Beth Alvarez - Author of Epic Fantasy
  • Persimmon Tree Tea’s Ruby Orange

    Persimmon Tree Tea’s Ruby Orange

    ruby-orange

    I was surprised and disappointed earlier this month to discover Persimmon Tree Tea’s website had no stock. All their pages indicate an indefinite hiatus, which ruffles my feathers since they’re the producers of my favorite Earl Grey and Green Pomegranate tea blends.

    When I made this discovery, I was unsure if I should continue posting reviews of their teas, since people who like the sound of them won’t be able to get them. But I decided I would, obviously, since I’m posting this. I still feel like the information is important, if only because documenting information about the teas here will help as a point of reference for similar alternatives later down the road. Good tea is very valuable, after all; to the Vikings, it was worth its weight in gold.

    I still have five teas of theirs to review out of my batch of samples, so here’s one of the five: Ruby Orange.

    Ruby Orange is a delightful rooibos blend, sweet and fruity on its own without a need for sugar. Pieces of orange peel give it a wonderfully tangy aroma, while the tea brews without the normal bitterness the peel often leaves behind. It has a mellow herbal taste, the addition of hibiscus petals adding a pleasant earthy floral note while enriching the natural red color of the rooibos. As rooibos always seems to for me, it has a very faint taste of cinnamon, but it’s just enough to keep the flavor warm without being overwhelming.

    Overall, I’d say I definitely liked this tea, and if it was currently available, I’d probably consider adding a few ounces to my tea shelf. With luck, I’ll be able to find a comparable tea in the future.

  • As cold as the desert

    As cold as the desert

    The desert got cold at night.

    It was the same piece of advice Laele had gotten from everyone. Take an extra blanket. Take a cloak. The desert gets cold at night. As if she’d learned nothing from the guild academy, or hadn’t taken time to look up information on the place she was headed.

    It wasn’t her first time traveling, but it was her first time traveling alone. Everyone in the guild had warned her about the scorching heat and bone-biting cold, the toxic plants and the animals that prowled the dunes. No one had seen fit to warn her about the real dangers until she was there.

    The desert was home to the worst sort of scoundrels, men who would beat you senseless and rob you blind, leaving you on the sand for the scavengers to kill. The desert was home to the Soulless, whose empty eyes showed nothing as their poisoned daggers bit flesh. But the desert got cold, they said.

    As if that was all that mattered.

    During the day, she never would have imagined the cold. The cracked earth drank every drop of sweat, the sun searing the wet marks out of the dust before she’d moved out of sight. She had only traveled alone until she reached the city. She needed a guide, and he needed money. It made sense that they work together. That she had the power to change his fate was something they hadn’t spoken of again, though the thought crossed her mind every time they settled for the night.

    There were no campfires, though Laele desperately longed for one. Even were they able to find more than a few pieces of scraggly brush, the bitter winds would have blown out any flame she could coax to life. It was the most brutal environment she’d ever been in, but the cold was the least of her worries.

    She couldn’t trust the Soulless, they said. Hiring one would be a mistake. He used his mischievous grins and twinkling eyes to lull her into a sense of security, but a member of the guild should know better. He had no heart, no feelings, no soul; his blue eyes gave that away. He was empty, a husk, a killer. Nothing more than a tool used for wicked deeds. Even if she made it to her destination and found the treasure she sought, there was no chance he’d let her escape with it alive.

    Laele had nodded, but she didn’t believe.

    A man with no soul couldn’t sit sighing over brooding thoughts.

    A man with no soul couldn’t laugh so hard at her pitiful attempts to retell jokes she’d overheard.

    At the same time, though, a man with a soul couldn’t sleep so soundly with so much blood on his hands. And sleep soundly he did, whenever it was her turn to stand watch. She’d seen things that made her sure his heart was as cold as the desert’s night, yet she couldn’t shake the feeling that the label wasn’t right.

    Night after night, she watched him clean his knives and check his vials of poison when she settled for sleep, always wondering if she was wrong to think he was different, if tonight would be the night one of those knives slid between her ribs.

    The thought filled her dreams. She woke, shivering, in the dark of the night. But before she could move, his warm, gentle hands pulled the blankets back to her chin.

    ******

    This week’s prompt was “She woke, shivering, in the dark of the night.” While my fellow writers haven’t tackled this one yet, you can read their prompt for this week–“Committing a crime”–on their pages here and here! As an added bonus this time, they’re writing the same scene, just from different character perspectives.

    Until next time!

  • Adding artwork

    I’m not sure why, but writing and art go sort of hand-in-hand. Many of the artists I’ve known have also been writers, and the writers I’ve known have also been artists. I’m a little bit of both, myself, though my husband’s art skills far surpass my own.

