3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

" H it him harder, Henry!" I shout, the sound of my voice drawing the attention of several other soldiers. Eoin deftly evades four of Henry's punches and then flips me the finger before diving back into the fight. Tomas and I share a laugh, and he leans into my shoulder.

The rich, musty aroma of damp straw and wet soil intermingles with the faint smell of sweat and leather. You could blindfold me, and I would know I'm in the barracks' training arena. We watch Eoin in silence for a while as he teaches Henry some new general fighting techniques.

Tomas grins as I elbow him in the side. "You're getting big, kid." He looks a lot like Eoin with his sandy blond hair, blue eyes, and dimples. "You're getting tall, too!"

"I'm taller than you now." He straightens his posture and lifts his chin.

"I'm not sure about that. Maybe in another month or so."

"He's going to start training me soon," Tomas says while studying Eoin. "I'm fourteen now; he said it's time I learn about the runes."

"Hush." I glance over my shoulder and around the barracks. It's been a week, and the Crusaders still haven't left town. "You guys really shouldn't be talking about that right now." My jaw clenches in irritation. Eoin, of all people, should know better. He and Tomas joined me in the orphanage because their mom was a practicing mage. She was caught, and his father died trying to save her.

"I won't tell anyone," he says. "You can trust me."

"I know, Tomas. I just worry sometimes." He loops his arm around my side and squeezes. He's Eoin's little brother, but he feels like mine, too. "I don't know what I'd do if something happened to you."

He pulls a cloth from his pocket and unfolds it, revealing a small biscuit. "Want some?" He holds it up toward me.

"I don't want your dirty pocket biscuit." I shove it away with mock severity, and he snickers. "Where did you get that thing?"

"That hidden cellar you showed me behind the baker's shop."

"Stealing now, are we?" I raise a brow at him. "I showed you that in case you ever needed to hide or were desperate for food."

He shrugs and takes a bite. "You and Eoin do it all the time."

"That's different."

"Is it?" He snickers and takes another bite.

"We don't steal from our community, and we certainly don't steal from those who are just trying to get by. Besides, the whole reason we are doing it is so we can save enough to buy land and start farms. We've got a year until you get out of St. Agatha's, and we'd like to have enough to build when you get out. I really don't want to see you ever having to steal things, Tomas."

Eoin ends his session with Henry, and they jog over to us. "Are you ready to get in the ring?" Eoin grins at Tomas, who promptly hops over the half-wall.

"We have to get him back to St. Agatha's soon. I have to work!" I shout at their retreating forms. They grab two training swords from the rack and begin where they left off yesterday.

Henry leans back on the stone half-wall, resting his arms and back. His face is reddened from the exertion of the fight, muting some of his freckles. "You think he'll enlist?" Henry's focus remains on Eoin and Tomas as they engage in swordplay. "General Laurent has been pressing him hard lately."

"I think he prefers getting paid to train you all. Commitment isn't really his thing."

"That's fair. Ten years is a big commitment." Eoin and Tomas put the training swords away and move to the grappling circle. "I heard The Snakebeard troubadour plans on telling a tale about the Vampire Lord tonight. Is that true?"

"Yes, but we don't allow children for the Friday night tales." I tease the man who is at least five years my senior. "If you want something less frightening, you can come any other night of the week." His face reddens further, almost a perfect match to his hair. "Oh, don't tell me you believe that stuff."

He turns, facing me. "We have wards to keep out the fae, vampires, and other creatures. Half of the humans who dare venture across the border never return. I don't see how you can not believe it." His tone is serious.

I don't know how I've missed this until now. The Prophet's iconic sigel—a golden laurel on a blood-red shield—gleams on Henry's training uniform upon his left shoulder. Henry must be following the new gods now.

"I don't think the fae can be that bad." I untuck the hair from my human-passing ear and scold myself inwardly. They're really not that noticeable. "We have ships that go out and trade with them regularly. Pirates seem to be more of a problem than the fae."

"The fae aren't the biggest problem. It's the vampires and the monsters that roam rampant. Just last night, one of our ships lost three men to a nixie." Henry looks at me as if I've lost my mind, or perhaps I'm a lost cause. I'm not sure which.

