Chapter Fifteen

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

W e were heroes, of a sort, that evening. And it turned out that heroes were not expected to sleep under the stars, but were instead offered a ride into town and a bed in the loft above the local pub.

"A wagon, Grimm!" I said. "We're saved!"

"We were almost there anyway," Grimm pointed out, but I refused to let him dampen my spirits.

The pub was a one-roomed building, with dark wood walls and floors worn smooth by the passing of countless feet. A two-headed wolf hung above the fireplace, and something resembling a long branch hung in a place of honor above the bar, only when you got close enough it resembled an arm too much to be mistaken for an ordinary branch. Other bits of grisly decor spotted the room, preserved with spells strong enough that they could almost be felt, a low-level awareness that made my fingers itch.

It was a little macabre, but I knew that all of these remnants had likely been found already dead or earned their deaths through violence. People of Miendor didn't kill monsters for sport; it was considered bad luck. There was an entire abandoned city to the north where the last dragon killer had supposedly lived. He had gotten it into his head to go monster hunting, and in return, magic had forsaken not only him and his family but his entire place of residence. A whole city of sorcerers, suddenly cut off, bereft of power. Or at least, that's how the story went.

Even the Coterie, whose entire purpose was to defend against monsters, spent far more time herding the creatures that broke through Miendor's barrier back to the other side than it did killing them outright.

The pub was full to bursting with people who wanted to thank us for what we'd done in the field. Grimm seemed determined to sidestep the attention like a dog escaping a bath, which left me the recipient of their gratitude and the free drinks that came with it.

I listened to so many iterations of "may magic always find you" followed by the clinking of glass that it wasn't long before my senses began to feel pleasantly blurred. From there, it took very little coaxing for me to get up on the bar with my violin and begin taking requests. And then, when I was quite certain that I had won them over, I clambered down and began asking questions.

If there were stories to be heard about the sorcerer, I thought there was as good a chance of hearing them in this place as any other. And my theory turned out to be correct, though not quite in the way I'd hoped.

"The sorcerer from the Unquiet Wood, you mean?" one man said, raising a bushy eyebrow. "Sure, my nan's half brother's cousin's son by marriage bought a charm from her once."

"Really?" I asked, ready to haul him over to Grimm and make him repeat what he'd said.

The man chuckled. "Friend, everyone around here's got a story like that. People buy one spell from a stranger and it gets added to the list of tales. There're plenty of scrivers that pass through, you're proof of that. Five years from now, maybe people will say it was the sorcerer in the woods who saved our fields. That's how stories work." He winked at me and went back to his beer.

It was much the same with everyone I spoke with. Those who didn't laugh at me outright shook their heads in a bemused manner, like I was asking how to find the moon in daytime. I was almost ready to drop the matter entirely, lest Grimm overhear and use this as reason why we should turn back, when someone new sidled up to me—a tall woman, with white skin and a face half-hidden by a deep green hood. The eyes peering out from beneath were so intent I wanted to lean away, the same way I would have flinched from a match held too long. Then the woman blinked and the feeling was gone.

"So, you're the hero of the hour," she said, voice low and amused.

I winked at her. "Are you here to buy me a drink? Almost everyone else has."

The stranger shook her head. "I had a different offer in mind."

For a moment my imagination took flight (I can't be blamed for having a weakness for dark-eyed strangers in cloaks), but she continued in a brisk, businesslike tone. "I couldn't help but overhear that you're looking for someone in the Unquiet Wood."

"The sorcerer. You know of her?" I asked eagerly.

"I know the wood. And I know of someone living there who is certainly a sorcerer. I cannot say for certain she is the one you seek, but given the—"

"Never mind," I said, pushing away from the bar. "Come with me and say all that again."

Grimm had claimed a table in the far corner of the room and sat there the entire evening, a forbidding expression acting as a wall between himself and the crowd. People passed his table but came no closer. It was almost like magic.

"Good news!" I announced, settling into the chair across from Grimm. "I've found someone who can take us to the sorcerer. A guide."

The woman hadn't said as much, but it had been implied in her phrasing, and she didn't correct me now or back away when Grimm turned to her and said, in his chilliest voice, "How convenient."

" Fortuitous is the word I would use," the woman said, pushing back her hood. Free of the shadows, her face was sun-freckled and pleasant, though slightly lean. When she smiled, faint lines creased the corners of her eyes. "I'm returning to the Unquiet Wood myself. Perhaps we can be of help to each other."

Her name was Jayne, she said, and she was a forager. I knew, of course, that there were people who braved the Wilderlands to seek out various materials, but I'd never met one before. There weren't many who were interested in taking on such a risky job. Too much interference with the natural world beyond Miendor's border was dangerous, for the same reason it was dangerous to hunt monsters without just cause (magic didn't like when you messed with the things that belonged to it), but it was possible to collect some items without attracting ire, many of which were highly useful to craftspeople. Spider silk was woven into sorcerers' coats alongside spells to help hold the magic in place, and apothecaries worked closely with foragers to help source herbs that couldn't be found anywhere else. There were other, rarer items to be found in the Wilderlands—scales, teeth, and claws, or any other treasures shed by particularly powerful monsters—but those types of things were hard to find and cost so much coin that usually the only people who could afford them were wealthy collectors.

