Sylvara Thornwhisper's Arc

Chapter 8 of 8

They walked west through the morning. The hunter walked between them, eyes open, mouth slack. Fennel kept a hand on his elbow. Sylvara kept her eyes on the road. A cart passed them near midday. The driver was a thin man with a boy beside him. He slowed his mule and stared at the hunter. Sylvara stepped close to the sleeping man and put a hand on his back, as if steadying a sick friend. The driver nodded and clicked his tongue. The mule moved on. "He saw," Fennel said, when the cart was small behind them. "He saw." "He'll tell it at the next inn. A big man leading a walking corpse. A fairy on the road." Sylvara had already counted the tellings. One driver. One boy. One inn. From an inn, word traveled fast, and every road west of here ran toward the pale tower. If the man in that tower heard about a sleeping hunter, he would not send another hunter. He would send something Sylvara could not put to sleep. Lavinia trotted back from the verge with the rose bright behind her ear. "There's a keep off the road. Lavender stone. Roses on the walls. The one who lives there takes in strays." "A monster," Fennel said. "A gentle one." Sylvara looked at the hunter's blank face. Two more days of sleep. Two more days of every farmer with eyes. "We hide him. We don't drag him." Lavinia led them off the road through wet ferns. The castle rose behind a screen of trees, pale purple stone laced with climbing roses. The gate stood open. Inside, the walls were pink and quiet. A tall bookshelf leaned against the far wall, carved with flowers, packed with worn spines. A boy stood beside the shelf. Green skin. Black hair. Red eyes that were kinder than his face. He held a book open on his palm like a plate. He did not startle when they came in. "He's asleep," Sylvara said, before the boy could ask. "Not dead. I did it. I need to leave him somewhere no one will talk about him." The boy looked at the hunter. Then at her. "People talk about me." "I know." "I can keep him in the cellar. Two days." "Three, maybe." He closed the book. "Fine." Fennel carried the hunter down a narrow stair. Sylvara stayed at the shelf. The boy watched her hands, not her face. "Why help," she said. "Nobody asked me to stay anywhere. You asked." When Fennel came back up, his hands were empty. Lavinia was already at the gate. "The road's clean now," Fennel said. "The road's clean," Sylvara agreed. The hunter was buried without a grave. The driver's story would find no walking corpse to match. She stepped back into the ferns. The tower was still west. She had a day's walk, no prisoner, and no proof.