4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

" W e only have a few more days to decide if we want to go to the Lughnasa festival and meet with the Gatekeeper." Eoin obviously wants to go, but a tightness settles in my chest whenever I think of crossing the border.

"Did you find out how the wards work from any of the soldiers? It'll let us cross over, but will it let me cross back once we leave? Since I'm half . . ." I point to my ears.

Eoin's focus remains on the small slatted sphere in front of him as he shrugs. He scratches more runes into the thin slats of metal, dipping his tool in black mage powder between each stroke. "I can't get much out of Henry without giving you away. My best guess is that if you're human enough to cross the border, you should be human enough to return."

The steady slosh of waves rolling in and out of the remote cave deafens my sigh, but Eoin seems to sense my dismay. He puts the sphere down and reaches over, placing his hand on my knee. "I know it's a bigger risk for you. It's entirely your call whether or not we go. There's always another job."

He mirrors my nod and returns to his work, moving the sphere closer to the oil lamp between us.

"What is that?" I gesture to his project and clench my jaw, fighting a yawn. With more and more Crusaders coming to town, we take extra precautions while Eoin practices his mage talents.

"It's a small mage light. . . if I can get it to work." He bites his lip and scratches more runes. "I've been working on fire talents, but they're difficult." He holds it up and lets it dangle from the chain. "The first time is the hardest. There is a level of faith involved. Once you know you can do it, it'll come much easier."

Cool water seeps into the bottom of my rolled-up pants as I wade through the cave, picking up seashells. "Why do you think they come after the mages? You would think it would be beneficial to have humans who wield power, just in case the wards ever fail."

He brings the mage light to his lips and whispers something. The oil lamp between us dims briefly as the runes on the sphere glow red hot. Warm amber light flickers to life from within the mage light, casting dancing shadows across the cave walls. My squeal of excitement echoes around the cavern, and Eoin laughs.

"Why do powerful men do anything?" He tosses the sphere, and I catch it. It's still cool to the touch.

"How?"

"It's an illusion. Before I can learn real fire talents, I need to master this." He points to the oil lamp. "The mage light pulls from the lamp light and makes a copy. As long as the lamp burns, the mage light will burn, no matter how far we take it."

"It's phenomenal. Can I keep it?" I clutch it to my chest.

"Sadly, no." He plucks it from my grasp and tosses it into the dark water. The light flickers as it descends, almost like a shooting star across the night sky. "I'd rather not watch my best friend hang for practicing mage magic."

Sand slips between my toes as we walk up the beach toward the docks. An older man with a bucket passes us, foraging the beach. It must be nearly morning. My eyelids are heavy, and the steady rhythm of the tide and the creaking boats aren't helping. I'm going to sleep so well.

"Ah!" Eoin jumps up and slaps at his foot, startling me. "The sand fleas are out."

Reinvigorated, I take off in a sprint toward home. "Last one there buys the cheese at the market tomorrow!"

"I'm getting too old for this!" Eoin yells moments before his palm shoves me in the back. My feet completely leave the ground, and I skid across the beach, miraculously not damaging the lantern. Spitting sand, I curse at Eoin's retreating figure.

***

The pungent smell of burnt oil fills my nose, and I shoot out of bed. The last wisps of black smoke twirl through the glass of my oil lamp and into the air, evidence of my reckless negligence. I can't believe I left it on.

These late nights are killing me. I open my balcony door, letting the fresh, salty air cleanse the room. Stepping outside to stretch, the distant shouts of merchants selling their wares delight my ears. It's market day, and the sun is already high in the sky.

I'm dressed within minutes and pound on Eoin's door until he opens it. The door cracks ajar, and he rubs sleep from his eye. Behind him, a petite form rolls over in bed, pulling the covers with her. This one has blonde hair, not auburn like the girl from last week.

"I'm heading to the market. Do you want to come?"

He yawns and shakes his head. "If you find something you think I'd want, just get it. I'll pay you back." The lump on the bed moans softly, and he steps into the landing with me, shutting the door behind him. "Did you pack?"

"Yes. Did you lose your shirt in a bet?" We haven't decided whether we're leaving yet, but we agreed it would be best to at least lightly pack—just in case.

"You could say that." He smirks and leans into the door frame. "You better get going. I don't want Tarva to run out of cheese before you arrive."

I rush down the stairs and narrowly avoid Jessa and her tray of freshly squeezed juices. That wasn't Jessa up there?

"Sorry, Bronwyn." Jessa's peppy voice brings my attention back from Eoin's closed door.

"How long have you been here?" I follow her to a table of women and help her hand out the glasses.

Her smile slips. "I just got here, why?"

"No reason. I'm heading to the market. Do you want anything?"

"Maybe some dates if you see any." She places the empty tray onto the bar and wipes sweat from her forehead, a visual reminder that summer is far from departing. "Eoin said you two might be leaving tomorrow for a trip." She fans herself and follows me towards the door.

"It's not for certain. I'll let you know if I find any dates."

