By the time the culling team had returned to Whitehill, the laughter had faded, replaced with a deep exhaustion. When Liv wasn’t clutching the reins tightly to keep herself from itching at her bandaged arms, she found she was nodding off half-asleep.

The guards who opened the west-gate gave them a cheer, but the men’s voices faltered when they realized that Matthew was missing half an arm. Liv thought he bore up under their murmurs well, but she also knew the rumors would be running through the town by nightfall. What would they say? A crippled son to a crippled father – Liv hoped it wouldn’t be seen by the superstitious as some kind of curse on the duchy.

They’d been seen coming far off, of course, and that meant there was a great crowd gathered in the courtyard of Castle Whitehill. Duchess Julianne and Baron Henry were there, of course, along with Master Grenfell and Mayor Porter, who was looking quite a bit older now than when he’d been sheriff during the last eruption. Emma’s father, Master Forester, waited with her husband, Dustin, and their baby. Liv’s mother and Gretta were there, as well as Archibald, Thora and Sophie. There were guards on the walls, stable boys waiting to care for the horses, and townsfolk who had taken shelter at the castle, rather than the temple.

Liv could see the visible wave of relief sweep through the crowd as the party rode through the gate: faces craned to get a glimpse of who had returned, looking for someone in particular or counting the number of horses. And then, after that first reaction, the widening of the eyes: at the bandages around Triss’ head, Liv and Emma’s arms, at the stranger they’d brought back with them and the wounded miner on a litter, and at Matthew’s empty sleeve.

As soon as she’d slid down out of the saddle, Liv found herself caught up in her mother’s arms. “I’m alright, Mama,” she said, giving a squeeze in return.

“Are you now? All wrapped up like that?” Gretta broke in, and Liv embraced the old woman next.

“I will be, anyway,” Liv said. “After a few days. I’m glad to see you both, but I need to talk to the Duchess for a moment. Wren!” she called.

The huntress with the shock of purple-dyed hair dismounted from Triss’ mare, and followed Liv over to where Julianne and Henry were speaking with their son in low voices. Liv could recognize that the duchess was putting on a brave face, but her eyes were wet.

“Liv,” Henry said, once she was within arm’s reach, “thank you for bringing our son home. I gather there’s a good deal of story to be told, but Matthew says you went back for them after a collapse.”

“I think we all ended up a bit deeper than we should have,” Liv said. “I know everyone’s tired and hungry, and I could really use a bath. But there’s something else needs to be dealt with, first. This is Wren. She helped me find Matthew and Triss, but you might remember this isn’t the first time she’s come to Whitehill.”

Julianne and Henry frowned for a moment, and it was Master Grenfell who spoke up first. “The hunter who pulled Liv from the river!” he exclaimed. “I remember now, you helped carry her into the castle, as well. You look like you haven’t aged a day. And then –”

“She stole an icon from the Room of Curiosities,” Henry said, in the cold voice Liv recognized from whenever he’d done his duty in judging a crime.

“I did,” Wren said. “Or at least, I took something you considered to be yours. I could argue it was stolen from my people in the first place, and you had no right to it, but that’s not why I’m here.”

“Why have you come, then?” Julianne asked. “You understand the penalty for theft in Lucania can be so dear as to cost you your hand?”

“I suspect you’re going to want this to be a private talk,” Wren said. “I flew from Soltheris. It was attacked by the followers of Raktia, through the waystone. I say it was attacked, but – I should say, we attacked,” the huntress admitted. “But I just – I saw people dying, people who had nothing to do with mine, who were just trying to live their lives. And it wasn’t why I did this, it wasn’t what I wanted.”

Wren took a breath, and when she continued her words were more certain. “It isn’t right. It’s not what we were promised. And I can’t be a part of it. I can tell you things, things you’re going to want to know.”

“You are correct about one thing,” Julianne said. “This is not a conversation for a courtyard.”

“Guards,” Henry called. “Take this woman to the old dungeons.”

“Not to the sheriff?” the guard asked. Liv was just as surprised: no one had used Castle Whitehill’s old dungeons during her entire lifetime.

“There’s not much point to that,” she said, unable to resist speaking up. “Wren can turn into a bat. That means she can slip most any ropes or chains, fly out a window, or slip through iron bars meant to hold a person. For what it’s worth, she risked her life and even bled to help us during the eruption. I’m not excusing what she’s done in the past, but she could have run at any time, and she didn’t.”

“Matthew?” Julianne turned to her son.

“She led us out of the depths, true enough,” he said. “And once we were back to the encampment, she didn’t even once try to flee. Even knowing the greeting she’d likely get here.”

“Honestly, she helped me carry Matt when I couldn’t have done it myself,” Triss said. “Again, take it for what you will.”

Henry and Julianne shared a grim look.

“Master Grenfell,” Henry said. “Can you think of any means within your possession to hold this woman, and to prevent her escape?”

“One,” Liv’s old teacher said. “If Mistress Trafford were to give her a sleeping tonic, I could use a spell to trap her within dreams, so that she cannot wake until I permit it. But it’ll do no good for her to be locked in a dungeon: I can do that just as well if we lay her on a bed.”