"Which one are you following?" I point to the sigel on his shoulder.

He shrugs and seems happy to change the conversation. "I'm still deciding. I like Luck and Innovation, but I'm really drawn to Conquest." Using their colloquial names, he names three of the major gods of the new faiths.

I've never quite understood why the Prophet insists on his followers choosing a specific major god, especially since he claims to be the voice of all the new major deities.

"Well, have fun with that." I hop over the wall, landing beside him. "You lot have the more exciting minor gods, but I'll stick with the old gods for now." I gesture to Eoin and Tomas and the growing dirt cloud around them. Tomas's wrestling skills have come far in the last five years. "It's time I get this kid back to the orphanage."

***

"It seems like he's going to go with Conquest. It's strange how many people here seem pulled to that deity when we really don't have any wars going on or anything." I sign us out of the orphanage and give Tomas one last wave goodbye. "If I were going to switch sides, I'd go with innovation or art."

Eoin scoffs. "Art is a minor deity. And besides, the only time I hear the name of an old god or goddess cross your lips is when you curse. I wouldn't exactly call you pious."

We exit the orphanage, and my cloak whips sharply in the wind. Dark clouds approach from the west, and the distinct scent of petrichor permeates the air. Our swift walk toward The Snakebeard transitions to a jog when the light sprinkle gives way to a full downpour, quickly creating puddles in our path. Palms sway and pull with the wind, and there's not a single gull in sight.

By the time we arrive, we're both soaked to the bone. The sound of my boots racing up the stairs is inaudible over the bustling tavern, already packed with local patrons. My door bangs against the wall as I throw it open and kick it shut behind me. I strip off my heavy, wet clothes, dropping them in a pile on the floor. My heart races as time ticks by far too quickly. It's almost story time.

My dresser drawer jams as I rush to open it, and frustration tightens my chest. Letting out a long, slow breath, I steady myself and try again. The wooden drawer slides open, and I pull out my clothes. My dry chemise absorbs any lingering raindrops as it gently slides across my skin, and my corset reveals my feminine form as I tighten it. Rushing towards the door, I stumble over my wet clothes and pull my ivory and green linen dress over my head.

Relief floods my core as I exit my room and peer over the rail. The troubadour chats idly with Antoine while Francine frantically pours ale for the last few patrons in line.

Eoin stands near the bar in dry clothes, arguing with Jake. Oh, to be a man with far fewer layers. I scrunch my damp hair as I run down the steps, the fresh rain bringing the waves back to life.

Thunder rumbles through the tavern, and Jessa lights several candles and oil lamps on the tables. I weave through several familiar people, finding my way to the bar.

"Great night for an eerie tale." I slide up beside Eoin and grab my barmaid apron from below the counter. He turns to me with a tight jaw and furrowed brows.

"Ah, there she is!" Jake says, clapping his hands together.

"Here I am." Their expressions contradict one another: Jake's bright eyes and wide smile and Eoin's disapproving glare.

"He's just here for the tale and the ale. Aren't you Jake?" Eoin looks pointedly at Jake with a stern look I rarely see.

Jake shrinks a bit, smile faltering. "Yes, yes. I'll stay for the story, but in truth, I'm here with a job offer."

"Gods dammit." Eoin slams a fist on the bar, earning a few looks from nearby folks. He lowers his tone. "She works here. We live here. We don't shit where we eat." Francine slides a pint of ale across the bar to Eoin and scurries off to fill more orders. Eoin takes the cup and turns from Jake. "Schedule a meeting."

"Wait." Jake grabs Eoin's shoulder and grimaces when Eoin turns back to him with clenched fists. "I know you're laying low, but I think this is a big one. I think this might be the big one: the diamond in the lake." The phrase spoken commonly among thieves isn't about an actual diamond, but rather the once-in-a-lifetime fortune many of us dream about but never find.

"I need some help, Bronwyn," Francine calls from the far end of the bar, not hiding her annoyance.

"Sorry! Just two more minutes." A pang of guilt hits my core as she rolls her eyes and continues serving. But ultimately, my curiosity wins out. "What do you mean the big one?"

