17. Vane

Vane

W e slept most of the afternoon until a knock at the bakery door stirred us awake. I groaned from my place on the floor, which I'd almost had to fight Saoirse to get. I didn't like using my stature to intimidate women, but I'd been an inch away from using it on her. There was no way in hell I was letting her sleep on the floor. The scratchy blanket I'd been given slid against my cheek as I pulled myself up, the sounds of Saoirse struggling on the cot above me breaking through my sleepy haze.

"Ow!" I grunted as an elbow jabbed into the side of my head, a solidly warm body crashing into me, pinning me to the floor.

"Get off me!" Saoirse squeaked as she struggled, her voice muffled by chest. She wriggled, trying to find her bearings, and a laugh I refused to let escape bubbled in my chest.

"I should be saying that to you. "

She huffed, propping herself up on her elbows to glare at me. I swallowed, my throat bobbing with the movement. Her eyes darted down, then back up to me. Clearing my throat, I raised my brows. "You can get off me at any time."

She flushed, trying to push herself up when her hand slipped, sending her tumbling back onto me. This time, I couldn't hold back my laughter.

"Would you like me to draw you a map? Maybe some climbing gear?"

"Very funny," she muttered, beet red as she finally managed to sit up, nearly straddling my waist as she caught her balance. A burst of heat burned through me, something stirring inside at her proximity, the urge to slide my hand into those fiery curls surprising me. Realizing our position, her eyes widened, and she quickly scrambled off, her movements jerky and flustered.

I sat up slowly, rubbing the side of my head where her elbow had made its point. "You've got quite the jab. I'd hate to see what you could do with your fists."

Saoirse rolled her eyes, but a small smile played on her lips, an expression that brightened her features. "Maybe if you promised not to move. Not that I could actually do damage to anyone." A darkness lurked behind her eyes, and just like that, the moment was gone. Whatever levity we'd found had been sucked away in an instant, to the place she dwelled, deep inside her own shadows.

There, again, a loud knock at the bakery door, and her eyes widened, remembering why we'd woken up in the first place. "Stay here," she hissed, and without another word she bounded down the stairs, not even bothering to change out of her nightdress first.

A loud creak of the lock being undone, and then hushed voices, talking in too low a tone for me to make out the words. Even so, I strained at the entrance to the door, knowing a step down the stairs would put me in plain view of whoever was talking, which may not be a good thing .

Working in the bakery was one thing, but living together? Another impression entirely, and the less attention I drew to myself, the better.

"Vane," Saoirse called out, "come down here. I want you to meet Maeve." I bristled at the command before I stood, sliding quickly into a change of clothes.

I strolled down the stairs, as calm as can be, making sure my shadows were firmly in place, hiding my identity. At the bottom of the stairs stood an elderly woman with sharp eyes and a no-nonsense demeanor. Elderly was being too kind. Maeve looked ancient, as if the secrets of the world were hidden in every wrinkle marring her weathered amber skin.

All mortals in Amaris had longer lifespans, ending somewhere in the ballpark of 150, and if I had to guess, this lady was pushing it.

"Darkwing, huh?" Her arms crossed over her chest as she stared me up and down, not intimidated in the slightest.

My glare landed on Saoirse, a scathing question in my glance. "The only way this works is if you stop telling people who I am."

"I trust Maeve with my life," she said confidently, her arms crossing her chest defensively. "And she may be able to help us find what you're looking for. No one has been around quite as long as Maeve."

"Thank you dear, I love being called old." Her words were sharp, but her eyes were fond as they looked at the young baker, a warmth I hadn't expected radiating from her. Turning her attention back to me, she said, "You know, you're not the first Darkwing I've met. I knew what you were the second I saw you."

"What?!" Saoirse's head whipped toward the woman, her shock mirroring my own. Most people who saw a Darkwing didn't live much longer. Too much was on the line if word got back to the wrong ears, a threat to my people's entire existence that we couldn't risk, no matter whose life it was. If they ventured too far into Umbra, that was their own fault, and they'd brought their fate upon themselves .

"Many years ago," she waved it away, as if she'd just told us she'd bought some flowers at the market and not dropped a bomb of information on us instead. "Let's focus on the matter at hand. Saoirse mentioned you were looking for a gem of some sort?"

"A shard," I corrected, before filling her in on the mission as she listened, her serious brown eyes never leaving my face. When I was done, a somber aura had settled over her.

"I always knew the king and queen were not good parents," she started, her eyes sad. "But I expected them to at least look after our people."

"In my experience, most royals are only after one thing: power."

"That they are," Maeve agreed, and something passed between us, an understanding that went deeper than this conversation. Maeve had seen a lot of things indeed. "I don't know where your shard is, but I'll do my part, see what I can find out."

"No one can know I'm here," I warned, letting more than a little bit of threat seep into my voice and escape on my words.

"I wouldn't dream of it," she replied without hesitation, looking me dead in my eyes.

I nodded in thanks, a suspicious trickle of hope worming its way through the cynicism I kept packed tightly within me. I'd already come this far, and I was fairly certain I could kill Xan, Saoirse, and Maeve in the same breath if I needed to. And I would, if I had to.

Nothing would come between me and finding the shard.