My nose leads the way down the cobblestone path to the seaside market, the savory fragrance of various sweetmeats and roasted vegetables growing stronger with each step. The fire pits aren't visible yet, and my mouth is already watering.

Children giggle and chase each other, and merchants shout above the crowd, selling their goods. Some merchants are recognizable regulars, and other unfamiliar ones pique my interest. It's always exciting to see what new items come to port for the seaside market, especially from the merchants brave enough to travel into the fae realm for trade.

"Hi there, Miss Bronwyn." Tarva waves from behind her stall and sets out two bricks of cheese. "Cheddar and Gouda, or would you like to try something new?"

"I'll stick with the regulars." She wraps the cheese in cloth and hands it to me.

"Is anyone selling dates?" My coins drop into her hand, and she points to a cart down the path.

I pass the young girl selling mollusks and oysters and stop at the indicated cart, where I purchase dates. I take my time browsing several more carts, purchasing candied nuts, a new compass, a small sack of salt, and a bundle of dried lavender. By the time I tuck a cordage of ultralight pixie spun rope into my satchel, it's nearly half full.

An older, unfamiliar woman rearranges items on her wagon, and my eyes land on her stack of books. Her long black and silver hair blows in the wind as she takes in the passing crowd with predatory focus. She arranges quite an assortment of goods ranging from protection runes and hex potions to books and doilies. There doesn't seem to be any congruity to her collection, but I imagine she will do well with the more superstitious patrons.

The woman studies me with her honey-brown eyes as I approach, gaze lingering on my ears. I shift my hair to cover them and sort through some books. A particularly ragged one catches my eye: Fae: Friend or Foe? I flip through the pages, the old musty smell wafting through the air. It feels ancient, with stiff pages and faded text. I spot some diagrams and images, even a familiar faerie tale or two.

I set it down and ultimately grab a travel book with road recipes, hunting tactics, and a log of distant cities with their best taverns and restaurants. I hand her two coppers and shove the book into my rucksack. I swing it onto my back, and my blood runs cold.

The woman steps out of the wagon to grab another crate of books. A ringing intensifies in my ears, and icy dread freezes me in place. Where is her shadow? It's sunny. Everyone around us has long shadows in the afternoon light. Where is hers?

"Bronwyn!" Tomas runs across the path and hugs me. He looks around. "Is Eoin with you?"

"No, he's sleeping in. What are you doing here?" My eyes gravitate back to the woman. "Where's her—"

"Manners?" Tomas cuts in. "She's been staring at you this whole time." He pulls me through the market to a candy stand.

"Let me guess. You want a treat."

He grins and waves to a small group of young teens wearing the customary orphanage uniforms. "I wouldn't object," he says coyly. "I have to hurry, though. They brought a few of us down a while ago. We are about to head back."

I pull out my significantly lighter coin purse and purchase toffee and hard candies for Tomas and his friends. He squeezes me tightly and runs off to the small group, yelling over his shoulder, "Thanks!"

With few coins left to spend, I retreat down the docks, retracing my earlier steps. My satchel cuts into me, and I slide the second strap over the opposite shoulder, evenly distributing the weight.

A piercing scream shatters the jovial atmosphere, and several heads turn. I glance behind me but Tomas is already gone, and that is the wrong direction. The crowd rushes towards the panicked voice, which pleads and wails relentlessly. Oh, gods, is it Eoin? Did they find him?

I rush onto the beach, shoving my way through the crowd until I break through the innermost line of people. A woman sobs and holds her toddler to her chest, pleading with two Crusaders.

"Grandpa!" The small boy's wail splits my chest. He reaches for the old man, held by the two Crusaders, and calls for him again.

The Crusaders drag the man to his feet, ignoring the woman and child. He looks oddly familiar.

"Sanctioned by your King Javier, eighth of his name, the Prophet has given authority to seek out and eradicate those who steal magic left by the old gods." The Crusader's low and booming voice carries far across the beach. "With such authority, we find this man guilty of practicing mage-magic and thus will face immediate execution."

"It's not his!" the woman wails between sobs. "He's my father. He is a good man."

The Crusader holds out his fist and opens it. A slatted sphere falls several inches from his open palm and swings from a chain. Nausea roils within me. That's the man from the beach last night. He must have found the discarded light in the water. Acrid guilt sours my stomach as realization dawns. This man is going to die for our mistake.

"This mage light was found on his person this morning, still active and glowing. He will face judgment, and all associates will be questioned thereafter."

The second Crusader kicks the back of the old man's knees and shoves him to all fours. The man's eyes meet mine as the first Crusader unsheathes his sword.

"Her!" The man's raspy voice stills the soldier's sword. "She was there. It's hers!" His finger is like an arrow straight through my chest. The heads of both Crusaders snap toward me as my back bumps into the audience behind me. My breath is shallow, frantic.

"Stop her," the first Crusader calls as he lets his sword fall, cleaving the old man's head from his body.