The common room’s hearth was lit, the air thick with porridge steam. A few fishermen sat near the far wall with bowls cupped in their hands, talking in low voices that never rose into laughter. The innkeeper moved between tables briskly, setting down bread and mugs.

  Lain stepped onto the last stair and felt her body tense. Mallow’s hand stayed in hers, and let her choose each step.

  At the long table near the hearth, Harka sat with his back to the wall, posture angled to watch the door and the stairs at once. His shoulders were squared. Something was strapped to his chest, and Lain realized it must be the egg.

  Poe sat beside Harka, elbows on the table, gaze drifting to Harka’s hands and up again. Elder Tanel sat with a mug between both hands, sharing words with Harka until Lain appeared; then he glanced at her, and the softness in his gaze warmed her.

  They all looked at her and then almost immediately looked away again, each of them perhaps pretending that staring would turn her into a spectacle. The pretense was kind, but she didn’t like it.

  “Morning,” Harka said, voice even.

  “Mornin’,” Mallow answered.

  Poe’s eyes traveled across her, quick and assessing, dropping to her hooves, her belly, her hands, taking inventory. He gave a small nod.

  Tanel stood halfway, then seemed to think better of it and sat again, leaving the choice of closeness to her. “Good morning,” he said softly.

  Lain managed, “Morning, Elder Tanel,” but she heard how thin it came out.

  The innkeeper appeared with two bowls and set them down at two empty spaces at the table for Lain and Mallow.

  Lain sat, then ate, forcing a few bites down. At first her body roiled with nausea, but shortly it got used to the idea of food in her belly. The porridge was thick with honey and oats, the warmth spreading through her in steady increments.

  Harka tore bread and passed a piece to Poe without looking at him. Poe broke it in half and ate it as if food were just another task.

  Mallow sat beside Lain, close enough that their knees touched under the table, and took a few bites of his breakfast.

  Poe cleared his throat. “We should move before midday,” he said.

  Harka nodded. “Aye. We’ll need to find a boat.”

  “A boat?” Mallow said. “What do you mean, a boat?”

  Harka and Poe made quick eye contact, then they both glanced wildly away, and a small rosy hue filled Harka’s cheek, and only then did Lain realize they must be lovers. Her throat burned with questions – how? Why would Tracker Poe choose such a thing, and why would Harka be drawn to a Dagorlind Veinwright in the first place?

  “The Brighthand are heading to Ivath,” Poe explained. “The battalion is going the same direction we are. If we take the main road back we’ll be caught up in the march. You won’t get past them on the road. We must go by sea.”

  “Ah,” Mallow said, blinking. “Well then. I hope none of us get seasick.”

  “It may be difficult to find someone who can take five passengers,” Elder Tanel pointed out. “This is a small fishing village. There are hardly any boats that size here. We’ll have to scan the harbor.”

  Five passengers. It seemed they’d all agreed that the route north had been decided before anyone opened their eyes. Lain’s spoon slowed. The breakfast steam began to smell sickly sweet, cloying.

  Mallow set his spoon down. “No.”

  The single syllable cut through the table’s momentum.

  Harka’s gaze snapped to Mallow. “No what?”

  “No,” Mallow repeated. “We don’t need five seats, because Lain isn’t coming.”

  Lain’s first reaction was relief so sharp it nearly made her dizzy. Her shoulders dropped. Her body wanted to sag with gratitude.

  Next came the shock.

  She turned toward Mallow, searching his face for the familiar line of stubbornness that meant he’d decided and that was that. Mallow met her eyes and held them.

  Harka leaned forward, palms flat on the table. “We need her.”

  Mallow shook his head. “We need her alive. The Underserpent said it would guide me to her. It didn’t demand she come with us.”

  Poe’s gaze stayed fixed on Mallow. “If she stays, she’s exposed,” he said. “The coast is not invisible.”

  Mallow gave Poe a hard look. “I’m aware.”

  Tanel set his mug down carefully. His gaze moved from Mallow to Lain.

  “Is this what you want?” he asked her.

  Tanel’s eyes held no pressure. He wasn’t asking for obedience; he wanted the truth.

  “Lain,” he said again, quieter. “Are you sure you want to stay here?”

  Lain’s hands trembled under the table. She pressed her fingers against her own palm to steady them. She could feel Mallow’s knee against hers, a silent embrace.

  “I…” she started, then stopped, because the words wanted to become an apology.

  She looked at Harka, then Poe, then back at Tanel, and realized every face at the table expected her to be brave in a way that brought her back to Ivath.

  “I don't want to go back to Ivath,” she said. “Not now.”

  Harka’s brow darkened. “You don't get to choose the timing of war.”

  Mallow’s voice dropped. “She does get to choose what happens to her body.”

  Harka’s eyes flashed. “I’m talking about the city. The Underveins.”

  Mallow’s gaze didn’t waver. “And I’m talking about her.”

  Poe’s attention slid to Lain again. “If you stay,” he said, “You need a plan. You need a place with fewer eyes than an inn.”

  Mallow nodded. “Aye.”

