“A fucking necromancer?” exclaimed Fern. “Around here?”
“Oh, she’s miles and miles north. They’ll probably already be into the snowy foothills by now. You don’t need to worry about her. The Ravens will catch her eventually.”
“So you’re only here until your leg mends?”
“That’s about the size of it. Well, until Rackam shows, really, which is probably weeks, at the rate they were moving. Might not be fully mended by then, but I can join back up even if I can’t run a footrace.” Viv tried hard to make herself believe that.
“And so you like it? You’re anxious to get back to it?” ventured Fern.
“Why wouldn’t I be?” asked Viv.
“So far, it sounds like sleeping rough and getting stabbed a lot.”
Viv laughed, but then considered, and said, “Being one of the Ravens is living all the way to the edge of things. One second in the thick of battle is like a whole day anywhere else. Once you step back from that”—she shrugged—”everything else seems like a waste of time.”
Just as Fern started to reply, Potroast ambled in, making a show of glaring at Viv and ruffling his feathers at her. She withdrew a chunk of bun she’d saved and held it up, and he regarded it suspiciously. Then he pointedly averted his gaze and curled up under the rattkin’s feet. Viv sighed and tossed the morsel to Fern.
“He’ll warm up to you eventually,” she said with an apologetic shrug. She let it fall, and the gryphet extended his neck to snap it out of the air. Viv tried hard not to feel spurned but wasn’t very successful.
As Fern trailed her toes along the ridge of Potroast’s spine, he burbled happily and snuggled closer. The rattkin stared out the window into the fog, and then the only sounds were the gryphet’s vocalizations and the soft hiss of the hurricane lamp.
Eventually, Viv said, “So, that next book. Any ideas?”
Fern returned from somewhere far away. She looked … calm. “Actually, I do.” She slipped down from the chair, careful not to step on Potroast’s sleeping form. She retrieved something from behind the counter and presented Viv with a hefty volume.
The title of the book was Sea of Passion. “Zelia Greatstrider” was printed in bold serifed letters below a fairly racy woodcut print of two frantically entwined sea-fey and a crashing wave that was very strategically positioned.
Viv mumbled a doubtful, “Huh.”
“You know, now that I think about it, I did ask you questions about yourself. Because that’s exactly what this is,” Fern said with a surprised laugh. “I can’t wait to hear your answer.”
11
Raleigh fumbled a quick cantrip, and light kindled. It branched across lichen clinging to the ceiling of the cave in which they rested.
Beneath the blue glow, they both looked even colder than she felt. Leena’s cheeks were flushed rose, but she shivered uncontrollably, the exposed flesh of her shoulders pale and delicate. She winced in the fresh light.
Raleigh’s magestone warmed at her hip after the casting, and she cradled it in her fingers, absorbing what little heat she could.
“Wish there was anything here for tinder,” she said. She tried to make room for the smaller woman to sit and drew a sodden cloak from her pack to spread across the rock for comfort. It was a wonder she’d held on to the pack during the frantic swim. A wonder they both hadn’t been battered to death on the rocks.
“We’ll make do,” murmured Leena. She managed a wan smile. Even bedraggled and clinging to her cheeks, her hair was radiant. Her smile too. She scooted onto the cloak, and after a bare moment, leaned into Raleigh.
For a while, Raleigh sat still, inhaling the scent of her hair and salt and wet cotton. She might not have been able to conjure a fire, but a warmth grew between them, and as the frantic energy of their flight abated, it was replaced with something else.
“Raleigh,” whispered Leena, and moved against her, just barely.
But in recent days, Raleigh had found new meaning in the simplest of gestures, a complex underpinning that terrified and thrilled her.
“Yes?” she said, and the sounds of Leena’s motions were loud in the sea cave as she turned slowly. A single hand rose, tentative.
Leena’s fingers found her collarbone, and slipped beneath the wet fabric to trace its length, intimate in a way that Raleigh could hardly bear to endure.
The fingers stopped, just so, and then … Raleigh’s mouth was on hers. At first, she closed her eyes, but when she opened them, she found Leena looking back with a gaze made of hunger and need.
Their hands moved down, and their bodies nearer, heedless of the rocks beneath the cloak, every sense attuned to what they could touch and taste. Farther down, and—
Viv abruptly looked up and found Fern watching from her perch at the counter.
Dawdling around the shop all day would’ve been easy if it weren’t for this specific reading selection. Not that Viv wasn’t enjoying the book, because she was. Unfortunately, certain passages, pages, and whole chapters made her flush all over. Moreover, she caught Fern eyeing her progress, and the rattkin seemed to know exactly when those moments might occur. It made her uncomfortable, like someone was watching her bathe.
“I think I’m going to read this in my room,” Viv declared, marking her page number and setting Sea of Passion on the side table.
“Hm. Need some private time?” Fern smirked, which Viv didn’t think she’d ever seen her do before.
“No. But you’re watching me like you expect me to steal something.”
The rattkin shrugged. “Just … gauging your interest.”
Viv hoisted herself to her feet with the help of her staff. “In the … the moist bits?”
Fern burst into laughter, startling Potroast out of his nap.
“What are you up to? This really doesn’t feel like I’m helping at all.” Viv hobbled toward her.
The rattkin was going through a massive printer’s catalog and making marks in her inventory book. “Well, just having you here is keeping me—”
At that moment, a tall sea-fey woman opened the door and stepped cautiously inside.
Viv preempted Fern. “Sea charts?” she asked with a broad smile.
The customer looked startled and furrowed her brow in confusion.
“What can I do for you?” asked Fern, shooing Viv to the side.
* * *
When the woman departed with three books in hand—a long journey ahead of her, apparently—Viv stood watching out the door, drumming the frame with her fingers.
“What?” asked Fern. “It looks like you’re about to suggest furniture again.”
“Just want to sort out how to help more. I feel … itchy. At least, when I’m not reading.” Viv interrupted Fern before she could say anything. “And yeah, I meant it. That chapter is a ‘my room’ chapter.”
“You know, there have been more customers in the last two days than in the previous week—not counting you,” said Fern.
“Really? Still seems pretty quiet.”
The rattkin wrinkled her nose. “Yes, well, welcome to the life of a bookseller in gods-damned Murk. Maybe they see you in the window and figure the place isn’t about to close? Or collapse?”
Viv ran a finger down the remnants of red on the front door. “Could be a little paint would give them the right idea.”
“It just wears so fast in the salt air. Seems like throwing money away to repaint it, when there’s so much else around here that needs the silver.”
“Like what?”
“Like new books.” Fern tapped the catalog. “Most of my inventory is old. Nothing wrong with classics, but …” She shrugged. “The stuff coming out of Azimuth these days is just fresher. Kind of daring. Also, there are a lot of series coming out, and if you buy one, then you need the next one. I could definitely do with more repeat customers.”
She closed the catalog with a snap. “Gods-damned expensive, though. And then there’s the space problem.”
Viv studied the packed shelves. “Too bad you couldn’t make more room …”