Kirs trudged across the once muddy ground. Rain had swept over the land, a pall on the weather for days. Once it finally stopped, it was not the relief many hoped for. Instead, it was the first cold snap. No snow, but the air was cold enough to freeze water during most of the day. Midday was the barest of relief and even that didn’t thaw the ground.

Mud displaced from thousands of feet became tiny hills, twisting heavy booted feet. The wind snapped at any exposed skin, like a vicious street dog eagerly searching out prey among the refuse of the poorest quarters.

The northern chill’s bite had come suddenly and earlier than expected. Kirs had heard more than one farmer grumbling about crops, soil, and animals. As usual, she was happy to be a city girl.

Her family had changed little in their day-to-day to whether summer or winter, hot or cold. Listening to Es’ stories, she understood how far the distant communities could be pushed during the worst seasons. Especially ones farther North.

Finally, her footing steadied. Feet no longer slid or twisted on difficult terrain, instead the reassuring feel of solid cobble met her now. The last stretch of her journey, yet the most deceiving.

A merchant walked ahead of her, distinct with his colorful coat and trading sigil. He was not familiar with the troubles of the Elusrian winters, clear by his too-thin jacket and soft leather boots. A shiver ran over the man as he spoke with the tradesman. A stocky, more gray than not, covered in thick woolens, the tools of a carpenter on his belt.

From one moment to the next, the merchant fell. Soft shoes showed sole as his balance toppled. The carpenter stood just outside of the man’s reach, flailing fingers brushing him. The air pounded out of the merchant’s lungs, leaving him gasping and writhing.

Kirs exchanged a look with the tradesman and hurried on, taking on a stride earned through many slips, slids, and spills.

Crossings proved a second danger. Within the warrens of the poorer districts, winds could not penetrate as strongly, but the cobbled roads were made for wagons, carts, and carriages. The streets were wide, and they passed with ease. Too much ease.

The Northern glaciers had not just lend the air its chill, it had also given of its rough gales. Approaching an intersection, Kirs’ feet skidded backwards, sending her sprawling onto all fours. Her heavy bag dumped on the ground, which was the only thing that saved her from a full on spill.

Donkey screams tore the winter-chilled air. Up ahead, a wagon attempted to turn. Wheels slid on ice and it turned too slowly. The woman on the seat cried out as she spilled from her seat. Wood broke and apples spilled onto the ground. A splintered spoke piece slid by Kirs where she knelt on the ground.

Donkeys howled and danced on its yolk, thankfully it appeared unharmed. Already people were rushing to help them and Kirs couldn’t help a smile at the sight. The weather was unwelcoming; the people weren’t. A couple younger kids were gathering the apples and stuffing them into their crates, as people were helping the woman to her feet.

“You fine, girl?” the carpenter stopped next to her.

Kirs smiled at him and gave him a thumbs up. “All good, just slipped.” Grunting as she straightened, leather satchel and she both straining under the weight.

“If you’re certain,” he said, but was already hurrying over to the wagon, measuring stick in hand.

She noted a few of the boys gathering fruit, stuffing some into their pocket.

“What happened?” the driver asked, resting a hand on her hip. “One minute…” she trailed off and shook her head.

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

“It’s this damned road,” one of her helpers said, kicking at a loose cobble. “Not as maintained as it should be.” As he mentioned it, Kirs noticed a bit of wheel still sticking into a groove between a set of cobbles. The wagon had slid into the rut and overturned. “You alright to walk, miss?”

She took one step and hissed, laying a careful hand on her hip.

“Well, it’ll take me a few hours to get another wheel ready for ya,” the carpenter said. “So you’ll need to go somewhere and recover.”

“I’m not sure I can pay—“

“No worries, need the practice, otherwise my hands’ll go stiff in this weather.”

“Here’s your apples, miss,” the kids said, carrying a piled over crate between them. The wife offered each of them an apple for their help. One boy, his guilty conscience too strong, pulled out the apple he took. An avalanche followed and Kirs realized they’d all snuck at least one.

“Well, can’t have you going so hungry you’ll be stealing!” the woman tapped her chin as if in thought. “Keep the apples and take another each, but then you got to help someone else today as well, alright?”

Gap-toothed grins showed all around as Kirs approached. “I’m going to the Royal School,” she whispered. A local still hovering near shot her a slight wide-eyed look. Tethered were a step closer to the Goddess than regular people to most of the commoners. This impression had only gotten stronger as the academy and school stopped allowing students into the city as often. “I can get them to look at your hip. Get you all fixed up.”

“I couldn’t—“

“You could, easily, in fact. They tend to get a little lazy this time of year.” Kirs winked to take some of the impact off her words. Still, she earned a few wide-eyes from the one listening in.

“Are you one of them?”

“Not exactly.”

It took almost another five minutes of arguing before Kirs got the woman to agree. How the carpenter had gotten her to relent on the wheel in less than one, she couldn’t comprehend. Something about being old and respected, probably.

One of the others, a slight girl probably close to her own ceremonial test, assisted Kirs in supporting the woman. She stared almost as wide-eyed as the driver when they entered.

Royal School was ringed by an immense wall, separating it from the normal folk of the city. Spires, towers, and peaked roofs highlighted the sheer weight tethered held in Elusria. The school was a rival for the Queen’s palace in size and grandeur. Lacking the academy’s utilitarian layout, Kirs was certain it was a nightmare to defend.

The school didn’t make as much out of practicing their powers as the academy, though that had been changing in recent years. It was a slow transition. Kirs dropped the two off at the healers. They were as shocked as their patients.

“You’re back?” the librarian asked, pale hair floating like a cloud around his head. “I thought you’d ‘exhausted’ our knowledge?”

Kirs grinned. “Exhausted the subject.”

The librarian grinned. “From the way your bag is straining, you seem about to reinvigorate it.”

Kirs padded the satchel. If feeling matched injury, her shoulder should’ve spilled enough blood to soak every pant leg and skirt hem in the school. Thankfully, she was just being a little dramatic.

“Your boyfriend’s not here this time?”

“Husband,” Kirs said archly. “And no. He has other business to attend to.”

“Good for him. Can’t run around in your shadow all his life.”

“I don’t know. You seem to do fine.”

The librarian cackled like a forest witch from the tales, fading into a cough. “And I guess all my years before you don’t count?”

“Did you do anything with them?”

“You’re sharp and quick!” the man clapped, sleeves falling down revealing a hint of red before he almost tumbled off his chair. “Go on with you, then. Your usual table’s free.”

The librarians between the school and academy often traded positions depending on current need. It was still strange to see the old man in the school’s library, surrounded by the lighter woods and brighter lights.

Though the change was strange, she much preferred this location. Es had disagreed, which shouldn’t have surprised her. If she’d let him decorate their house, they’d be living in a cave. He’d probably make a ‘bespoke and artisanal’ stone table that totally wasn’t a fat rock in the middle of their living room.

Dumping her bag on the table, she pulled out the books stored within. While the old churches had hundreds of books containing forgotten lore, they weren’t hospitable learning environments. Odds that she would find anything on Saleema in these weren’t great, but she’d already exhausted the other libraries.

Hopefully, she wouldn’t have to do as much sifting through information. Not all records of a powerful space-tethered woman were true, nor were all records about Saleema, just stories of a woman with space powers. One record spoke of a lost warp-tethered whose powers only worked at short range. Or they used a sword.

A painting was slowly filling in, but she wasn’t sure there were enough colors yet. She hadn’t exhausted every option either, however.