Chapter 3

Tutors and trainers alike had worked with Remis since he was a small child to make sure he was everything an heir ought to be. Knowledgeable, good with a sword, and capable of damn near anything. Remis thought himself a master of most skills, rivaling that of even the emperor’s son. Not that that was his ambition.

There was one thing, however, that he considered more important than either wisdom, swordplay, or his father’s politics.

Charm.

And charming he was. Or at least tried very hard to be.

This talent was what had gotten him into the school he planned to attend in the fall, and not just any school but a school of magic. A place for men with a connection to the power that connected them all. Of course, his father’s status as a wealthy merchant had played its part as well, though he would never say that out loud for fear of making his father’s head even bigger. Without his father’s signature and the money it would take to fund these teachings, though, there would be no schooling. That left him with one choice: travel to Croughton and secure Elton Hamza’s business in his father’s name.

If he could just ignore the fact that it was dragonis season and the trip alone was a death sentence then it didn’t sound too terrible. Once he made it to the city, he could even make quick work of these business transactions and perhaps have himself a holiday before returning for the last years of his schooling.

Remis curled his fingers into a fist, hiding the witch’s mark on his palm. The reminder haunted him through the long corridors. Acute awareness of his unique ailment crept down into his legs, spreading from the wound of worry growing in his chest. The world beyond narrowed to familiar faces, friendly, fake, and otherwise. Still, he kept moving, walking through the halls, while casting more than one look over his shoulder.

He reached the doors that led from the manor to the front drive. For a moment, he stared at them. Time was ticking away. There would only be hours before he’d be off, and there were too many things he needed to do. Packing, planning, and saying his goodbyes were plenty high on that list. Perhaps, he thought, I should stop at a church and say a prayer as well. He pulled open the door and stepped outside.

Everything was strikingly familiar. The fountain at the center of the long curved drive still spit water that trickled back down into its belly. Manicured grasses and shrubs lined paths that led out to the gates. When he closed his eyes and listened, he caught the soft coos of the pigeons kept around the side of the building.

So normal. As though his world hadn’t tilted on its axis and threatened to buck him off. Everything and everyone else went about their ordinary day, uncaring that he was a walking dead man.

A few of his father’s men remained posted along the walls. Their eyes scanned not only the surrounding town but the skies. Until dragonis season was over, it was not unusual for one to slip into the cities when their hunger got the best of them. Fire-filled cannons waited at the city”s borders to pick them off should they make that poor choice, but he could not carry a fire-filled cannon when traveling. At least not one big enough to save him if he were to become the object of a dragonis’ desire.

Slowly, as not to rush into his fate, Remis made his way down the steps to the already waiting carriage. The driver stood by the door, opening it without a sound, though the bend in his brows was question enough.

“Take me to The Crossers’ Post,” Remis said as he settled into the seat.

His attention shifted to the opposite window. Even the idea of a glance back at the manor had his stomach tightening until he thought he might release every bit of his breakfast. The tips of his fingers grazed the fine material of the benches as he savored the small luxury.

The carriage lurched forward and began its journey into the city. Remis sank into the seat, letting himself slouch away from any onlookers. With both hands, he flattened his hair before dragging them down his face. A scream of frustration bubbled on the other side of his lips, but he locked it away swallowing it deep, deep down.

The news, nay, the command…was fully settling in now. His initial fear festered and frothed until it became panic, and panic was not something he could afford. Yet, how else was one to respond to being sent to the forests to head into the empire during dragonis season? Traveling was all but forbidden until spring and only a few well-experienced men dared to take trips into the woods. Worst still, he was being hunted? By someone even the most well-protected men couldn’t outrun. Somewhere out in the world, a witch was searching for him. Remis had always been terrible at hide and seek and now that he was about to play the deadliest version of it, he wished he’d humored his sister with the game for longer.

Witches were the tales told to children to scare them into acting right. They were the threat of evil come to ruin the world as everyone knew it. He wasn’t idiotic enough to forget all the myths spread about the schoolyard of old crones come to steal children out of their beds or to curse a man with just the point of her weathered old finger.

Only his mother had ever said anything good about witches. She’d read him passages from books so old the pages were yellowed and falling from their bindings. In those books, witches were like mages, using their powers for the good of the continent. Even those good stories weren’t enough to save him from the nightmares his peers” tales had caused though.

If there was any decency in a witch, he’d be slow to trust it, especially now that he’d been cursed.

Sweat was building on the back of his neck and gathering in his palms. Gritting his teeth, he wiped his hands down his pant legs.

Get it together, Remis.

When the carriage finally stalled, Remis straightened. He managed a smile as the door was pulled open for him and he stepped out into the brisk day again. The Crossers’ Post was made up of polished wood and gold accents. Thick red curtains hung in the window hiding what was inside from view. Stepping up to the door, he brushed his fingers over the shape of a dragon carved into the wood, both appraising the fine details of the art and contemplating throwing up at the thought of why he was here now.

His city, Breock, only had a few crossers, and from the view of the front door, it appeared they were well paid to make their way between large cities amid dragonis season. He half wondered—if he survived this—if his father might try and force him into a career of it on behalf of the business. His grip tightened until his fingernails dug into his palms. His flesh stung where he touched the shape of the eye. Hissing air through his teeth, he pushed open the door and entered the Post.

