Shadowguard

The sudden silence that gripped the tavern nearly had her cackling. Her father froze, his eyes wide with panic. Her mother wasted no time in muttering something about a forgotten pie and bolted up the stairs. Wil, who'd followed her down into the taproom, took a sudden interest in a rather large knot in the wall paneling.

"Well," Everna said, fighting back her laughter, "when a man and a woman love each other very much, the Red Lady blesses them with a child."

"Red Lady?" Adela asked, her head tilted.

"The goddess of love," Everna clarified.

"Why's she called the Red Lady?"

Everna snorted. "You'll find out when you're older."

Leaving her to ponder the conundrum, and with a pointed look at her father to remind him it was entirely his fault that Adela asked, she stepped out of the tavern and onto the narrow curb beside the street. In the hour before the festival, the streets were nearly barren beyond the occasional Guard patrol and the odd elderly couple out for a stroll. Those who weren't at the square finishing the last-minute preparations kept to the warmth of their homes as they readied themselves for the evening.

The Harvest Festival began at sundown and lasted until midnight, though most years the last of the stragglers didn't return home until a couple hours past. Perhaps she could stay for an hour or two, just long enough for Pala to notice, then head back home while her parents inevitably drank themselves into a stupor. She'd have the house mostly to herself until Adela returned. Wil was at least quiet enough not to bother her most of the time.

"You're making that face again," Wil noted after following her outside.

"What face?"

"The one that's all scrunched up like an orc.” The corners of his lips quirked slightly. "The one you make when you're thinking too hard."

She pursed her lips and exhaled through her nose. "To be honest, I have a bad feeling about tonight."

His smile dropped as he glanced over his shoulder. He took her hand in his. She tensed, half-expecting the world to dissolve into shadow. Instead, he pulled her further down the road and onto one of the side streets. Snow piles crawled up the sides of the buildings, the vague outlines of crates and storage barrels barely visible beneath. Without the usual bustle of the town, ice crunched underfoot, uncomfortably loud in the silence.

Halfway to the next street, and after a quick glance at their surroundings, Wil said, "The Guard found Windmore dead in his cell just before sunrise. Throat slit."

The news brought her neither dread nor satisfaction. His death was inevitable — if he hadn't died in his cell, he'd have hanged. She only lamented the loss of potential information. He knew more about Shroud's plans than any of them. If Leah had verified the validity of his statements, it would've substantially increased her chances of presenting a compelling case to the Courts.

"Shroud silenced him," she said after a moment.

"It was a matter of time," Wil agreed. "I warned Corden that keeping him here while he sorted out the Guard wasn't a good idea. Shroud's on their back foot. Their every attempt to gain control's fallen through on them. Now, they're cleaning up the mess."

"Yet, I feel as if we've accomplished nothing. Or should I say, I feel useless. I haven't really done anything except let everyone else do everything for me, it seems."

He squeezed her hand. She stamped down the fluttering in her chest and forced back the rush of giddiness threatening to overtake her. It didn't matter if she liked the feeling of his hand in hers — and it wasn't the hand of a prince, but one belonging to a fighter, all rough skin and callouses. This was not the time. There was no guarantee she'd survive Shroud's endeavors. She had far too much to worry about without the added burden of romance. She shouldn't encourage him.

But her hand, the traitorous bitch that it was, refused to move.

"You didn't truly think you could pull this off on your own, did you?" he asked, sounding a touch exasperated.

"At first I thought I might have had a chance," she admitted. "I mean, it looked like nothing but a political assassination at first. I've dealt with those before. Now it all seems so impossibly hopeless. It feels like nothing's been done at all, though I know it has."

They turned down another side street. Darkened shops lined either side of the narrow thoroughfare, goods displayed proudly behind thick glass windows. She slowed as they passed the bookkeeper, her gaze lingering on the titles set out for passersby. Many of them she owned — they were popular in the capital; the quills couldn't write them fast enough to replace the stock before the shelves cleared. Some she waited weeks to get her hands on.

"You read too much," he said, eying her through the darkened window. "Not everything ends with a big fight and sometimes it's the ones who do the least that do the most."

"That makes no—"

Upon spotting Lyra and Gyles further down the road, she let her words trail off. Anxiety clawed at her chest as Corden's warning leapt to the forefront of her mind. When Wil found the Shroud pin in the cellar — the same cellar Lyra took refuge in during the brawl — Everna found it difficult to dislodge her doubt. While it still seemed inconceivable, intuition implored her to consider the possibility more than she had previously.

Her intuition rarely steered her wrong.

Lyra hadn't noticed her; she was complaining to Gyles, who looked as if he'd rather be with anyone else. Everna had spoken to him a handful of times in the past, and each time, he was three sheets to the wind, complaining about Lyra for one reason or the other. The one time she'd spoken to him while he was sober, he was in a foul mood.

Lyra insisted he was the problem, but looking at them now, she wondered if it wasn't the other way around. Lyra had a penchant for nagging, which grated on most people's nerves after a while. Even Everna, with her boundless patience, sometimes found her pestering a touch unbearable.

"Is that the girl who allegedly found Mayor Ashburn?" Wil asked, his eyes narrowed with suspicion. "The one that went to fetch you from the cellar?"

"That would be Lyra, yes." Everna promptly turned down the nearest side street, dragging him along. "You haven't looked into her? I'd have thought you and the others would've looked into everyone."

"The others might have, but I haven't had the time," he reminded her. "And Osain said not to worry about her. Which makes me think we should, but I'm sure he has his reasons."

"Regardless, I'd rather not deal with her right now. I've had enough needling from nosy busybodies to last me the year. Besides, I need to get back before my parents realize I'm gone."

Wil snorted. "You're an adult. What's it to them?"

"In case you haven't noticed, my mother isn't exactly fond of you," she pointed out. "And the second my father realizes I'm out, alone, with a man, there will be an axe in your skull."

He was quiet for a moment. "At least they care."

Sometimes a bit too much, she'd say. She loved her parents to death, but they'd always been too overbearing. Corden could do as he pleased by the time he was sixteen; when she turned sixteen, her curfew went from dusk to two hours after dusk. They were proud as could be when the capital called upon Corden and granted him knighthood. When she first brought up leaving for the academy, it took months to convince them to even consider the mere possibility of the idea. While her mother was far less obvious about it, both of them smothered her in their own way.

Everna knew they meant well, but sometimes it was almost too much for her to handle. She'd have thought that with everything that happened recently, they'd have realized she was at least capable of taking care of herself.

"Though, it explains a few things," he said a few moments later.

"In what way?"

"Why you're so callow in some regards. They did you a disservice, if I'm honest."

"I want to commend you for the attempt at tact, but I also want to smack you for calling me immature."

"Inexperienced," he said, flatly. "Though, if I'm completely honest, keeping you alive is a bit like trying to manage a child. A very intelligent child with a very sharp knife."

Everna scoffed, indignant. "I didn't ask to have a surly gremlin as a babysitter."

"Get used to it, sweetheart. There'll be a lot more in life you didn't ask for, especially with Shroud on your ass."