  “You’re frightened,” Tanel said.

  “Yes,” Lain said.

  Tanel nodded. “Of course you are. There’s sense in that.”

  The simplicity of being affirmed made her blink back tears. She forced herself to keep speaking.

  “I can’t go back into their streets,” she said. “I can’t be under their arches again. I can’t –” Her voice caught. She tried again, quieter. “I can’t pretend I want Ivath to heal.”

  Mallow’s hand slid over her knee under the table, warm through the cloth, a small anchor.

  Harka sniffed.

  His ears dropped back. He exhaled hard through his nose. “Oh. You’re with child.”

  “How – how could you –” But Lain couldn’t finish. She went still. Heat climbed into her face so fast it made her ears flick.

  The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

  Across the table, Poe’s gaze snapped to her. Tanel’s expression blanked for a heartbeat, as if his mind had stalled on the sentence and could not find the next step.

  Mallow’s hand tightened on Lain’s knee.

  Harka kept his eyes on her, not gentle but very practical. “There’s a scent. Like milk and iron.”

  Lain wanted to deny it but she couldn’t. There was no point.

  Tanel’s mouth parted. “Oh, Lain,” he said, the name coming out wrong, stripped of all his careful authority.

  Lain forced a small nod. “It’s true.”

  For a moment Tanel only stared at her, confusion warring with joy like two currents colliding. Then his face softened.

  “Oh,” he said again, quieter. “Oh, little one.”

  His eyes went bright. He blinked hard against it as if he could clear the emotion by force.

  Poe leaned back, gaze narrowing with dry calculation. “Well,” he said. “That’s convenient timing.”

  “Watch your mouth,” Mallow said.

  Poe lifted his brows. “I’m not judging her. It’s just that the world seems to have poor manners.”

  Mallow’s stare didn’t soften. “You’ll do well keeping your manners away from her.”

  Tanel ignored Mallow and Poe, happiness still living in his face, chased by fear. “You’re with child,” he said, as if he needed to hear it again in his own voice.

  Lain nodded.

  Tanel’s joy folded into concern. “When – Who’s –” He glanced at her belly as if he could see through cloth, then caught himself and looked away, embarrassed by the instinct. “Are you well?”

  “I’m eating,” Lain managed.

  “Right,” he said. “Good. That. That’s good.”

  “Ivath can’t know,” Harka said.

  “No,” said Mallow.

  Tanel looked between them, catching up to the implications. Confusion returned, colder this time, because the danger arrived with the joy. His eyes returned to Lain. The softness in his face fought with the knowledge of what Ivath did to Bellborn bodies, and it seemed he did not know where to set his hands or his faith.

  “Harka,” he said, then stopped, as if he’d been about to ask for confirmation of the smell like it was a diagnosis. He swallowed. “Lain,” he corrected, voice gentler. “This changes what staying means. Are you sure?”

  She lifted her chin and forced her voice to hold steady. “I’m sure I can’t go back,” she said. “Not like this.”

  Tanel’s eyes closed for a heartbeat. When he opened them, the joy was still there, fragile and bright, wrapped tightly in fear.

  “Alright,” he said softly. “Then we keep you safe here.”

  And the way he said we made Lain’s throat ache.

  “There are some things you should know,” she said. “Before going back.”

  And, with slow starts and stops, she told them of Morgan, and the creation of the Dóthain, and Morgan’s plans.

  “He will need a Glinnel,” she said. “He can’t hold the Dóthain without one. But he’s weak now. He’s… well, he’s just a man.” And her face flushed at the statement, thinking of the things that made him a man, his weakness and his dominance and his body.

  Mallow squeezed her hand under the table.

  “Perhaps we’re in luck,” Harka said. “If the Brighthand have taken the road to Ivath, perhaps they’ll find him.”

  “I don’t know where he is now,” she said. “I don’t know how fast he moves. I only know the direction of his will. When he wants a goal, he builds the road beneath his own feet.”

  Mallow’s mouth twitched at that, brief and grim, as if he recognized the pattern.

  Lain turned her palms up on the tabletop, a gesture she’d learned from her Sisterhood training, meant to show honesty. It felt like a lie in this room, yet she did it anyway.

  “I have dreams,” she said. “They started after he left. In the dreams, the Dóthain circles over the broken Spire. She cries out. The cry carries panic. She circles again and again as if she can’t find where to land. And the Underveins. I feel them under the ground. They pull north. They keep pulling, even when I tell myself I’ve chosen to stay.”

  Harka’s hands tightened around his mug. “It’s starting,” he muttered.

  “If Morgan succeeds,” Poe said, “the city becomes his blood-bowl.”

  Mallow’s head turned toward him. “Speak like a human.”

  Poe shot an icy gaze at Mallow. “No. I’ll speak like a Tracker. A predator follows food. If the Underveins are food, he will return to the source.”

  Lain’s stomach turned. She pressed her hand to the edge of the table to steady herself.

  Tanel noticed the movement and leaned forward, as if he meant to help. He stopped himself halfway, hands closing around his own mug again.

  “Lain. You have given us enough. You’ve done more than enough.”

