The well before the farmhouse overflowed with rocks. Someone had filled it in. Had it gone dry? Is that why it’s abandoned?
The chill intensified. Ōbhin shifted beside her, his attention drawn to the fields. She glanced where he looked, frowning. Could she slip away through it, get away from these men with Dualayn? Perhaps tonight, under darkness. This white-haired lady promised to help Carstin. All Avena could do was watch him fade away bit by bit. If he survived the night, she’d be surprised.
Grass rustled in the field. Ōbhin’s hand fell on his sword handle.
“What?” she asked, peering at the bush. “Is it an animal?”
His brow furrowed. “Probably, it’s just . . .”
The farmhouse’s door squeaked open. Grey marched out, his back straight, a jovial look on his features. He didn’t appear to be the sort of man who ran one of the largest criminal empires in Lothon, maybe all of the Arngelsh Isles. He had his thumbs hooked through his belt as he strolled forward, a casual ease about him.
“Ōbhin, may we talk some more about future prospects?” Grey said.
“As you want,” the foreigner said, the tension melting out of him.
“If you excuse us, my lady,” the Boss said as he stopped before them. He gave a courtly bow, right hand on his stomach as he bent at the waist. Then he took her left hand and brought it to his lips, giving her knuckles a kiss.
Warmth suffused her cheeks. The heat transformed into a different emotion. She yanked her hand back. “I don’t think I have many choices, do I? Prisoners don’t get much say.”
“Prisoners?” He arched an eyebrow. “Why, I assume you and Master Dualayn will be on the road come morning. My business partner is quite compelling.”
“Yes,” Avena said, remembering the tattooed man. His dark skin, the black, jagged claws that seemed to be gripping his head. “I imagine he is.”
A visible shudder ran through the Boss, his cheeks above his whiskers paling. “No, not Dje’awsa. He’s . . .” He gave a tight smile. “No, the White Lady. She’s the one negotiating with your employer. Dje’awsa is merely her . . . Well, I am not quite sure of their relationship. Associate, perhaps.”
“And who is she to you?” Avena asked.
“Beneficial.” He then clapped a hand on Ōbhin’s shoulder. “Come, I think it’s clear your time with Ust is over and . . .”
Their voices faded away as she returned her gaze to the field. She still couldn’t believe Dualayn worked with the Brotherhood. They and the Rangers fought a petty war to control illicit activities across Kash and the rest of Lothon. Her hands felt dirty just being here. And the idea that Dualayn would return to work for these men who’d send Ust to “escort” them here . . .
She wished the well wasn’t filled so she could wash her hands.
She went to turn back to the wagon when she heard plants rustling. Her head whipped around, searching for the source of the sound in the overgrown field. Fearful ice formed about her, capping her flesh like the glistening peaks of the Border Fangs. Her skin crawled as her right hand rubbed her left arm.
She felt a wolf’s eyes upon her.
*
Avena’s accusation rang in his head as he walked with Grey along the field. Gravel crunched beneath their boots, Grey’s polished to a brown gleam, Ōbhin’s scuffed, the leather rough along the toes, wearing thin.
“How have you been?” Grey asked. He pulled out a blackroot cigar, thin and wrapped in yellowed paper instead of dried leaf like Carstin preferred. He put it to his lips and produced an igniter, a small ruby jewelchine wrapped in cheap tin wire. The quality of wire affected the strength of the jewelchine. He touched the end and it flared while Grey inhaled.
Cherry red flared at the end of the rolled tube. The man held the smoke in before letting it out as a long, slow sigh. The herbal fume swirled through the air.
“Still as gregarious as ever,” Grey said, smiling.
“I’m done being a bandit,” said Ōbhin.
“I was surprised Ust wanted to help one of his men. More survivors, more ways the pay is split.” Grey’s eyes flicked down to Ōbhin’s gloves. “You persuaded him?”
Ōbhin brought his hands to his back, clasping them as he stared out at the field. “Carstin’s my friend.”
Grey nodded, a cloud of smoke drifting from him. He flicked the end of his narrow cigar, ash falling to the farm lane. “I hope the White Lady can help him. She has resources I expect only Dualayn can understand.”
Ōbhin merely nodded, his eyes flicking through the overgrown field. The eyes were watching them again.
“There are better uses for you than as a bandit.” Grey inhaled. “I always saw promise in you, but the last time we met . . .” He shook his head. “I see Colour in your eyes again. That’s good. You have dedication. Strength of character.” The man laughed. “Beat Ust in front of his entire band. Did any of them try to help?”
“Hook tried.”
Grey nodded. He puffed on his cigar again. A haze grew around them. “You just channeled that passion badly before.”
“That I did.” Ōbhin’s gloved hands clenched tight, leather creaking.
“Help your friend. Care for him. Once he’s recovered, or . . .” Grey drew in a deep breath and let out a long, smoky exhale. “Well, either way, I’m sure better work can be found for you.”
Ōbhin glanced at Avena watching them, feeling the weight of her gaze. “You had us kidnap a healer and his . . . daughter.”
Grey winced. “Fair enough. My benefactor wished to retain his skills.”
“Your
