Celeste

  The road stretched long behind us, the silence settling heavier as the adrenaline finally bled out of my veins. The gelding had eased into a steadier pace, his earlier nerves smoothed to something almost calm. Beside me, Lioren rode atop his bay, slouched in the saddle with an ease I didn’t entirely trust.

  He’d been humming for a while now.

  Terribly.

  Off-beat and off-key, some meandering tune that sounded like he was making it up one note at a time. Every few breaths he’d switch rhythm entirely, as though offended by his own melody.

  After everything that morning had thrown at us, the absurdity of it made something tight in my chest ease by degrees.

  “That’s not a real song,” I said at last.

  “Aye it is,” he replied, not even opening his eyes. “Classic ballad. Very movin’.”

  “It sounds like you’re strangling a goose.”

  “That’s because you’ve no taste.”

  We let the argument die a merciful death as the road curved into a long, rising stretch between rows of pines. Birds flitted overhead. The sun dipped between branches. The quiet finally felt like quiet.

  Eventually the road narrowed, and a fork appeared where the trees closed in. One path continued straight. The other veered right into thicker shade.

  The gelding slowed on his own, ears flicking as if waiting for direction.

  Lioren straightened, peered ahead, and clicked his tongue with a dramatic sigh.

  “We’re takin’ the right,” he announced.

  I blinked. “Why?”

  “Can’t stay on this one,” he said, with the tone of a man delivering grave news. “There’s a bird.”

  I stared at him. “A… bird.”

  He nodded firmly. “Aye. Big one. Mean lookin’.”

  I waited. “And?”

  “And it looked at me funny. So we’re goin’ right.”

  I closed my eyes and dragged a slow breath. “That’s your reason?”

  “A very good reason,” he said. “No sense temptin’ fate. Or beaks.”

  The gelding shifted under me, impatient for the argument to end.

  “Lioren,” I said, “You’re an Ice Caster. You killed six men before lunch. I think you can handle a bird.”

  “Aye, but birds are unpredictable,” he replied. “And this one had a glint in its eye. Like it knew things.”

  I stared at him for a long, flat moment.

  He held my gaze, absolutely serious.

  Then he grinned, nudged his horse, and turned down the right-hand fork as if nothing more needed saying.

  I sighed, nudged the gelding after him, and reminded myself he was still helping me. It wasn’t my first choice, but it wasn’t the wrong direction either.

  The path here dipped and rose, weaving between old roots and low brush. The forest pressed in thicker, darker. Somewhere above, a raven crowed – a normal raven, not a murderous one – and Lioren shot it a suspicious glance anyway.

  We rode on until the trees thinned just enough to let some sunlight spill through. Lioren slowed, sniffed the air like a hound, and frowned thoughtfully.

  “Thought so,” he murmured. “Knew I recognized this stretch.”

  “Recognized it how?” I asked.

  He ignored my question, scanning the woods as though checking landmarks only he could see. Then his eyes brightened.

  “Right. That’d put us close.”

  “Close to what?”

  He clicked his tongue, pretending like he’d only just remembered. “Old friend in that village owes me a drink,” he declared. “Or I owe him. Can’t recall. We’ll sort it out when we get there.”

  I stared at him. Again. “That’s why we’re taking this detour?”

  “It’s not a detour,” he said. “It’s the scenic route to hydration.”

  “Lioren.”

  “Celeste.”

  I waited.

  He smiled, the smug, infuriatingly pleased kind that meant I wasn’t winning this argument.

  The gelding flicked his ears at the faint smell of hearth smoke drifting through the trees. Up ahead, shapes of rooftops peeked through the branches, just visible around the next bend.

  I exhaled through my nose. “Fine. But if your friend demands coin instead of company, I’m not paying your tab.”

  “Didn’t expect you to,” he said, guiding his horse onward. “Once I warm him up proper, he’ll be buyin’ for both of us.”

