Page 17 of The Lost Reliquary
“A new whetstone for your blades,” continues the tinker, going up the small set of stairs on the back of the wagon and ducking through the door there. “Or here, one of my regular customers is a baker, a far too generous one.” He reappears and presses a loaf wrapped in sackcloth into my hands. It’s still warm. “Baked fresh this morning. Half of what she gives me ends up going stale. Better to share it around than let it go to waste.”
“Really,” Nolan says, “there’s no need to—”
“Thank you,” I cut in, accepting the bread. Though, if I were to be honest, I’m more interested in the sauce he mentioned. “Fresh bread certainly won’t go amiss—”
“Quiet!” Nolan’s head snaps toward the road ahead of us.
I hear it an instant later: a low rumble, and the jingle of tack.Horses, a number that can mean only one thing. A regiment of soldiers clears the bend ahead, coming straight toward us. Three riders lead the pack; upon spotting us, one urges their horse faster.
“Clear the road!” The man is lightly armored, but their Flame insignia is clear. “Make way for the Goddess’s Chosen!”
Nolan has already backed away to the tree line, but the tinker isn’t so fast, stumbling as he rushes to close the wagon door and get to the driver’s seat. He doesn’t move swiftly enough, and the rider draws a long leather wand. Penitent’s crops, they are called, used primarily in disciplining their namesakes—mainly petty criminals and other minor offenders of the Goddess’s grace. I’m moving before I realize it, arm raised as I put myself between the tinker and the soldier. A sharp line of pain lights up across my forearm, though my jacket offers enough protection to prevent bloodshed.
Anger flares in the rider’s eyes, but I speak first. “Hey! There’s no need for that. His wagon was just barely fixed; he’ll move it aside if you let him.”
Again, the crop rises, but by now the rest of the legion has drawn close. Including its leader, who draws their muscled black stallion to a halt. And though I know I shouldn’t, I can’t resist: My gaze finds the Bellator’s. There’s only faint relief when I find the face unfamiliar, a woman of around Petronilla’s age, nearly as pale as Nolan, with dull brown hair. Her blue eyes are icy as she takes in our gathering, betraying no emotion.
I do not know her. But I know this moment.
“Is there a problem?” The words are simple, disinterested, but heavy in a way that seems to press on my already tight chest.
“No.” Her lieutenant’s arm drops, but it’s clear he’s not done with me yet. “I can take care of it.”
“You can try.” The words are out before I can stop them.Stupid, a tiny voice says within. But it’s a whisper against the rush of blood filling my ears.
The Bellator stares down at me. Now and in another time.
Crack.
The lieutenant raises the crop again.
“Please, wait!” Nolan jumps forward, hand held out pleadingly. “Myfriend chooses her words poorly, but we’re only trying to assist one of our fellow devoted.”
Friend.It sounds so sincere woven into the humble appeal.
“A thousand apologies.” The tinker echoes the tone. “Bad luck hobbled my wagon but the Goddess’s favor brought two fine citizens to help me. It is only for that reason that I wouldeverdelay one of their children, even for a heartbeat.” Without waiting for permission, he climbs back into the driver’s seat and directs the wagon off to the side of the road as quickly as the mule will move. Beside me, Nolan’s eyes are lowered respectively again, face carefully neutral.
I bow my head. “Like he said, a thousand apologies.”
“Remorse after insolence,” the lieutenant scoffs. “At your word, Bellator, I will see she is genuinely sorry.”
I swallow a snicker. No one’s managed that yet. But as the seconds tick by, I have to admit I could have handled this better. The Bellator would be well within her power to punish me. Which wouldn’t exactly help our mission.
But she only sighs impatiently. “We’ve been delayed in reaching Lumeris enough. Get out of the way, girl. And if you are making your way to Aerdis, understand this first: Sharp blades are a boon, a sharp tongue less so.”
A lesson I’ve done a poor job learning. But luck is on my side; the Bellator has mistaken us for one of the countless hopefuls who converge on their city, hoping to earn a place in a legion. That, apparently, is enough to buy me a smidgen of mercy. Eyes down, we get out of the road, my fingers twisting in Mortimer’s reins as the company starts moving again. Only when they are well away does anyone speak.
“Thank you again for your help.” But the earlier warmth in the tinker’s words has disappeared, and he urges his wagon along, in the opposite direction that Nolan and I were traveling. Nolan also remounts and continues, not waiting for me.
“That was idiotic,” he snaps when I catch up.
So much forfriend. “There was no need to strike the old man,” I counter.
“No need for you to stop it either.” Nor for him to step in, but hedid. A little surprising. “You understand that this isn’t the Cloisters? Or Lumeris?”
More than he knows.
“We are no one out here. No one owes us respect,” he continues, the words growing more heated. “You didn’t pay that Bellator the deference she deserved from a Potentiate, much less some normal commoner.”