"The finder's fee alone is astronomical. If you take the job and are successful, I'll receive two whole Rhenium." His eyes widen, and he licks his lips.

"Big reward means big risk. It's not worth it right now." Eoin remains the sound of reason in our shady little corner of the bar.

"If his finders fee is that big, imagine the payout for us." The buzz of the room seems to fade as endorphins flood my system. "Eoin, let's hear him out. Maybe it would be enough for us to meet our savings goal." And we could be done. I don't mention quitting thievery aloud in front of Jake, but I know Eoin's mind is in the same place.

Eoin lets out a long breath as he looks at the ceiling. "Alright."

"Not much left to hear." Jake slides an envelope across the bar to Eoin, its shiny wax seal catching the lamplight. "The only other thing I know is it's in the fae realm, and I'm to hand you these instructions if you're interested." Eoin tucks the envelope into his jacket pocket.

The sounds of laughter and merriment die down as the troubadour clears his throat loudly at the front of the hearth. He waits until only the howling wind, pelting rain, and crackling of the fire can be heard. Francine settles beside me and slides a warm cider in front of me. She tucks a lock of her tight black curls behind her ear and smiles softly. Friday nights are the best nights for stories, and there's no time for grudges.

"Tonight, I shall tell the tale of the wild and merciless vampire lord in the north." Lightning flashes and thunder rumbles as tankards of ale are swiftly forgotten. "Long ago, when fae and humans shared cities, knowledge, and children, there was a ruthless vampire lord known for stealing our loved ones in the night. Cursed with immortality and an insatiable hunger for blood, his destruction on the land was immeasurable."

The troubadour lightly strums his lute in accompaniment with the story. "For years, townspeople sent vagrants and criminals to his court in the hopes his appetite would be satiated."

Eoin catches my eyes and tips his head toward the door behind us. I focus my attention on the tankard of cider before me, pointedly avoiding his gaze. The warm liquid slides down my throat, leaving lingering notes of tart apples and oak.

The troubadour continues, his story capturing the attention of even the rowdiest of patrons. ". . . some came back with riches, and some never to return at all."

Warmth and solid muscles press into my side. Eoin looks down at me and taps his jacket pocket. I finish my cider in one swallow and follow him into the back kitchen.

"This couldn't wait until after the story? You know I love the creepy ones."

"I couldn't stop thinking about what you said." Eoin's expression melts away my aggravation with him. "If this really is as big as Jake says it is, maybe we can get that old farm and have enough to build each of us our own place. Tomas would never have to live in a tavern or steal to make ends meet."

"Perhaps. It won't hurt to at least read the letter." I press my palm against his breast pocket.

He pulls the letter and cracks the unmarked seal. A wave of dread and excitement rolls through me. A part of me knows a mission with this high of a reward is likely life-threatening. He unfolds the letter for us both to read.

Bronwyn and Eoin,

Congratulations on completing my challenges. You must wonder where you went wrong with the manor heist; what ward did you miss? I assure you, you didn't miss anything. This was by design, as I needed to test not only your capabilities in stealth and acquisitions but also your fortitude and perseverance when all is lost. This was not your first job for me, but the fourth. You may not be the most skilled thieves I've come across, but you do show the most perseverance, grit, and ingenuity. I apologize for my tactics, but the next task I ask of you is far greater than you or I combined.

I must be clear; this next job will be in the fae realm and will be very dangerous. You will face more peril than you have in your years of thievery. That being said, this will also be your most rewarding quest. I implore you to think on this, and if you agree to accept this quest, await further instructions in Ankaran on Lughnasa. You'll find me near the clock tower at midnight.

Signed, The Gatekeeper

Gravity seems to intensify and cease altogether as I finish the letter. Jake was right. This is the job. We could surpass our savings goals, but I'm not sure if it's worth risking our lives. My mouth is dry, and it's hard to swallow. Eoin peers wordlessly through the hanging herbs to the rack of wine and mead as he tucks the letter back into his pocket.

The troubadour's muffled voice hangs in the air between us as he continues his tale. "If it weren't for the help of the fae, we wouldn't have the border wards that protect us from both vampires and beasts alike."

The fae realm, the wild land of faeries and monsters. Could it be as bad as Henry thinks it is?