Shadowguard

Everna did not go to the Guard post. Instead, she made for the east gate, beyond which lay the town’s graveyard and, from there to the Slipsunder River. Hardly more than a mile wide, it bowed around the subtle elevations of the plains. In the heart of the rainy season, it reached a depth of just over ten feet in the central channel, if that.

Beyond fertile soils, the river provided the town with a wealth of fish and clams throughout the year. When winter arrived, hunters took to the boats with their bows and retrievers to catch the waterfowl that migrated from the northern parts of the kingdom. This year provided a very different scene.

A handful of shoddy docks jutted from the shoreline, dinghies moored to their crooked pylons frozen stiff in their berths. Everna picked her way across the boards, which bent and groaned beneath her weight, and stopped at the end of the longest dock. A thin layer of ice blanketed the river, though if she looked closely enough, she could pick out the currents running beneath.

It was an odd sight. In the twenty-some years she lived in Pendel, she’d never seen the river frozen nor heard it so quiet. There were no hunters searching for ducks or fishermen hauling nets. The shallows she once shuffled along digging for basket clams were barren and icy, the sandy shoreline white with snow.

Despite the unnatural silence, she settled on the edge of the dock and allowed her feet to dangle over the edge. The toes of her boots grazed the ice, leaving a thin trail of disturbed frost in their wake. In the summer, she’d take her boots off and let her toes dip into the water — but never too far. The last time she’d dipped her whole foot in, a large catfish decided her toe looked enough like food to take a bite.

“Let me guess,” Wil asked, “you come out here to think? You women always have some hidden lake or river you always go to.”

Everna snorted. “No, I go sit in my room and read. I came out here because I’d hoped the river wasn’t a giant slab of ice, and because this would be the last place my parents would think to look.”

She’d always found running water soothing and, more than ever, she needed the reprieve. The last week had been one thing after another, and if she considered the month before that, she’d hardly had a moment to herself. Someone was always hovering over her shoulder or lingering just around the corner. If it wasn’t Wil, it was Leah or Lisette. After they returned from Windhollow, Cedric picked up the torch as well.

While she would have the comfort of her own bed once again, it wouldn’t be much different back home. Her parents always smothered her, but now that they had a reason to, it’d be worse than ever. She’d count herself fortunate if her door was still on its hinges when she returned. They’d check on her every second of the day, and not just to be sure Shroud hadn’t gotten past them.

If Wil hadn’t come with her, her father would’ve followed her out the door. He still might if she were gone too long. Only the gods knew what sort of ridiculous ideas were floating around his head at the moment.

If Wil wasn’t a prince, he’d have probably hauled him back into the tavern by his neck and sent Lisette with her instead.

“You know, if you’d told me who you were from the start, I’d have been a little more cooperative,” she said after several moments of blissful silence.

“You’d have believed it?”

“I had my suspicions you weren’t of average status,” she admitted. “I could tell by the way you speak. Though I don’t quite get the need for secrecy.”

After a long silence, he said, “Being royalty, especially with the current state of the kingdom, doesn’t help as much as you’d expect. Shroud’s not the only thing I have to worry about, and secrecy isn’t so much of a choice as it is a necessity.”

“How far up in the line are you?”

It was hard to say. From what little Everna read on the subject, she knew it was as difficult to place the age of half-elf as it was a full-blooded elf. After a certain point, they ceased aging. Andryll, though three-hundred winters, hardly looked a day over twenty. Wil didn’t look much older.

He most likely wasn’t. King Keeland’s eldest sons should be twenty-seven now, and assuming he had no other children to account for, the youngest was a princess. Her eighteenth birthday passed during the summer. Wil couldn’t be more than three years older than her.

“Far enough that it causes problems,” he said after a moment. She felt the dock shift as he leaned against the pylon beside her. “Why does it matter?”

“It doesn’t, and to be honest, I couldn’t care less. You’re not the first prince I’ve met, and I can only thank the gods you’re nothing like Marcas. I’d have rather been hanged than put up with that wretch.”

Wil raised a brow. “What’d he do?”

Everna slammed her fist against the dock. “Let’s just say if I ever get my hands on that slimy bastard, I’ll wring that obscenely long neck of his and gladly walk myself to the gallows.” She sighed then and shook out her hand. “Can we talk about something else? Preferably nothing to do with Shroud, the Courts, and anything else mildly infuriating?”

Wil looked as if he wanted to press the matter, but seemed to think better of it. Several moments of awkward silence stretched between them. She chanced a glance at Wil and found him struggling, his brow creased with thought. Conversation, she’d noticed, wasn’t his forte. Aside from the occasional jab and their bickering during their sparring sessions, he said little that was unrelated to her plight.

Everna had several questions, but none of them seemed appropriate. Did the king really die of a heart-stop or was he assassinated as the rumors claimed? Which of the princes instigated the disastrous assassination attempt that put the steward on the throne? Why in Iridia was a prince slinking around like a sneak-thief? And how does a prince end up in Shadowguard to begin with?

Instead, she settled for what she hoped was the least offensive question she could ask.

“Wil isn’t your name, is it?”

It took him a moment to respond.

“No.”

Her next question bounced on the tip of her tongue, but she thought better of it. If he wanted it known, he wouldn’t be using an alias.

“Why that one then, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“If you’re hoping there’s some kind of story behind it, it’s not that deep,” he said after a moment. “It was the alias I had during my first assignment. I was already used to using it.”

Another question popped into her head, but she shoved it aside. Curious as she was to know why a prince would waste his time with her, it would bring the subject back to Shroud. She’d rather throw herself onto the frigid ice than have another conversation about them after having just escaped a two-hour lecture on the matter.

But now she couldn’t think of anything else to talk about. There were the usual questions, but she never thought matters of favorites and preferences made for good talking points. In her experience, it sparked petty arguments regarding why one person’s taste was better than the other’s, and she was certain arguing with a prince wouldn’t get her anywhere. She wouldn’t say Wil was overly arrogant or grandiose, not like the nobles in the academy, but for all she knew, he could be. She didn’t know him well enough to say.

She didn’t know him at all, and everyone seemed to forget that.

Everna wasn’t blind. He was attractive, but if looks were all she cared for, she’d have been married long before now. There were plenty of attractive men in both Pendel and the capital, but their personalities weren’t quite what she was looking for. They went too far in either direction — overly chivalrous or completely insensitive, and none of them capable of rising to a challenge without taking offense or returning the favor without thinking they offended her.

She didn’t want a doormat, but she didn’t want an obstinate ass, either.

Wil was somewhere in the middle, but the inability to sustain a conversation unrelated to Shroud and their plans was a bit of an issue. It was all she talked about these days — Shroud, and occasionally, men. She couldn’t remember the last time she had a normal conversation.

More and more, she found she missed the capital. She’d rather listen to her dorm mates ramble about the intricacies of runes and the origins of enchantments than sit through one more conversation about her pursuers. Hell, she’d rather hear Lyra’s ceaseless complaining about Gyles or even listen to Vina’s horrendous singing. She’d take what she could get.

“Out of curiosity, why did you want to be an Inquisitor?”