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  “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

  He laughed, humming that terrible tune again as we made our way toward the village. His excuses ridiculous, the path winding, and yet somehow, still leading us exactly where he intended.

  We emerged from the trees and into the open lane of the village, the road widening between tidy rows of stalls. Smoke curled from neat stone chimneys, and a few chickens scattered as we passed. It was quieter than most markets. Calm, almost peaceful.

  A dog slept in a patch of sun. It was the sort of small, quiet place that barely lifted its head at the arrival of strangers.

  Lioren rode a little ahead, still humming that terrible tune.

  Then, abruptly, he straightened in the saddle.

  Before I could even ask what he’d seen–

  “IVEN!”

  The shout cracked across the square like a thrown stone.

  I jerked hard in the saddle, heart lurching. The gelding tossed his head, startled. For a beat I could only stare at Lioren, wondering what on earth he’d–

  Then I saw him.

  Iven stood at a stall just up the lane, leaning one elbow on the counter as he said something to a young woman selling herbs. She was smiling at him, soft and shy. He was returning it with an easy, unbothered grin I’d seen on him before.

  He froze at the sound of his name. Slowly, painstakingly slow, he turned.

  Lioren cupped his hands and bellowed again.

  “Lad, if you’re trying to impress her, stop leanin’. You look like your knee’s givin’ out!”

  The girl tried and failed to hide her smile.

  Iven closed his eyes in silent suffering.

  And only then did the full realization settle over me: The Brotherhood was here.

  Not just Iven. Harl near a wagon, Fira crossing the square with a basket, and two others leaning against a fence post like they’d been here for hours.

  Faces I recognized now that I looked. Faces I simply hadn’t expected to see in this small, out-of-the-way place.

  Lioren’s grin widened as he waved.

  I blinked at him, something cold and slow beginning to unwind in my chest.

  He hadn’t just happened to know this village.

  He had brought me exactly where he meant to.

  Lioren was still waving at Iven like a man greeting long-lost family at a festival.

  I turned to him.

  “You knew they were here,” I said.

  Lioren blinked at me, all innocence.

  “Me?” he said, pressing a hand to his chest. “Saints, I barely know where I’m goin’ half the time.”

  I stared at him.

  He held the expression for a full two seconds before it cracked.

  “Well…” he admitted, shrugging one shoulder, “I had a strong suspicion.”

  “A suspicion.”

  He nodded sagely. “Aye. Based on expert knowledge of the land, the trade routes, the seasonal patterns of migratory idiots–”

  “The what?”

  “The Brotherhood,” he clarified cheerfully. “Migratory idiots. Very predictable herd behavior. They gather wherever there’s cheap ale and good stew. This village has both.”

  He paused, then added with a straight face, “also, they may have told me they’d be here.”

  I just stared.

  He gave a helpless little shrug.

  “See? Hardly my fault fortune favors the observant.”

  I pinched the bridge of my nose.

  He brightened. “You’re welcome, by the way! Saved us the trouble of searchin’ for them.”

  I exhaled and leveled him with a look.

  “I wasn’t searching for them.”

  Lioren blinked once, then grinned, slow, sly, and entirely unhelpful.

  “Exactly. So I took the initiative. Very noble of me, really.” He clicked his tongue, smug as ever. “Saints, love, imagine the trouble we’d be in if I waited on you to find them.”

  Before I could respond, something whistled through the air.

  Lioren tilted his head a fraction to the left, letting a fist-sized stone sail past where his temple had been.

  I blinked, startled. The stone clattered across the road and skidded to a stop against a water trough.

  Only then did I see him.

  Iven strode toward us with that familiar unimpressed calm, hands in his coat pockets, expression flat as a river stone. He didn’t even hurry; he just walked as though throwing rocks at Lioren was a greeting practiced since childhood.

  Lioren only looked at him, grinning like he’d been expecting it.

  Lioren beamed. “There he is, the prodigal disappointment.”

  Iven sighed. “Every time I see you, I regret it.”

