They burst out laughing. All of them, even Talsar.
Ezo grinned at me. “I mean, at least you didn’t sleep in the dung.”
“Adeline wins!” Firenza declared. She reached into a pocket and flipped something coin-sized through the air toward me—which I had no chance in the hells of catching. Thankfully, Ivy snagged it and handed it over her shoulder.
“What’s this?”
“The last sweet. Best story wins,” Ivy said.
I held it out in front of me like she’d handed me a bug. They weren’t supposed to like me or be funny or sweet. They were supposed to be obnoxious, or businesslike and bland so I didn’t have to care when the hags took them and did whatever hags do. I tried to hand the sweet back to Ivy. “Almost sleeping in dung is not better than finding out you aren’t the chosen one. I wouldn’t want to take something I haven’t earned.”
“Well it isn’t the last sweet,” Ezo said. “I mean, we were just in Aster. They have confectioners.”
“You got more?” Firenza demanded. “How could you get more and not tell us? I’ve been rationing!”
“Sorry.” Ezo did not sound sorry, but he did hand Firenza a white twist of waxed paper from one of the many pouches hung at his waist. “There. Two first-place winners.”
I unrolled the sweet. In the setting sun, it glittered red as a ruby. I licked my lips, then rolled it up again.
“Aren’t you going to eat it?” Ivy asked. I didn’t know how she could tell what I was doing, as I was sitting directly behind her.
“Not yet.” I hesitated, then stuck the sweet in my pocket, where it seemed to weigh as much as a stone. It wasn’t as if I’d never had sugar candy before, but something about this one felt different. Something about winning it, about the laughter, about the curious warm feeling in my chest . . . I wanted to savor it, because I knew it wouldn’t last long.
That night, we set up camp near an abandoned, run-down cottage set back in a copse of trees. Copses were becoming more numerous the closer we got to Torwich Wood.
Everyone dismounted and went about duties that were becoming familiar to me. Ivy hunted, Firenza took care of the horses, Ezo gathered firewood, and Talsar—after asking me almost politely if I’d start the fire—went to fetch a couple of buckets of water from a partially frozen stream not too far away.
For a few minutes, I circled the single room within the walls only half-covered by the remains of a roof. Aside from lighting the fire, no one had asked me to help. But after days of having everything provided for me, I figured it wouldn’t hurt to pull my weight. Besides, much like physicality, roughing it was not one of my talents.
My fingers danced in an intricate pattern, painting golden runes on the air. I cast a quick spell to blow leaves and debris out of the way, then another to set up a weak perimeter of arcane energy to keep out snow and insects. That done, I used a small pile of kindling to light a fire far larger than the meager fuel should have allowed.
Only then—and this is a testament to how tired sleeping rough must have made me—did I realize I’d been left alone with everyone’s bags. We were two days from Cottleden, the village that marked the edge of the wood, and I still hadn’t seen any sign of the magical artifact the hags were after. More and more, I wondered who had it. If I could find it, perhaps I could take the power arcane by myself. I could save these people from the hags and never be helpless again.
I peeked out one of the broken windows facing the trees, but didn’t see anyone. If I hesitated, it was only for an instant. I went to Ezo’s bag first, checking for traps or wards. There weren’t any, so I undid the drawstring and peered inside.
It was refreshingly organized. There were a few tightly rolled pieces of clothing, a few wrapped rations, the little pouch of candies, and two boxes inside. I pulled out the first box and discovered a set of tools. I’d seen similar things when I would peer through clockwork-makers’ windows as a street child in Middleport. They were metal and oddly shaped, and what they were used for I couldn’t begin to imagine.
The second box was padded with old cloth and filled with random clockwork parts. I shook it, counting the gears, because at least I knew what those were. A handful of brass, several iron, one gold, a couple of silver. Did he use the tools from the first box to create things out of the parts in this one? Could the missing piece of the hags’ magical construct be cleverly hidden among the mundane rubble? I cast another spell to reveal anything arcane inside the box but got nothing. No magic here.
I sighed and put everything back as I’d found it. I’d come to appreciate that Ezo was cleverer than I might have given him credit for at first, but still, ugh, machines. So inelegant.
The next pack, substantially larger, belonged to Firenza. It was neither neat nor orderly, but a jumble of whetstones, polishing cloths, oils, extra clothing, food, and—another surprise—a box of expensive paints and a few carefully folded scraps of fine painter’s canvas. Another spell to sense the arcane turned up nothing. Firenza might be a painter and a nearly Chosen One, but she was not the bearer of my magical artifact.
Ivy’s bags were as expected, mostly practical and boring, except for some very pretty, very expensive clothes stuffed down at the bottom and a few sealed letters addressed simply, “Uncle.” How interesting. Even Ivy, it seemed, had secrets. I stroked the gorgeous night-blue silk of one of the dresses and debated reading her letters, but time was growing short, and there was one bag left.
Talsar’s black leather pack sat in the corner, slightly away from the others. I flipped up the flap and peered inside. Daggers that needed sharpening. Black clothing. I wouldn’t have been surprised to find a bottle filled with roiling liquid labeled “Angst: Take 1 heaping dose daily.” But when I cast my detection spell, something sewn into the lining gave me such a shock I snatched my fingers back.
Yes! This was it. This had to be it! I dug deeper, trembling with excitement. Twigs rustled, and I glanced over my shoulder at Bob, leaning against the wall.
I shot him a narrow-eyed glare. “Shut up, Bob. As if I need my morals criticized by a brittle mop.” A little more feeling around, and I found the hole in the seam that gave me access to the hidden pocket.
But when I pulled the item out, all I could do was stare, confused.
The object had the weight and cool, hard surface of a rounded stone, but the thing on my palm wasn’t truly matter. No, it was pure energy in the thinnest of shells. To the untrained eye, it would look unremarkable. Brown and wrinkled, it might even be mistaken for a walnut. But to me, it lit up like an earthbound star.
Talsar had a vital spark.
I was excited a second ago, but now my heart hammered in my chest, part from thrill, part from guilt at finding something so intimate. While it was magic, it definitely wasn’t the mystery object I was looking for. But the value, the rarity . . . That I was holding one in my hand took my breath away. With this, the life of someone just beyond the veil of death could be restored, but the cost of creating one was—
“Explain to me what you’re doing.”
I whirled. Talsar leaned against the remains of the doorway, flipping a dagger and catching it by the tip, then the hilt, then the tip again. Two full buckets of water sat just beyond him, and he scowled like I hadn’t seen since the day we met.