"I'm new to the trade," Jayne explained, "but the Unquiet Wood is a forager's dream, if you know how to keep your wits about you."

As she spoke, I looked Jayne over with renewed interest, noting the daggers strapped to each leg and the small leather case strung over her chest. It looked like the cases I'd seen Coterie members use to hold prepared spells. If ever anyone had a need to hold magic at the ready, rather than fumbling through pockets for the right spell, I supposed it would be foragers.

"Are you saying you've actually met this sorcerer?" Grimm asked, obviously skeptical.

"Not exactly." Jayne's lip quirked upward, a little ruefully. "She lives in a tower with a barrier around it. Much like the one around Miendor, only it keeps out people as well as monsters. I've never been inside, but I could take you there."

"What would you get out of it?" Grimm asked.

"Compensation, naturally. You look like you can afford it." Jayne's eyes lingered on the rings I wore. I'd donned them for my father's party and hadn't bothered taking them off, save the one I'd given to the violinist. To look at Jayne, sitting relaxed at the table between us, she did not seem like a desperate person. But the gleam in her eyes said differently.

This woman wanted something. I could work with that.

"Your proposal sounds reasonable to me," I said, and held out a hand. "Guide us to this tower, and we will pay you for your time."

Jayne clasped my hand and shook it. "It's a deal." Her palm was covered in calluses similar to my own. As though she wielded a blade regularly. Unsurprising, considering her line of work.

We planned a time to meet in the morning, a little before the ride I'd arranged to the barrier was supposed to pick us up, then Jayne stood and bid us good night. I wondered if she had other accommodations or just hadn't the money to afford one of the rickety cots we'd been shown in the loft above.

"Do you trust her?" Grimm asked as soon as she was out of sight.

I shrugged. "I trust that she can get us where we want to go. That's the most important thing, isn't it?"

"She could be lying."

"If she wanted to trick us out of our money, she would have demanded payment ahead of time," I pointed out. "She's the closest thing to a map we've got, so I think it's worth the risk."

Grimm, whose idea of risk was probably having a second glass of wine with dinner, didn't seem convinced. He insisted we prepare some spells before setting foot in the woods.

"You might be willing to place our fate entirely in the hands of a stranger, but I am not. I would feel better going into this if my pockets weren't empty. We really should have stocked up on a few basic survival spells before we left. Heating spells and protective bubbles at the very least. Maybe a few repulsion charms, in case something gets the jump on us."

"All right, all right," I said, though I was not feeling nearly the same level of practicality after all the drinks I'd had pressed upon me. "I suppose a protective bubble would be a good thing to have on hand, so that no monsters come sniffing after our delicate flesh in the night." I rummaged through my pockets until I found a few pieces of paper, then held my quill at the ready and looked at Grimm expectantly.

"You'll have to recite them," I explained. "I haven't had to scrive a protective bubble since third tier, and I don't remember a word of the standard repulsion spell. Not sure if I remember anything but the first line of the heating charm either, now that I think of it."

Grimm took in a deep breath and then let it out slowly through his nose. "Hopeless," he murmured, before reciting each spell unfalteringly. He looked pained at having to do so and seemed out of sorts even after the spells were copied down.

"I don't understand how you can write something like the song you came up with today, yet still not remember a basic heating charm," he grumbled.

"Perhaps I'm able to write spellsongs because I don't have a bunch of other stuff taking up space in my brain," I retorted, tapping a finger against my temple. "Did you ever think of that?"

"No," Grimm said. "Because it sounds like nonsense."

He'd carefully sorted and stacked the spells I'd written, and now he distributed them among his coat pockets. I could never remember which one I'd left my quill in, but I had a feeling that Grimm always remembered which pocket to reach for, the same way he remembered the words to each spell hidden safely inside. I expected him to leave now that we were finished, withdrawing to the relative quiet of the loft above, but he stayed seated and fixed his eyes on me.

"That spellsong," he said. "Do you think it could work for anyone? If we taught it to one of the untrained sorcerers in town or told the Coterie about it, do you think they could sing it too?"

"I don't know. I don't really think so. They've never worked for anyone else before. And there was something about it that felt… particular."

"Particular to what?"

To us. To standing in that field, and the unexpected harmony of Grimm's voice and my playing. But I couldn't make sense of why this would be, so I didn't say anything, just shook my head and shrugged. Grimm probably just would have sniffed and called it nonsense again, and this time I would have agreed with him.

"It's a pity," Grimm said. "It was well done. The spell, I mean. Unconventional but effective."

I leaned forward over the table and cupped one hand around my ear. "Was that a compliment I heard? You'd best be careful what you say or I'll begin to think this forced proximity is improving your opinion of me."

