Shadowguard

Everna may as well have not slept at all.

It was more than simply being tired. The exhaustion that followed her into wakefulness wasn't one born of sore muscles or aching limbs after a long day's work. More than the grogginess that followed a long night of drinking, it was all-encompassing utter fatigue of the body, the mind, and everything in between. Her shoulders sagged, as if the weight of the realm bore down upon her.

Wil had become less of a riding partner and more of an awkward support. She leaned back against him, her head bobbing as she struggled to keep her eyes open for the last leg of the return trip. He was the only thing keeping her on the horse, his hand hovering at her side — or on her side, not that she was complaining — to prevent her from sliding off as she had almost done earlier that morning.

The others, save Adela, who'd fallen asleep against Lisette's back shortly after they climbed into their saddles, weren't nearly as exhausted. Cedric was wide awake, his eyes scanning the fall-touched forest. Vina's hands twitched over her lyre, but a pointed look from Lisette kept her from touching the strings. Dain, who'd never seen the Nivfell Woods, sat upright in the saddle, his blue eyes filled with awe as he stared up at the golden canopy.

The first time she nodded off, she woke to snow.

The temperature plummeted, and the forest transformed into a sea of barren trees blanketed with glittering snow. Gray clouds hung low in the sky once more, the promise of further snowfall lingering in the humid air. A chilled wind blew past and Everna curled into herself. Lisette hadn't thought to grab her coat before their desperate escape from the goblins.

The second time sleep claimed her, she woke to find Wil's cloak thrown over her shoulders and the glade before them.

The safe house sat on the eastern side of the glade, smoke rising from the chimney. At first glance, it appeared as nothing more than an old hunting lodge nestled between the twiggy remains of two large thickets and sheltered beneath the branches of a massive, low hanging oak. For Everna, it was a blessed sight if she'd ever seen one.

"Thank the gods," Lisette breathed. She steered her horse to the small stable on the edge of the clearing and dismounted. "I thought we'd never make it back."

"You and me both," Everna agreed.

She slid out of her saddle, sinking up to her knees in pillowy snow. It looked soft enough to lie on, but the biting cold that pierced through even the thick layers of her armor was enough to keep her last fraying thread of reason from breaking. Her legs were weights, heavy and lethargic as she waded through the snow towards the veranda, which was half buried beneath a sheet of sparkling white.

The moment she passed through the front door of the lodge, relief washed over her. Never in her life had she been so grateful to be inside. Brown wood — not blackened and smoldering and littered with piles of human ashes — lay beneath her feet. The crackling and popping of a fire came not from homes or hovels aflame, but a well-tended hearth on the far side of the room. Candle light rather than sunlight illuminated her surroundings.

She barely spared Osain, who sat at the table nearest the bar, a second glance as she stumbled up the stairs and into the hall. When she shouldered open the door to her room, she nearly sank to her knees in gratitude. She'd have a proper bed for the night, not grass or stone; a real ceiling overhead, not one rock or stars or leaves; and real clothes, not bloodied and dirty leathers. The realization filled her with enough energy to snatch her dress out of the wardrobe at the foot of her bed and hurry down the hall to the washroom.

She flung her armor into a careless pile near the door and seized the rag from the edge of the washbasin perched atop a wooden table. The water was cold as ice, but it was heaven against her skin, regardless. With every harsh swipe of the cloth, she tore the dirt and dried blood from her body — scrubbing and scrubbing and scrubbing until her hands ached and her skin was raw and angry. The water bled red when she dunked her hair and picked loose the mats, removing every speck of blood and grime.

The familiar touch of her dress, one sewn by her own hand, brought with it the sense of finality she needed. She blew out a breath, feeling a touch more rejuvenated, and dumped the murky water down the drain before refilling the basin from the pump above it. As simplistic as the task was, it felt right to do something normal for once.

The ordeal with Windhollow was over, and for the moment, that was enough for her.

Grabbing her discarded leathers, she stepped back into the hall just as Vina bolted out of her room, a fresh set of clothes in hand. She shoved past Lisette and Cedric as they reached the top of the stairs, knocking them both into the wall. Everna barely stepped out of the way as Vina stomped past, muttering something about "taking too damn long.” The moment the door slammed behind her, Everna released a sigh.

If she'd known Vina was next, she'd have left the dirty water in the basin.

"You're looking better," Lisette noted, rubbing her shoulder.

"I didn't think it'd be this exhausting," Everna said. "It wasn't so bad at first, but now I just want to crawl into bed and stay there for the next week."

Cedric gave her a sympathetic smile. "From what I understand, it wasn't exactly your average information run. And that was before Shroud showed up."

"And it's her fault," Vina snapped, her voice muffled by the door. "If she hadn't shown up, none of this would've happened!"

What little spirit she'd recovered fled in the wake of Vina's declaration. As much as it pained her to admit, she was right. If it weren't for her, Shroud wouldn't have had a reason to be in Windhollow; the informant wouldn't have had information regarding her importance to Shroud. She was the reason Dain and Adela's lives were in shambles — the reason so many innocent people were dead.

"Vina!" Lisette hissed.

"She shouldn't be here. You said it yourself! You said would lead Shroud straight to us and look at what happened!" The door rattled, as if she'd slammed her fist against it. "And don't even try to argue that she saved our lives. If it weren't for her, they wouldn't have needed saving in the first place! And she and Osain had the audacity to hide it from us! They knew what that informant had the whole time!"

Lisette pursed her lips. Beside her, Cedric shifted on his feet, pointedly looking at the floor. Neither of them could deny it; they knew she overheard their complaints. They knew Vina was right.

How long would it be before it happened again?

Ignoring Lisette's feeble attempt to argue the matter, Everna retreated into her room. She threw herself onto the bed, the old wooden frame creaking beneath her weight. The sheets were cool, the pillow soft against her skin. They smelled faintly of lavender. Perhaps someone had washed them since she left; she'd seen Leah fussing over the laundry a few times since she arrived.

Where the smell once brought her soothing calm, it did nothing to stem the ache in her gut — an ache that had not left since she severed a man's head from his shoulders. It didn't matter that it was Shroud. It didn't matter how cruel or vile or wicked they were, nor what they'd done.

She could still feel the blood on her face. The spot where his head collided with hers throbbed, though it hadn't been more than a tap. Her hands felt slick and sticky, though when she sat up to look, they were cleaner than they'd been in days, the skin still tinged pink from all the scrubbing.

Clammy, but not bloody.

With a shuddering breath, Everna burrowed her face into the pillow. She wanted to go home, back to her own room. The thought of facing her parents, however, filled her with dread.

They wouldn't understand. Her mother would demand to know why she'd kept everything from them; to know why she ran off for nearly two weeks without so much as a word. Her father would strangle her for breaking into the Guard post. They'd never let her out of their sight again, and it would be just another reminder of how many people she'd pulled into the mess.

Gods, they must be worried sick.

The first tears spilled over her eyes, soaking into the thin covering of the pillow, and she cursed. Everna hated crying — not because of how some viewed such a display of emotion, but because it accomplished nothing but leaving her with a nose congested and a head pounding. She was already miserable; she didn't need to add to it.

Still, the tears fell despite her attempts to force that damnable quivering of her lips to subside, and before long, the pillow beneath her was damp. Her nose ran, and the first signs of the coming headache blossomed behind her temples. Lifting her head, she wiped her face on the sleeve of her dress and drew in a shuddering breath.

Just above her sniffling, she heard the door handle turn, the hinges near silent as the door crept open.