While the space was limited inside, it was not without its luxuries. A sparkling chandelier hung over a long counter, its light cast upon the walls lined with portraits, paintings, and other art. There was a harshness to the way things were hung and how the few items in glass cases were displayed. Remis wondered how often women ventured into a place like this. It was a woman’s touch, after all, that he was certain this place was missing.

When no one appeared at the counter, Remis placed his palms against it and leaned to look over it. The space was empty, but a door stood ajar a few feet away.

“Hello?” he called.

A thunk echoed from the other side of the other room followed by a curse. Large meaty fingers gripped the door frame and Remis’ chin lifted as he looked up at the man entering the space behind the counter. His eyes widened but he forced an easy smile to his face.

“Don’t you know better than to sneak up on a crosser?” The stranger, dressed in a wrinkled cream tunic and equally ruffled brown trousers, huffed as he stepped behind the counter and splayed his hands over it. The man’s palms rested on smooth stone telling of riches with a fine layer of dust settled over its surface equally telling of the keepers of this business.

The skin on half the crosser’s face was leathered and creased with scarring while the other half remained youthful. His blue eyes were bright though they narrowed with annoyance. Remis took in the strange lines on his face wondering how he’d managed to live through whatever had done that to him. Then Remis wondered what his own face would look like with those same scars.

“I need to get to Croughton,” he started, noting how the crosser eyed his still-muddy clothes. He was still dirty but the outfit itself was high quality. Would that be something this man could easily recognize?

“I’m not making my next trip for another month, and it’ll cost you. A lot.” The man scowled.

Remis shook his head and mustered a smile. “I mean to say that I’ll be traveling to Croughton on my own. I’ve actually come to discuss if you might have any tips for me.” He paused to exhale. “Ones that might happen to save my life.”

The crosser narrowed his eyes. “You mean to tell me that you’re going to brave dragonis season on your own?” It was all he could do to nod at the stranger. Then the man was laughing. A deep chuckle that shook his body and had him slapping the counter.

“It really isn’t that funny,” Remis said.

Even this crosser found his father’s idea to be humorous. It only reinforced the notion that this entire trip would be a waste. A waste of life, natural talent, and resources.

The man stopped laughing and a seriousness fell over his features. “If you want my advice, don’t go.”

Trust me, Remis thought, if I truly had the choice I wouldn’t. But it was either this or giving up on his dream and if he did that then life wouldn’t be worth living anyway.

“It isn’t that simple.” The words came out sounding far more pathetic than he’d intended. He’d need to switch tactics. This man wasn’t about to tell him the secrets of his business just for the sake of saving his life. Inhaling, Remis forced a smile to his face. “You know, I admire men like you. You do the impossible and keep this city running despite the dangers you face. You crossers really should be celebrated more.” Remis hummed and held out his hand. “I never got your name. I’m Remis Lexmore.”

“Maldis Coop.” Maldis’ hand was calloused and nearly twice the size of Remis’. They shook briefly, but suspicion lifted the crosser’s brows and curled his lip.

“Maldis, a wonderful name. My great-great uncle twice removed from my mother’s side was a Maldis.” Remis clapped his hands together. “Did you know your name means ‘sky killer?’ Very befitting of your job.”

The man snorted. “You’re a great bullshitter.”

Desperation made Remis lean further over the counter. “I’m quite serious. Have you taken down a dragonis before?”

What could have been a blush, or just the shifting of a shadow over his face, darkened Maldis’ cheeks. He raised an arm to scratch at the back of his neck though his gaze remained icy.

“Surely there is something of use you might be able to tell me? Is there a way to camouflage myself as I travel?” Remis asked though the man lowered his arm and made to turn away from him.

No, no, no.

“Dragonis hunt by scent. You can’t hide by sight,” Maldis mumbled and headed back to the door.

“Wait!” Remis hollered before ramming his ribcage into the stone. One leg lifted as though he was frantic enough to start climbing over the counter. This was his one chance to learn something, anything, that might save him while he was in the Deadwoods. He stretched an arm across the counter trying to reach the man and stop him. “Please, is there someone else who might be willing to talk to me?”

“The other crosser is no longer here.”

“Well, where did he go? I’ll go to him.”

The man blinked heavily. “He’s dead. That’s why I’m here.”

He’s dead. Realization settled in the damp perspiration on his neck. Of course, any other crossers would be dead. It was the most dangerous profession in the entire Empire. More crossers died than men serving in the emperor’s army. So what chance did Remis stand? The reminder of his impending doom deflated him.

“Fine, okay, I understand. Do you at least have some paper so I might write a quick letter?” He let his head drop until his forehead hit the counter with a thunk. His eyes drifted closed as Maldis dug beneath the counter.

His shuffling paused. “Writing your last will and testament?”

“Something like that.” Remis flipped his palm up to accept the parchment.

Maldis didn’t move. He didn’t speak. He didn’t hand him the damn paper. Remis lifted his head to find Maldis staring down at his palm. The eye marring his skin watched the man back. Remi let his fingers curl into a fist to hide its image and when Maldis’ attention finally met Remis’, his skin had gone pale, though he managed a small dry laugh.

“You better pray you die at the hand of the dragonis instead of a witch. At least that death will be swift and merciful.” He set the blank pages down, motioned to the pot of ink a foot away, then shook his head and disappeared to the back of the shop.