Grimm huffed and looked away, nostrils flaring slightly. "My opinion of you personally is unchanged. But," he added, with great reluctance, "it's possible my assessment of your abilities was lacking."

"Stop," I said dryly. "I'm blushing."

"You'll do well in the Coterie," he said with an air of grudging acceptance.

Up until that moment I'd been flushed full of warmth from the drinks I'd received, and the overcrowded room, and yes, maybe a little bit from the unexpected thrill of hearing Grimm admit that I had done something well. But mention of the Coterie chased all that away.

"I won't, actually. I'm not joining."

Grimm stared at me in clear astonishment. "But you've nearly finished your fifth tier. Why would you even bother attending the Fount if you don't intend to do anything with your education?"

"My father wanted me to attend." I ran a finger idly along the rim of my glass as I spoke, until it hummed faintly. "In fact, he wanted me there so badly he made reaching fifth tier a condition of my inheritance. Not just the money my mother left me when she died, but her estate as well—the property in Sahnt where I spent most of my childhood. I couldn't bear the thought of the place belonging to anyone else, so I enrolled at the Fount." I must have had more to drink than I'd realized, to be sharing this much with Grimm. I kept going. "I believe my father thought I would emerge from the experience… transformed. But that hasn't been the case. I've known for a long time that I don't belong anywhere near the Coterie. Once we're done with fifth tier, I'll be a free man."

"That's what you meant earlier," Grimm said slowly. "When you said the Coterie's requirements wouldn't matter for you."

It took me a moment to organize my spinning thoughts enough to recall our conversation that morning, when Grimm suggested I treat our journey as a training exercise. I remembered the way his jaw had tightened and the sour look he'd given me.

"Thought I meant to buy my way in, did you?" I spoke the words jokingly, but in truth they turned my stomach a little, remembering the conversation I'd overheard on the balcony. I was certain no money had passed hands between my brother and that Coterie captain, but an exchange had taken place all the same.

Grimm said, "What will you do instead?"

That was the question, wasn't it? Any time I tried to settle on an answer, my mind skipped away like a stone on water, bouncing from idea to idea and discarding all of them in the end. I looked away from Grimm and into the black eyes of the wolf's heads over the fire. The deadened gaze was strangely piercing.

"Anything I like," I told Grimm airily, tucking my hands behind my head and tilting my chair back a little. "I haven't given the matter much thought, beyond rejoicing over the idea of not having to memorize any more dusty old spellbooks. I'm tired of sitting inside all day, surrounded by other people's words. Maybe I'll become a farmer instead of a sorcerer. Maybe I'll return to Dwull and ask your mother to teach me to grow flowers. I could be her assistant or apprentice or something."

I said it partially to annoy Grimm, and indeed, the corners of his mouth immediately flattened. But surprisingly I found myself warming to the idea. I imagined what it would be like to don a wide-brimmed hat and spend my days surrounded by blossoms, writing charms that introduced outlandish colors to their petals. Nurturing something that would bring others joy. I thought I could feel useful, doing something like that, even if it wasn't providing the same service the Coterie did. Even if it didn't provide the same thrill as I'd gotten earlier, hearing Grimm cast my spellsong.

Grimm let out a sound that came perilously close to being a snort. "You could never do that type of work."

"Why not?" I asked, offended. I'd put on a show all day of being weak and lazy, but I was perfectly capable of working hard when properly motivated.

"Farming requires effort without notice, day after day, year after year. You'd wither like a plant during drought without a steady stream of attention."

Well.

The feeling of being seen was not an enjoyable one. Not in this context. And not when the insight was delivered in Grimm's most scornful tone. It left me squirming in my chair.

"You don't know that. Maybe I would surprise you. I did today, after all, with the spellsong."

"What's the point of rising above expectation for only a moment? Once you finish fifth tier, you'll have the advantage of your inheritance, and you will continue to be capable of magic like the kind you wrote today… but it will benefit no one. You will keep wasting yourself on silly tricks and cosmetic charms, if you bother with magic at all. I may have been briefly surprised by you, today, Loveage, but don't think it means anything. Everything else you said is nothing more than I expected."

That was the thing about Grimm. Most of the time he used a single word to every one of my ten, but when he did speak, everything he said hit like a sledgehammer. Back at the Fount people fell all over themselves trying to win Grimm's approval, and I'd always rolled my eyes watching it happen. But apparently all it took was a few minutes of harmony in a field and I was ready to do some falling of my own. As though I didn't know better. As though I hadn't spent years cultivating the belief that I would never be able to please anyone but myself and there was no use trying. For an instant, with Grimm staring down his nose at me, I wanted to throw all that away and…

And do what?

There was nothing I could say. Grimm may have thought the way I used magic was selfish, but I had my reasons, and they were good ones. He could go on thinking what he liked of me.

I smiled blandly across the table. "Here's to managing expectations," I said, then raised my drink in Grimm's direction and downed the rest of its contents in one long swallow, trying not to wince when I found the beer had gone lukewarm.

By the time I slammed the empty glass down, Grimm had left.