Wren’s face wrinkled in obvious distaste for the idea. “I’ll give you my word not to flee the castle. Would that be enough?”

“Helping our son is buying you the courtesy of our time,” Julianne said, shaking her head. “But not our trust. That is quite another matter. We will speak tomorrow. Until then, you will permit Mistress Trafford and Master Grenfell to put you to sleep. You have my assurance that nothing will happen to you before you wake. Archibald,” she called out. “Find a room for Mistress Wren.”

The old footman frowned, but he walked close enough to be heard. “With the party from Valegard expected, rooms are in short supply,” he protested.

“Put Triss in my room, then,” Liv offered. “Until the wedding.” She suspected her friend wouldn’t be spending a great deal of time there, in any case.

“As you wish, m’lady,” Archibald agreed, inclining his head to Liv. “Mistress Wren, this way please.”

“I’ll fetch Amelia and see to it,” Master Grenfell said, and set off across the courtyard.

“Now that’s seen to,” Julianne said. “Thora, why don’t you take these young ladies down to the baths. Matthew, I’m afraid you’ll have to wait your turn.”

“Down to the baths? Not in your rooms?” Triss asked.

“Did Matthew really never tell you?” Liv asked, grabbing her by the arm. “Castle Whitehill is built above a hot spring. Come along, you’re going to love this.”

Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

☙

Thora ended up pressing several of the laundry maids into service, and they lugged armfuls of dirty things out of the baths while Liv and Triss immersed themselves in the steaming water.

“It smells odd,” Triss said warily. She only lowered herself hesitantly, while Liv practically threw herself in and ducked her head. “It’s not going to make us smell like that, is it?”

“Who cares,” Liv said, running her wet hair back from her forehead with her fingers. She left a pile of bloody linen bandages up on the stones to be thrown away, and her arms were crossed with raw incisions where Mistress Trafford had carved away the skin which had been corrupted by her mana sickness. “You can always wear perfume after.” Faint puffs of blood swirled in water when she lowered her arms, and the wounds stung.

“No one minds us getting blood in the water?” There was a wicked looking crust of blood on Triss’ scalp, matting her hair.

“It’s perfectly fine, m’lady,” Thora said. “The springs flow out through a series of clay pipes and down to the river. It’ll sweep the blood right away.”

“Alright then,” Triss said, and finally lowered herself all the way into the steaming water. Liv grinned when she heard the other woman groan in relief.

“There it is,” Liv said, finding herself a seat on the stone bench that ringed the bath. “I wasn’t even allowed in this room for most of my childhood,” she admitted. “Mama used to wash me up in a wooden tub, heating the water in kettles over the fire. The first time I was allowed to come in here, I found out what I’d been missing.”

“Is this why you all love the north so much?” Triss dipped her head underwater, and another puff of blood broke away from her scalp. Liv waited until she’d come up again to answer.

“This is one thing,” she admitted. “But you won’t really understand until you’ve come up into the mountains. The sky here is bigger than anywhere else I’ve been, somehow. It’s like you can reach up and touch the clouds, if you wanted to. And when you look down over the valley – you’ll never want to be anywhere else, Triss.”

The swordswoman settled onto the bench next to Liv. “Your voice changes when you talk about it. Matt’s, too. I wonder if I’ll sound like that, one day.”

“A bit afraid to come here?” Liv asked. “I’m a bit afraid to go to Coral Bay.”

“You’ll be fine there,” Triss assured her. “They’re going to keep you so busy you’ll hardly have time to miss home. But after years of study, and then travelling the kingdom to cull rifts, I don’t know what I’m going to do with myself here. I can’t just have a few babies and then make that the rest of my life. That’s not who I am.”

“You joined the guild, didn’t you?” Liv asked, and Triss nodded.

“I wasn’t going to inherit anyway,” she said.

“Did they teach you that dream word? Cei, is it?”

“That’s the professors’ toy,” Triss told her. “They don’t teach that to students.” Thora, in the meanwhile, brought over bars of pale green soap for each of them, as well as Liv’s aspen-wood comb.

“Master Grenfell knows it,” Liv pointed out. “If he’s gotten good enough with it to trap someone in their dreams, I expect he’s good enough to teach you. I expect learning a new word will be good for something to do. And get Matthew to show you the Thorn-Killer’s journal, in his grandfather’s collection. Honestly, Triss, there’s enough learning to do here I can’t see how you’d be idle.”

“Well, that’s something, then,” Triss admitted, and began scrubbing herself. Liv picked up her own bar of soap, and decided to do her raw arms last. Triss must have seen something in her face, because when she spoke up it was in a gentle voice. “Worried about the scars?”

“Not about whether I’ll have any,” Liv said. “That ship has sailed, as they say. More about how bad they’ll be, and what people will think of them.”

“They’ll think you’re one tough woman,” Triss said, and laughed.

“I don’t know,” Liv mused. “Or will they just think I’m scarred up and ugly?”