  “Oh, please,” Lioren said, patting his horse like it might share his misery. “You missed me. Look at you, practically glowin’.”

  “I’m glowing because I thought you were lost. Then you showed up and ruined it.”

  Lioren pressed a hand to his chest. “If that’s your welcome back, no wonder your friends drink.”

  Iven opened his mouth but the words stalled before they formed. His gaze flicked past Lioren and then fixed on me.

  His steps slowed. His brows pulled together in startled confusion.

  “…Anna?” he said, the name sounding wrong in the quiet, too soft for a man who had just thrown a rock at someone’s head.

  I straightened instinctively in the saddle. “Hello, Iven.”

  He blinked once. Twice. The flat unimpressed expression faltered just a hair, like someone had kicked the rhythm out of his thoughts.

  Lioren watched the exchange with the delight of a man who lived for moments exactly like this. “Aye,” he drawled, patting his horse again. “Found her. You’re welcome.”

  Before Iven could shape the question building in his eyes, another voice cut in.

  “Anna?”

  Fira stepped into view, a woven basket hooked over one arm, the scent of herbs and fresh bread drifting with her. Her braid swung against her shoulder as she approached, eyes flicking from Iven to Lioren to me with a growing frown.

  Lioren threw his hands out dramatically. “Am I invisible? I’m right here. Large presence. Very hard to miss.”

  Fira didn’t even blink in his direction.

  Her gaze stayed fixed on me as she came closer, brow lifting slowly. “What,” she demanded, “are you doing with this… unbrushed goat in human clothing?”

  “Unbrushed? I combed my beard five days ago, thank you kindly.”

  I managed a breath. “It’s… a long story.”

  Fira shifted the basket to her other hip, considering me more closely. Some surprise there, some worry. And something that might’ve been relief hidden under all the judgment aimed at Lioren.

  Then I noticed the small bouquet tucked at the edge of her basket: daisies, lavender sprigs, and wild meadow blooms.

  I nodded toward them. “Those are pretty. What’re they for?”

  Her expression softened instantly. “Oh, these?” She reached in and plucked one up by the stem. “I braid them into my mare’s mane. She likes to feel fancy.”

  I blinked. “… Your horse likes to feel fancy?”

  Fira shrugged. “She trots lighter with flowers. Who am I to question a woman’s pride?”

  Lioren leaned toward me, fake-whispering, “See? This is who they put second in command, and trust with the lives of every Brother.”

  Fira shot him a look. “Keep talking, and I’ll braid one in your beard next.”

  Lioren shut his mouth for once.

  Before Fira could say more, bootsteps scuffed across the packed dirt behind her.

  Tobar appeared first, hair wrapped in it’s usual bun, a sack of grain slung over one arm like it weighed nothing. He slowed when he saw us, his brows rising.

  Right behind him came Elena and Jaren, walking close together. Elena’s stride was confident as ever, dark braid tied back and sleeves rolled to her elbows. Jaren hovered half a step behind her, looking pleased about something she’d just said. He was younger than she was, but the way he angled slightly toward her was… obvious.

  Elena’s gaze snapped to me.

  Jaren’s followed a beat later.

  Both froze.

  Tobar’s mouth opened first, but he didn’t get a single word out.

  Lioren heaved an exaggerated sigh. “Yes, yes, she’s with me. Try not to faint – I can’t catch all of you.”

  Tobar shut his mouth.

  Elena blinked hard, like she was recalibrating her entire understanding of the morning.

  Jaren looked between me and Lioren like a man trying to track two deer sprinting in opposite directions.

  Fira huffed, shifting her basket against her hip. “Well, since everyone’s here, mostly, we should get moving. The rest of us were meeting at the ale stand by the millroad gate.” She jerked her chin toward the far end of the village. “Figured we’d regroup after buying supplies.”

  Tobar nodded and fell into step beside her. Elena and Jaren followed, still glancing my way like they weren’t sure whether to be shocked or relieved. Lioren, of course, hummed as though he’d orchestrated the reunion on purpose.