We had a week to spare. We needed supplies for travelling somewhere remote, and we needed the local priest of Solvarn on-side for the investigation. With luck, Illara would be awake soon and we could go to the temple together.

  I made my way back to the inn. The winter sun sat high in the sky, bright enough to hurt the eyes, but the air still bit at my cheeks.

  I slipped into the room as quietly as I could. Illara was still asleep, turned away from me, hair loose across the pillow. For a moment I just watched her breathe, steady and untroubled, and felt the strange relief of it.

  I let her rest.

  Provisions first.

  My own coat was not built for what was coming. Snow was due, and the clothing I had arrived in felt thinner every day, as if the cold had been quietly eating it. Illara would need more arrows. I would need ingredients to make a cheap sleeping poison, something that could buy time if steel could not.

  The market street was already busy, voices and carts and the sharp smell of smoke and fried food cutting through the cold. I found a shop selling travel clothing after a little searching. The woman behind the counter was slightly portly, middle-aged, and appraised customers the way a butcher appraised meat.

  “Morning,” I said. “I’m looking for a winter travel coat. What have you got?”

  She looked me up and down, eyes narrowing as she judged my size.

  “I might have just the thing.”

  She rummaged through a box behind her, the sort that always looked too small to hold what merchants pulled out of it. Cloth shifted and rustled as she dug, muttering to herself.

  Eventually she produced a brown leather cloak. When she flicked it open, I saw the inside was lined with wool.

  “Here,” she said. “Try it on.”

  I pulled it over my shoulders and drew the hood up. The wool settled against my neck like a barrier, and the wind seemed to lose its teeth all at once. It was such a simple change that it almost annoyed me, how quickly comfort could be bought in this world if you had the coin.

  “How much?” I asked.

  “One gold.”

  Expensive. Not surprising. Still, I had room to push, and Illara would need one too.

  “If I buy two,” I said, “could you do one gold and five silver?”

  She considered me, eyes flicking to my purse as if she could already see its weight.

  “I can do one gold and eight silver for two cloaks,” she said at last.

  “Done.”

  I counted out the coin and handed it over. She dug through the box again and brought out a second cloak, much the same as the first, only darker in the leather.

  “Thank you,” I said, taking them.

  “Mm,” she replied, already half-turned towards another customer. “Come back if you need anything else.”

  With the clothing sorted, I turned to arrows. That at least should be simple. Fletchers were easier to find than food stalls in this town.

  I did not have to look far. The shop I found was narrow and well kept, its racks neatly ordered. The man behind the counter was thin, bald, and wore a blond beard that drew attention to his grin. The place was empty.

  “Morning,” I said. “I’m after twenty arrows. Suitable for hunting, man and game alike.”

  His smile widened, as if I had asked the right question.

  “Then you’ll want barbed heads,” he said. “They tear the meat a little, but they won’t work loose. Good for beasts.” His eyes flicked up to mine. “And very good for men.”

  He reached beneath the counter and produced a bundle, laying them out with care.

  “These will set you back two silver.”

  The price was fair. I counted out the coins and took the arrows.

  “Now,” he continued, leaning forward slightly, “if you’re interested in something more discreet, I do carry a hand crossbow. Bolts as well.”

  The way he looked at me made it clear what he thought my profession was.

  “How much?” I asked.

  “For you? Ten gold. And I’ll throw in twenty bolts suitable for poisoning.”

  That settled it.

  “No,” I said. “I can’t afford that right now. Maybe another time.”

  His smile never wavered. If anything, it sharpened.

  “I’ll look forward to it,” he said. “Do come back when you’ve the coin.”

  He waved enthusiastically as I stepped outside, the bell over the door jangling far louder than it needed to.

  This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.

  I understood then why his shop was empty.

  My last stop was the herbalist. In all my walks through town I had only seen the one shop, and I was tired of searching. Familiarity won out over efficiency.

  The place smelled of incense and dried leaves, the air thick enough to taste. The man behind the counter was middle-aged, loose-limbed, and dressed in a way that suggested he had never once cared what anyone thought of him. If someone had described him as a hippy, they would not have been wrong.

  “Welcome, traveller,” he said easily. “How may I help you today?”

  I sifted through Drisnil’s memories and settled on a simple mixture, reliable and easy to preserve.

  “I’m looking for henbane, mandrake, deadly nightshade, and datura.”

  The herbalist’s eyes flicked to my face, then away again, quick as a reflex.

  “I can provide those,” he said. “But you should know that poisons are outlawed in this town.”

  I did not hesitate. “I need a sleeping draft. A friend has trouble resting. With those ingredients, I can make something effective.”

  His mouth twitched into a smile.

  “Don’t worry,” he said. “If I reported every customer who asked for something questionable, I’d have no business at all.” He began gathering the herbs anyway. “Still, consider this your dutiful warning.”

  He set the bundles on the counter, neat and measured.

  “That’ll be five silver.”

  The amount would be enough to make several vials. More than I needed right now, but worth having. If nothing else, it meant I could save what I already carried for situations where restraint failed.

  “Deal.”