“No one’s going to look at you and think you’re ugly,” Triss assured her. “And any man who doesn’t like your scars doesn’t deserve you, anyway.”

“You’re sweet,” Liv said, and forced herself to smile.

“It’s my job, now I’m going to be your big sister,” Triss said, and giggled.

“I’m actually older than you,” Liv complained, but secretly she enjoyed the thought. By the time Thora had their hair combed out, both women were scrubbed clean, and then there was a set each of clean clothes. They left the grime and blood of the culling in the baths, and went in search of something to eat.

☙

Duchess Julianne and Baron Henry had already begun crying the banns weeks before Matthew and Beatrice had arrived, which meant the only thing the wedding waited on was the arrival of Triss’ family. Two days after the culling party had returned from Bald Peak, a rider set to watch the south pass brought word that the Crosbie party had reached the Sign of the Terrapin. They would stay the night, and then push on past Fairford to Whitehill in the morning.

In the meanwhile, Liv’s father had ridden down from the waystone, bringing further word of what had happened across the north. “Every rift above the mountains, and most of those in them, as well,” Valtteri explained, between sips of mulled cider. Liv and he had joined Julianne, Henry, Matthew, Triss and both Mistress Trafford and Master Grenfell at the high table for supper the night he’d reached the town. “The Tomb threw out half a dozen of Antris’ automatons, and I’m told there was a whale the size of an island sinking fishing boats off the coast of Mountain Home.”

“That’s where Inkeris lives, isn’t it?” Liv asked, and her father nodded. “Are he and his family safe? What about Al'Fenthia? Is Airis well?”

“Word is still travelling,” Valtteri explained. “We won’t know everything for weeks, I’d expect. I know people have died - especially at Soltheris. There was an attack there, by the cult.”

“So we’ve heard,” Baron Henry remarked.

“How?” Liv’s father asked. “We’d only just received word, when I left.”

“We’re holding one of the people who assaulted the town here,” Julianne said. “And I thought that you would wish to be present when we questioned her. Your father, as well, Beatrice.”

“He’ll appreciate that,” Triss confirmed. She was helping Matthew to cut his meat, and everyone pretended not to notice.

“You thought correctly,” Valtteri confirmed. “How did this person get so far south, so quickly? Did they come from the waystone?”

Liv shook her head. “She flew. Her name is Wren, and she saved my life when I was just a child. She helped us at the rift, as well. She says that once she actually saw what was happening at Soltheris, she had second thoughts, and flew south.”

“Flew - so she’s one of Raktia’s spawn,” Liv’s father grumbled.

“I owe her enough that I’d at least like her to be heard,” Liv said. “I don’t think that’s too much to ask.”

“It isn’t,” Julianne agreed. “And I think we’re all very curious what she can tell us. Arnold Crosbie will be here by noon tomorrow, unless they have a problem with their horses. Master Grenfell, Mistress Trafford, I’d like you to see that our guest is woken up in the morning, fed, and made presentable.”

“She’s not to be alone,” Baron Henry added. “I want two guards on her at all times.”

“After the mid-day meal is cleared, and the Crosbies have had a chance to settle in, we’ll question her here in the great hall,” Julianne finished.

Grenfell and Trafford exchanged a glance. “It will be done, my lady,” the chirurgeon said.

After they’d eaten, Liv’s father asked to see her arms. Since, as she’d predicted, Triss spent most of her time with Matthew, Liv took him up to her sitting room. There, her father had her unwrap the bandages from her arms so that he could take a look.

“There’s no reason for you to have been poisoned this badly,” Valtteri said, after turning her arms over in his hands to get a better look. “You’re practiced at handling the energy of a rift; an eruption shouldn’t have been beyond your abilities. What happened?”

Liv prepared herself to be yelled at. “I needed more mana,” she said. “So I pulled it in from the eruption.”

Her father released her arms: all the wounds had scabbed over, by now. “You can wrap those up again. That was a very dangerous thing to do, Livara.”

“So I’ve learned,” she admitted. “Thora, bring me the ointment from Mistress Trafford. It’s supposed to make the scars a little less obvious,” Liv explained.

“There is a reason we don’t use mana from an eruption,” Valtteri said. “I never thought you’d be foolish enough to try, though perhaps I forget how young you still are. It’s violent, frenetic, a practical storm of magical energy. You aren’t ready to control it. You’re lucky it didn’t kill you.”

“Does that mean some people can control it?” Liv asked him. Thora set to work on her arms with the ointment, and it felt cool and sticky.

“Perhaps someone like your grandfather,” Valtteri said. “He’s been around long enough that nothing he does surprises me. Please, promise me that you won’t do that again.”

Liv considered her words. “I promise that I won’t do it again, unless I have no other choice,” she said. “But if it's a choice between letting someone I care about die, and doing that again, you know what I’ll do.”

Her father leaned back in his chair. “I suppose that’s as good as I’ll get from you. That college should keep you safe enough for a few years, at least.”

“So I’m told,” Liv said.

The next morning, she rose early and dressed, so that she could be present when Wren awoke.