Tyblith turned to the side, gesturing to his men. Lina took a steadying breath.
“Lina!” a familiar voice cried as the smithy doors swung open. All four bodies swiveled toward the noise. Seelah burst through the doors, an even larger basket in her arms this time. That woman had so many baskets. She looked back and forth between the men and Lina. “I’m so sorry to interrupt. I forgot you were in the middle of something. I’m just so overcome!” She blinked rapidly. “I’ve just received a messenger from Innalue in Hillfar. You know, the one who’s friends with your sister. There’s been a terrible accident, and she’s asked for us at once.”
Lina could only blink and stare, yanked out of her preparation for battle. She didn’t have a sister in Hillfar—how could this Innalue woman be friends with her? What, by the nix, was Seelah doing?
Seelah leaned toward the men, explaining in an undertone, “I’m her best friend, and I must have Lina’s help, so you see we simply must go. Immediately.” She paused and looked piercingly at Lina. “You’re needed there, Lina. Everyone will be expecting you.”
Lina blinked again, then shook herself from her stupor. She had no idea what Seelah was playing at, but she would go along with it. “Well, good sirs, I’m so sorry, but it looks like I’m needed at once. I’m sorry about your friend too. Do give my best to his mother for me.”
A moment passed, then the men sprang back to life. “Yes, thank you, Lina-smith; we will,” Tyblith said. “May we retrieve his body from your home?”
“Of course. I’ll come with you.” After they left, she could get to her hidden bags and leave Solime. Seelah had given her the perfect excuse.
The men left the smithy ahead of her, and when Seelah stepped out, Lina dropped the chisel into her pocket with a quiet hiss. She’d have to examine the damage to her palm later, when she was alone. For now, she curled her fingers softly around the bright, angry burn marks.
The entire group headed to Lina’s house, and the men quickly picked up the body and hauled it out to the cart they’d left in front of her smithy. Tyblith turned back once to stare at Lina standing in her doorway for a moment—then at Seelah—before nodding and disappearing down the road.
Would she ever hear of them again or know what became of the torque? She hoped not. Better that they, and their plans, fade quietly into obscurity.
When the sound of horse hooves had faded, Lina breathed a sigh of relief and focused her gaze on Seelah.
“Do be quick with your bags,” Seelah chided. “I’d rather be gone from here in case they decide to come back.” She shivered. “I’ll get the one in the hearth, but you’d better get that one.” She pointed toward the underground room. “I don’t think I can get up and down any ladder you’ve got down there.”
Lina’s mind reeled. “How did you—?”
“Come now, I’ve known about your hidey holes for ages. You really need to stop glancing at them during tea.” She shook her head in mock reproach.
Lina’s mouth dropped open for an instant, then she began to laugh. “All these years—I’ve underestimated you, Seelah.”
Seelah shrugged. “Just because I like the town gossip doesn’t mean I don’t know when to keep my mouth shut.”
Lina shook her head in wonder. Apparently, Lina was not the only woman in town who was not what she seemed.
The two of them worked swiftly to gather what little Lina wanted to take with her—and of course her hidden stores. They put most in her pack and the rest in Seelah’s basket.
“Now, I don’t know exactly what’s going on here, but I’m going with you to Hillfar, or at least far enough to be sure you’re safe. You can tell me all about it, or not, as you please.”
Lina nodded. It would be good to have someone else with her in case Tyblith and his men decided to follow her. Or in case they found a way around the hurried oathbinding she’d set him to. If they were smart, they might realize that the irresistible desire to be done with that torque had come directly after Lina had convinced Tyblith to make that promise.
And if they realized she was responsible for that, they might wonder if Lina was the one who’d bound the pact to end the war. And then she’d be running, hard and fast. There were people who would like to exact revenge on the one who’d helped create the peace. A few, most of all, who would like to kill the oathbinder to release the magic of the pact.
She glanced down at her hand again, at the red blisters seared across older, faded lines. All the times she’d held iron and pretended that it didn’t burn. All the ways she’d hidden in plain sight—who would suspect a blacksmith of having fae blood? She looked at Seelah. She’d done it alone for so long, but she really was getting older. It might be good to have a friend who knew the truth, who could help her if the war followed her again.
As it always did. It was always in her heart, burning in her blood like iron. But she would create all the peace she could, as long as she lived.
She turned to Seelah as they left the house. “What do you know about the end of the war?” she asked. She didn’t reset the pebble.
Jeanna Mason Stay
Jeanna Mason Stay loves a good fantasy yarn, particularly if it comes with a happy ending. She especially loves fairy tales—the romantic, the gruesome, the utterly bizarre—and many of her stories echo the magic of these old tales. Her favorite fairy tale of all, though, is a bit more modern: it’s the one she lives with her handsome husband and their four charming children. They are currently adventuring, battling thorny devils, and happily-ever-aftering in Alice Springs, Australia.
Jeanna also loves fireflies, serial commas, birds of paradise, and the latest addition to her bird craze: the loud-yet-lovely galah. She dreams of one day sculpting a clay Medusa head and owning a herd of Chia sheep.
When it comes to social media, Jeanna pretty much lives in a cave, but when she does occasionally emerge, you can find her at calloohcallaycallay.blogspot.com, at www.facebook.com/JeannaMasonStay/, and on Twitter @JeannaMStay.
Website: calloohcallaycallay.blogspot.com/
Facebook: JeannaMasonStay
Twitter: @JeannaMStay
Emaiclass="underline" jeanna.mason.stay@gmail.com
A POWER ARCANE
by Caitlyn McFarland
26,000 Words
THEY ARRIVE. PREPARE yourself, Adeline.
I waved damp fingers at the unspoken words as if I could brush aside the hags who whispered them. I swore I would stop scrying altogether if they didn’t knock it off. Usually they could only speak to me in dreams, but apparently scrying came close enough.
“Keep your trichotomous britches on,” I huffed, the fingers of my other hand still in the silver scrying bowl, drawing in the magic. “Y’all know I’m staring at them right now.” That was part of the deal. Give the hags enough access to hear my words and see through my eyes so they could be sure I was doing their bidding. It made my skin crawl, but I’d managed to keep them out of my thoughts except for when I was dreaming. And scrying.