The next day dawned with the smell of water and wood smoke. A thin mist draped through town, some of it touching upward toward a violet sky. Catrin watched it sift and flow, pulling a veil through the streets. It was burning off slowly as the sun grew higher, but every inch of stone and blade of grass between her and the nearby river was slick with moisture. She could still feel its chill, lingering under her skin long after she’d dried off from her morning practice.

She gave herself a little shake.

Come now. Any more and I’ll sound like Doneil and his weather-hag wrist.

She huffed a laugh, then straightened as a familiar set of boots stepped onto the balcony behind her and Nales joined her at the rail.

“Ready?” she asked.

He nodded.

They went downstairs, snagged Matteo from the common room, and struck out for the magic shop.

Levine consisted of one main road, which followed the river bank. Most residences and businesses sat on the right side, backing into small clusters of buildings and side roads. Lengths of farmland rose beyond, carved into rows of crops and fenced fields for livestock. Other crops, looking more like kitchen gardens, were tilled into the riverbank side, with water barrels placed close to the road.

The squeak of a hand pump rang out in the quiet morning, followed swiftly by the splatter of water into one of the barrels. The woman working it glanced up at them as they walked by, quickly sizing them up, then dismissing them. Matteo gave her a friendly wave.

Around, the mist moved in a slow curtain. The smell of wood smoke tinged the wet air, along with the river. She caught the scent of bacon from one of the houses and her stomach gave an involuntary pang.

She tamped the urge down.

After a few minutes, the road sloped upward, diverting a path away from the river. Following Lionel’s directions, she kept left, and was soon rewarded with the appearance of a narrow two-story shop down a narrow lane between two equipment sheds.

The second she stepped over the threshold, her woodcraft lit up.

Magic pulsed, mingling and resonating against her own—sniffing, investigative, like a guard animal checking her out—then slipped away, seeping back into the woodwork and leaving her in a dry-smelling room hung with dried and drying herbs, displays of reed baskets woven to hold varying items, and glass cases carrying more fragile items.

The whole thing had taken less than the span of a heartbeat and left Kodanh’s runes prickling.

A little belatedly, a small bell above the door rang.

She skewered it with a look, then stepped aside to let Nales pass.

By the way he stiffened, the guard magic had sniffed him, too.

She wondered what it smelled. Did it know he had demon blood?

Movement from the back of the shop. A broad-shouldered man in an apron walked out of a back hallway, his expression a fine crease between bewilderment and curiosity. “Oh—hello, there!”

She stared at him, assessing. Not fully human, that was clear—too lanky, as if he’d been stretched—but fairly close. Her senses reached out, hitting the guard magic from earlier. His? Or something latent?

Matteo stepped in, bumping the door as he did. The bell sent out another rickety chime.

For several moments, silence hung. Then, she realized she was still staring at the shop’s proprietor. And that none of her party had replied to the man. At all.

Irritation flicked through her, and she chided herself.

Suns. We left the social one back at the inn.

Most likely, Nales had intended to let her speak first. This was her lead, after all.

She wasn’t used to that. Her guard training defaulted her to background ornamentation, a weapon always at the ready. A guardian like the shop’s magic, to assess danger and step in if necessary.

Nales hadn’t been using her like that.

She had to remember that.

She gave herself a small shake and tried to smile. By the sudden alarm on the proprietor’s face, she wasn’t entirely successful.

“Are you Karel?” she asked.

“Yes?” the man said cautiously. His eyes flicked from her to Nales. They lingered on Matteo before returning to her. “Can I help you with something?”

She made an effort to keep her hands well away from her blades, decided that crossing her arms over her chest came off as too aggressive, and ended up clasping her fingers together instead. “Sorry, I realize it’s early. Someone told me you might have heard of strange tales coming from the marsh?”

Karel stepped closer to the light at the front of the shop, his eyebrows rising as he took them in again. “You’re here for ghost stories?”

He was taller than she expected, and his eye color picked up the window light like the fog outside. Under the apron, he wore a crisp white shirt and wool pants dyed a faded ochre shade, but it was his skin that caught her attention. Shades of blue-green crossed the more-human tan like reeds bent under the flow of a river current. Subtle markings on his fingers—and near his collar, now that she looked—turned the skin to a darker tint, like a piece of wood held over smoke for a time.

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Suddenly, the guard magic made a lot more sense. The man was part fey.

She smiled again, the familiarity bubbling up through her. This time, she must have got it right because he didn’t flinch.

“We’re here for any stories,” she said, relaxing the tension she hadn’t realized she’d coiled inside her. “And we may have some stories for you, if the pattern of your skin and the guardian of your shop holds true.”

***

Ten minutes later, she began to wonder if Karel had inherited some of his river sprite forebear’s charm along with their painted skin. She’d rarely felt this at ease with someone she’d just met.

He’d brought the three of them to the back portion of the shop and sat them at a medium-sized table near a small kitchenette. Light cast brightly through a row of wide-set windows, filling the room. In contrast to the quiet, dry shadows in the main shop area, where the displays had a sophisticated air and a large apothecary cabinet filled the wall behind the counter, the backroom felt more rustic and practical—a place Karel could hang his coat, pull his hair back, and work his art. A wide workbench sat on one side of the area, currently devoted to package-wrapping. A set of stairs opened through a door in the kitchen, likely leading further into the space that housed his living quarters. Another door led to a workshop to the right.

