Still, she’d be careful. It was definitely time to leave, one way or another. Just as soon as she’d dealt with things here.
She couldn’t ask anyone to come to her aid. The local watch weren’t equipped to deal with powerful magic, and the only other help was too far away. When the war had finally ended with the oathbound pact, Lina had disappeared. All but one of her old contacts thought her dead, and she meant to keep it that way. As soon as she could, though, she’d write to that one contact, her “sister” in Hillfar. Her sister would inform those who still watched for such dangers, they would hunt down whoever had created this torque . . . and Lina would disappear again.
But that was a job for later in the day. No one would arrive in time to help her with her more immediate problems: a body in her house, the torque on her hands, and no idea who was coming or how long it would take them to get here.
She peeked out her shutters. Muddy light was brightening by the minute, and soon the whole town would wake. She picked up the torque and stared at it with loathing. It was beautiful, if you didn’t know what it was for. The carvings were delicate, in an old fae script. Lina knew little of the metal used to make it—she’d not been a smith that first time long ago, and the gleaming silvery material was far too rich, too rare, too difficult to work for a lowly blacksmith. The magic too.
Who had made this new torque? None of the fae she’d known during the war could have done it, and anyone who’d been able to had been executed.
She’d thought.
She wrapped the torque in a tea towel and placed it in the pocket of her dress. All her thoughts turned to one purpose: to destroy it. Heat it to the upper limits of her forge’s ability so it would melt down to liquid, then mix the metal with so much iron and impurity that it would be unrecognizable. Cool it back into a lump of scrap and bury it where it would never be found.
She left her house, noting the pebble’s location with more care than usual, and scurried to her smithy, formulating a plan. She’d destroy the torque as quickly as possible, and if they came looking before she had a chance to disappear, she’d play the innocent, ever-so-helpful grandmother. She smiled grimly as she lit and stoked the fire, imagining her part.
She drew the torque from her pocket and stared at it again, revulsion and fascination intertwined. Some people said that mindturning was a bit like oathbinding. Both were magical interference with a person’s will, after all. With a simple promise, a person was absolutely bound to carry out their words. With a powerful and careful enough promise, like the pact that ended the war, the course of history could change. Two sovereigns of two lands had sworn to cease fighting and do all they could to ensure peace—and for years they had. Some believed a mindturn could do just as much good.
She shuddered as she thought of Mollen. Those people were wrong. Some oathbinding, it was true, involved a bit of trickery, but it could never take from someone more than they were willing to speak. The monarchs who had promised to stop fighting had done so of their own accord. Their people were tired and hurting. They hadn’t been forced into magical enslavement. An object of mindturning destroyed a person’s will and deserved, in turn, to be destroyed.
The fire was almost hot enough now—a little longer and then she could do it.
A knock at the door interrupted her. Startled, she shoved the wrapped torque into a bucket of scrap iron beside her and kicked the bucket to the side as Seelah pushed her way into the room.
“Good morning, Lina!” she cried, dropping that ever-present basket on Lina’s counter as usual and launching into a story about a neighbor down the road who had lost a goat and wasn’t that a shame and what could have happened to it and that reminded her of the new strangers in town who had arrived just recently and how they looked rich and—
Lina often thought that as a source of information, Seelah would have been infinitely useful in the war. As a keeper of secrets, though, she would have ruined everything.
Suddenly one detail of Seelah’s words stood out. “Did you say strangers?” Lina interrupted.
“Oh yes. I mean, of course there are always strangers, but these men seemed . . . you know . . . somehow different.” She leaned forward. “Powerful. Rich.” She smiled. “Maybe they’ll need a new sword, or one of their horses will throw a shoe. You might get some business.”
But Lina wasn’t listening—now was not the time to start a long round of gossip. She picked up Seelah’s basket, pushed it into her arms, and started nudging her toward the door.
Just as three men stepped into the doorway.
The first was richly dressed and short—she’d imagined whoever came would be tall—and had the fine features that often betrayed a bit of fae blood. Interesting. The others followed behind him like servants as he strode casually into the room. Lina wasn’t fooled. They strolled, but their muscles were tense. The one to the right kept his hand near his sword, and the short one prowled like a cat preparing to pounce. There would be no new sword or thrown shoe to deal with, just the torque and the dead man.
Lina kept her eyes from wandering to where she’d hidden the torque, but her mind began to spin. This was going to make things much more difficult. She cursed herself for her stupidity. She’d been so slow, too slow.
“Greetings,” she said, her voice friendly. “I’ll be with you in a moment.” For now she just needed to get Seelah out of danger. She continued to push her friend toward the door. “Thank you so much for stopping by,” she said. “It was nice to see you, and I’ll come visit you later, just like we planned.” She wanted to establish, in front of these men, that she’d be missed if she disappeared.
Seelah gave her a hard look, glancing quickly between Lina and the men. “Yes,” she said slowly. “Yes, just like we planned. I’ll expect to see you in . . . an hour or two.”
Lina nodded. “Have a lovely day!” she chirped, pushing Seelah out the door and shutting it behind her.
She’d known Seelah would remember their plan to meet and deliver soup today, but that was later in the evening. Why did Seelah say they’d meet so soon? Whatever the reason, Lina shrugged and set it aside. It worked better this way—now the men knew that if she disappeared, she’d be missed very, very soon.
She turned back to face them. “Good day to you.”
The short one nodded in return. “And to you.” He’d been looking around the smithy, and while his glance suggested a casual appraisal, the sharpness of his eyes missed little.
“What may I do for you this fine day?” she asked.
He moved away from the wall of tools he’d been scrutinizing, his appraising stare on her now.
She continued to smile. How could she salvage her plan? In her imagination, the torque was safely destroyed before they came for it, not sitting in a bucket of scrap metal a few feet away.
“My name is Tyblith,” the man said. “I’m looking for a friend. I’ve been taking care of him, but he ran away. He’s terribly sick, you see. He gets confused. Ends up thinking I’m his enemy and runs off.” He shook his head, all sorrow and worry and honest innocence, but he watched her closely. “Have you seen him?”
Lina’s thoughts flitted. Part of her said to trust him, he was so honest and thoughtful and—she mentally shook herself. What was she thinking?
No, she couldn’t trust him, and she had to come up with a plan. Now. “Oh! I’m so glad you’ve come,” she said breathlessly. “I’ve been wondering what to do. He’s sleeping in my house, but he was afraid to let anyone know where he was. He’s been so very distraught and feverish—well, you know that, of course. I just didn’t know what to do! But now that you’re here, I’m sure he’ll be happy to see a friend.” She finished and drew a breath, ready to start babbling again if necessary.