  “Thank you,” she whispered.

  Poe pushed back from the table first, already moving toward action. “We’ll go to the harbor. See who’s willing to take four travelers around the peninsula.”

  Tanel’s chair scraped as he rose. “You’ll only be asking for three.”

  Poe paused, hand on the back of his chair.

  Tanel’s expression held that complicated tenderness again, and beneath it lived steel she hadn’t seen in him often enough.

  “I’m not leaving you here alone,” he said.

  Lain’s breath caught. “Tanel, they need you.”

  Tanel shook his head. “They don’t,” he replied. “Unless they want a sermon on the way.”

  Mallow frowned. “This isn’t about sermons.”

  “No,” Tanel agreed, his eyes staying on Lain. “This is about a woman with child who shouldn’t be alone, and one old man who’s worn out his use on this adventure.”

  Poe crossed his arms. “You’d abandon the city?”

  “I left the Order,” he said. “I will not leave her.”

  Silence spread across the table. The hearth cracked. Lain stared at Tanel, stunned by the offer.

  “You don’t have to,” she said.

  “I do,” he replied, with simple certainty. “I should have offered sooner.”

  He drew a breath, steadying himself, then spoke the words like a vow he intended to live by.

  “The others will go. I will stay with you.”

  The boat waited at the end of a narrow pier where the planks bowed under use. It wasn’t much – low in the water, patched along the rail, its sail was furled tight and tied down. The sailor stood by the mast with his cap pulled low, eyes skittering over Mallow’s sainted throat and away again, as if he’d decided he didn’t want to know which story he’d bought into.

  Mallow stood at the edge of the pier with the others, his cloak clasped at his throat, one hand on his walking stick, looking toward the horizon as if he could already see Ivath’s stone crown from here.

  Lain stayed a few paces back, listening to the chatter of the gulls and the indifferent sea.

  Mallow turned to face her. His face held the strain of leaving. He looked older than he had in the inn room, older than he had at the breakfast table, as if the sea air had reminded him what this mission would ask of him.

  Lain stepped closer.

  His hand lifted to her hair without thinking, fingers finding the strands near her temple, combing them back in the slow, familiar way he’d used in bed that morning. The gesture steadied her and broke her at the same time.

  “You’re set,” he said, the words trying to be practical.

  Lain’s mouth trembled. “I hate that you’re going.”

  “Aye,” he said. “I’d rather stay.”

  Lain glanced at the boat, at Poe’s stillness and Harka’s watchful stance, and the sailor who kept not looking at any of them too directly.

  Then she looked back, at Mallow’s eyes.

  “What if you don’t come back?”

  Mallow’s mouth twitched, faint humor trying to rise and failing. He leaned forward until his forehead touched hers. “I’ll come back.”

  “You can’t promise that.”

  “Aye,” he said softly. “The world’s got a talent for stealing.” His fingers resumed their slow combing through her hair. “But we’ve got a talent, too. We keep finding each other.”

  She gripped his cloak at the front, and fought down the tears. “You’d better come back,” she whispered.

  Mallow’s smile broke through at last. “Aye,” he agreed. “I’d better.”

  His gaze dropped to her belly for a beat, then his hand slid down from her hair to her cheek, thumb brushing along the edge of her cheekbone.

  “Keep eating,” he murmured. “Keep resting those legs. Let Tanel fuss at you. He’s good at fussing.”

  Lain let out a wet laugh. “He is.”

  Mallow’s eyes softened. “And if you get stubborn, be stubborn in the direction of living.”

  Lain’s laugh broke again into tears. Mallow leaned in and kissed her, and there was no hunger nor pain in it, but rather a promise, sealed into her skin, shared between them as delicately as a summer raspberry.

  When he drew back, his eyes were bright, but he didn’t let the tears fall.

  “Little Hooves,” he said. “I’m not leaving you. I’m only walking away for a while.”

  Lain nodded.

  Behind them, Harka called. “Mallow.”

  Poe had already stepped onto the boat. He turned and watched the pier.

  Mallow’s hand left Lain’s cheek. He squeezed her shoulder. “Stay with Tanel.”

  “As if I could get rid of him,” Lain managed.

  Mallow’s mouth twitched again. “Good.”

  He turned to go, then stopped to look back at her one more time, as if he needed to take the sight of her and store it for whatever waited out at sea.

  Lain stood rooted to the pier planks and watched him step down into the boat. Harka followed, one hand on the rail, eyes scanning the shoreline. The sailor untied the line with quick hands and pushed them off with his pole. The boat slid away from the pier with a soft scrape, turning into deeper water.

  Lain watched until the distance made their faces indistinct.

  A presence settled at her side. Tanel stood close, though he didn’t touch her. He shared the silence as the boat’s sail lifted, the wind catching it. The vessel leaned and moved, shrinking into the pale strip between sea and sky. Lain kept her eyes on it until it became a dark point, and then vanished.

  Her hands rose to her chest again, as if to hold her ribs together.

  Tanel’s voice came soft beside her. “He meant it.”

  Lain swallowed hard. “I know.”