics and colorful nature, was a well-traveled, well-intending man. Perhaps if anyone could help shed light on recent events, it would be this world-wise salesman. Still, Athan had to wonder how he’d ended up in the back of the peddler’s wagon.
Athan tried to return the man’s smile but ended up wincing instead. “I hope Garrett didn’t drag you into our adventure with promises of fortune and fame. You’re liable to get turned into an ox if we cross paths with that mage again.”
Phineaus laughed again. “Oh, to be an ox! To live carefree, pulling a