By varied glasswork instruments on the counter, and the bouquets of foxglove and Klamath hanging on the wall, it looked as though he distilled and mixed much of the ingredients himself—and he kept it separate from the rest of his workspace.

Smart.

Neither foxglove or Klamath would kill on contact, but she’d heard of accidental poisonings when prepared on shared surfaces—especially kitchens.

Through the windows, she saw the same riverslope garden as she had along the rest of the road, though this one had an old willow leaning over half of it. A small boat bobbed next to an equally-small dock below.

By the way the light from the water seemed to flutter into the room, painting the ceiling with a subtle, ceaseless dance of light trails, she was guessing particular blend of magic leaned a little farther from human than his manner and appearance indicated.

They’d grabbed the shop guardian’s interest, too. She could feel it paying attention.

“Stories of the marsh,” Karel said, his voice and expression laced with wry amusement as he poured them tea—mint, it smelled like, with a mix of lavender, rose, and something she recognized but couldn’t quite name.

Not the Digitalis from the next room, however.

Which was good. She’d bloodied her blades enough yesterday. She didn’t need to add to her count today.

“It’s funny,” he continued. “You’re not from here, I know that, but everyone here thinks I know everything there is to know about that place.” He finished pouring for Nales and took a moment to flex his free hand, showing off the markings she’d pointed out. “All because of this.”

She raised an eyebrow. “And do you?”

“Well, yes. Not everything, but more than most. And only because I spend a lot of time in there.”

“Then your happenstance knowledge only affirms their beliefs?”

His lips curved, and he moved to pour her own cup.

Matteo stared at his hands with happy fascination. He made a gesture, toward them, then indicated the back of his own, brushing his fingers over where Karel’s markings showed. “What is…? Like mine?”

Karel snorted lightly, studying the man in with a slow, lingering survey. “And this one is definitely not from here.”

“No, but he’s very friendly.”

“I can tell.” He surveyed Matteo a moment longer, taking his time. Then, he put forward a hand for the soldier to inspect. “You have like this?”

He’d taken his cue from her, speaking to Matteo with slow, precise words—and realization struck her.

He reminded her of Doneil. Similar mannerism, similar build, similar nonplussed attitude to finding himself serving morning tea to a rnari, a second-born royal with demon blood, and a soldier who was about as foreign as they could come.

Perhaps that’s why she was so relaxed, though she didn’t rule out ‘river magic charm.’

In answer, Matteo went from inspecting Karel’s fingers to rolling up his own shirtsleeve, revealing the intricate tattoowork on his skin.

It covered more than half his arm, from the flag-bearing eagle that wrapped his shoulder to the mixture of flowers and skulls that tapered down into his forearm, a mix of styles and designs that flowed smoother than the mercari spellforms tapped into her shoulders.

Karel studied it with intrigue, gently directing Matteo to turn his arm so he could see the rest.

After several beats, he let his fingers slip from Matteo and waggled his own markings in the air between them.

“Not the same,” he said firmly, then took the remaining seat at the corner of the small table.

Catrin caught Matteo’s attention with a waggle of her own fingers.

“Like Fey,” she told him.

Matteo’s experience with Fey was limited. Technically, he’d met two—the High Fey they’d met on the way to the demon fortress, and the ghost-form Kodanh had taken over her, answering her call for help inside that fortress.

She doubted anyone had explained Kodanh to him, though, and Karel’s forebear was about as close to being a High Fey as she was to being a Light Elf.

He seemed to understand, however.

Karel watched him for a few more moments. Then, he split his attention between her and Nales, light eyes glittering as he sat back and took a sip of his tea.

“So, then—what stories do you have?”

She, too, leaned back, cup untouched, and told him all about the gates and the effect Abiermar’s calamity was having on the four worlds’ connections and the lines of magic that flowed between them. The same thing she’d told Prya, but expanded for his own situation, and for the guardian spirit she could feel listening on her every word.

Then, she told him about the demon maps, their suspicions, and what they were looking for in the marsh. Nales slid a word in from time to time, gently correcting her or adding extra details.

When she finished, Karel was silent for a long minute. His tea sat on the windowsill beside him, forgotten and growing cold.

Even the riverlight seemed to have diluted its dance on the ceiling.

“That is,” he said finally. “Quite a story.”

A frown creased his brow. He hesitated a moment, head cocked as if considering, then stood and walked around the table, disappearing through the door in the kitchen. She listened to his soft footsteps head up the stairs. A few seconds later, they were back. He reappeared, carrying a small bundle, and they hastily cleared the tabletop as he placed it on top.

“I found these a week ago, inside a strange building,” he said, taking great care in unwrapping the contents. A second layer sat underneath, then each of the items were individually wrapped. “There are more like these. I think you are right: they are not from this world.”

The whole table sat straighter. She exchanged a glance with Nales, then focused on the first item Karel began to unwrap. It had decent weight, by the way his tendons worked as he held it. Mid-sized. But its shape made her stiffen.

It bore a striking resemblance to the shape of Matteo’s firearm.

Then, Karel was pulling the final wrap off. She stiffened further, seeing the metal and plastic grip, the thick end Matteo could eject the firearm’s energy pack from, the bulky body that tapered into a narrower point—

Her breath caught as more of the firearm was revealed much shorter than his, panic shoving her heartrate quicker.

Did that make a difference? Was it deadlier, somehow?

Hells, she couldn’t allow it to be this close to Nales.

She made to stand—to shove herself up, tackle Karel into his own wall, and wrest the piece from him—

Then Matteo roared with laughter.