  I handed over the coin and packed the herbs away.

  “When you need more,” the herbalist called after me, “you know where to find me.”

  Outside, the cold felt sharper for leaving the warmth behind.

  With provisions sorted, only one thing remained.

  I needed to arrange a meeting with the priest.

  When I returned to the inn, I did not bother being quiet. For the next part, I needed Illara awake.

  I opened the door and stepped inside, my boots loud on the wooden floor. Illara was sitting up already, her hair pulled back, eyes alert.

  “Welcome back, Geoff,” she said. Then, after a beat, “Or should I call you Drisnil?”

  “Either is fine,” I said. “I am both. But in public, Drisnil is probably easier.”

  I handed her the bundle. The arrows first, then the cloak.

  “I did some shopping while you were asleep,” I said. “I hope they’ll do.”

  Illara examined the cloak, testing the weight of it, then the arrows, checking the fletching with a practised eye.

  “Yes,” she said. “It’s been getting cold. Thank you.” She hesitated, then looked up at me. “But next time, let me handle the shopping. I don’t want to feel like I’m being looked after. I want to contribute.”

  I nodded. She was right. I had not meant to sideline her, but intention did not matter as much as effect.

  “Alright,” I said. “Next time we need supplies, you can take care of it.”

  “Thanks.”

  I shifted my weight, then continued. “I spoke to Norman this morning. He’s agreed to help us gather evidence. He thinks he’ll be free in about a week, but he did ask that I provide more history. If that’s alright.”

  Illara nodded without hesitation. “I’m not going to stop you from drawing on Drisnil’s memories if it helps bring justice. I’m watching what you do, not just what you say.”

  Fair.

  “One more thing,” I said. “We’ll need the local priest’s support. Do you think you can convince him to help?”

  “I’ll try,” she said. “I don’t have a silver tongue like you.”

  The words stung, though I knew she did not mean them cruelly. They were an observation, not an accusation.

  She rose and reached for her cloak. “Shall we go now? We can visit Hazel at the same time.”

  I pulled my own cloak back on. “That was my plan.”

  We left the inn together. The sun was already sinking, throwing long shadows across the street. The air felt sharper there, colder where the light failed to reach, as if winter itself preferred the dark.

  We walked on towards the Solvarn temple.

  The Solvarn temple rose out of the shadows, its white walls catching what little light remained and reflecting it back into the street. At dusk it looked less like a building and more like a promise, a pale shape holding the dark at bay.

  Inside, we were greeted once again by Priest Bassius.

  “Welcome back,” he said. “Are you here to worship Solvarn?”

  “We’re here to ask for your help,” Illara replied. “We’ve learned of a nearby tragedy, and we want to seek justice for those who suffered.”

  Bassius studied her for a moment. “Why would you ask that of me?”

  “It may implicate the Captain and Lieutenant of the guard,” she said evenly, “and we would need you to bear witness to testimony taken from the dead.”

  His smile faded at once.

  “That is something I can’t help with,” he said slowly. “I cannot converse with the dead. Solvarn has not granted me that miracle.”

  Illara hesitated. I could see the moment of recalculation.

  “Jenna, in Holver,” I said. “She would have that miracle, wouldn’t she?”

  “Oh, yes,” Bassius said. “Though I understand she has largely retired.”

  “I think she may still help,” Illara said. “I was her apprentice, after all.”

  Bassius nodded, weighing it. At last, he exhaled.

  “Very well. Best of luck with your journey.” His tone sharpened slightly. “But do not spread word that we are investigating the Captain and Lieutenant. If they hear of it too soon, it could cause… difficulties.”

  I glanced towards the back of the temple. “May we visit Hazel?”

  “Of course,” he said. “You’ll find her in the kitchens.”

  We followed the corridor he indicated and stepped into a warm, crowded kitchen. Several women in white robes moved between benches and hearths, the air thick with steam and the smell of stew.

  Hazel stood at the largest pot, stirring with steady confidence.

  When she saw us, her face lit up.

  “I’m so pleased to see you both,” she said. “This place has been so welcoming.”

  We crossed to her side. As we drew closer, I noticed the wooden leg beneath her robe, polished smooth by use.

  “It’s good to see you doing well,” Illara said, and meant it.

  “And how are you finding Solvarn’s teachings?” she asked.

  Hazel smiled, a little shy. “They’re patient with me. I’ve a lot to learn, being just a village girl, but I believe in it. I really do.”

  Her recovery surprised me, though it should not have. Hazel was stubborn. I remembered the road we’d walked together only a week ago, and how she had refused to be left behind.

  “Will you stay for dinner?” she asked. “I’ve so much I want to catch up on.”

  “Of course,” Illara said, answering for us both. I didn’t object.

  We spent the evening talking, telling Hazel about the kobolds and how close we’d come to dying to something so small and vicious. She listened wide-eyed, shaking her head in disbelief.

  It was good to see her laugh again, and stranger still to see how easily Illara relaxed beside her. They had only met a week ago.

  The warmth of the kitchen seeped into my bones, and for the first time that day, the cold loosened its grip.