    I’ve been illustrating things for my books for as long as I’ve been writing them. In fact, I started drawing at the same time I started writing Serpent’s Tears, because I wanted to create images of the characters in the story. Needless to say, my early ventures weren’t very good, but I feel like over the course of the past decade, I’ve grown competent enough that I can at least give people a general idea of what’s in my mind’s eye.  I’m still learning, but what artist isn’t? There’s always room for improvement.

    At the same time, I feel like I’ve reached a point in my art hobby where I can comfortably start putting together a semi-professional looking gallery. While my art varies wildly in style, some realistic and some decidedly cartoony, I’m going to stick to the more professional here, using my best character portraits alongside developmental concept sketches, maps, and things along that line. Anything to help flesh out the worlds I’m creating. Right now, expanding my fantasy world is the main priority.

    In any event, the gallery is small at the moment, though there are a few pieces in it that I’ve kept in reserve for this release and haven’t posted anywhere else. The collection of art will grow over time as I complete character portraits for the series, and as I begin working on other stories, you’ll see art appearing for those as well. In the meantime, you can view the gallery and images by clicking on the “Art Gallery” section on the left, or by clicking here.

  • The first meeting

    The first meeting

    It was not the first time he’d noticed a girl. The older he got, the more they all seemed to stand out. There were dozens of pretty maids roaming his father’s halls, some of them near his age. There were pretty girls selling goods in the market, begging his attention with fluttered eyelashes, but only to try to loosen his purse strings. There were pretty girls in the temple by the dozen.

    And then there was her.

    He hadn’t thought her pretty at first glance, though there was something striking enough about her that he’d wanted to look again. Her hair was unruly, always tangled and frizzy, hanging around her shoulders like an ebony cloud. Her lavender training robes were ill-fitting for her developing figure, tight in all the wrong places and making her look more like an unevenly stuffed pillow than a person. But her eyes burned like sunlit honey in her round face, casting their warm glow over everything whenever she smiled.

    He’d stopped and stared the first time, earning himself a rap on the back of his head before being hurried along.

    Most days he didn’t have the freedom to roam the temple, some teacher or another escorting him from class to class, then up to the Archmage for testing before he was whisked back to his home in the capital. So when he looked after that, he tried to do it more discreetly.

    So he looked during classes, when he sat behind her and she couldn’t see. He glanced after her when they went separate directions, when she went to have a midday meal and he was led to the Archmage’s tower. And he tried not to stare when they took turns doing demonstrations at the end of each week.

    She wasn’t as strong as some of her classmates, and her power paled in comparison to his. But she was determined, always working, always studying, pushing to better herself despite her limitations. She was always surrounded by friends, often laughing, making his isolation even more painful.

    What might it have been like, if he’d been one of them? If he could walk with her to class every day?

    The thought had slowed him on the path when it rolled through his head for the dozenth time. He’d turned his head ever so slightly, hoping to watch her make her way toward the dinner hall, instead grimacing when Edagan’s knuckles cracked against the back of his head.

    “No time for that, boy,” she told him. “You know what girls would think of you, besides.”

    He had been incensed, but he couldn’t argue; he knew better than anyone else.

    Girls wanted something from him he couldn’t offer, a life that wasn’t his to give. The girls at home swooned when it was inconvenient and batted their eyes when they thought it was. But they didn’t know his circumstances. They only saw his father’s station.

    From then on he put his head down and walked without a word. He knew the odds of someone understanding. He was different. Special, but not in a good way. So he tried to shut out the thoughts of her, of her inviting amber eyes and the sweet dimples in her round cheeks whenever she smiled. And he tried very hard not to watch her when they parted ways after the last morning class, lest he earn himself any more knocks on the head.

    He tried so hard, in fact, that he didn’t even see her the day she headed toward the library instead of the dinner hall, and when she emerged from the first floor of the Archmage’s tower ahead of him, he didn’t raise his eyes from the ground until he walked directly into her.

    Edagan, escorting him again, had caught the girl before she could fall over and gave him a wicked glare. She snapped something, but he didn’t understand. Instead he gawped, his ears burning, an uncomfortable fluttering in his chest.

    “I’m all right, Master,” the girl said, brushing herself off, still holding tight to her book. Then she looked at him, and for the first time, he found himself bathed in the warmth of those fiery amber eyes that had held him captivated for weeks. “You’re in one of my classes, aren’t you?”

    “Yes,” he’d said, his throat closing on the thousand other words that wanted to follow, keeping any of them from escaping.

    She smiled. “Well it’s nice to finally meet you. I’m Firal.” The dinner bell rang and she jumped ahead on the path, pausing after a stride to turn back and look at him again. “You should speak to me some time when you aren’t running errands for Masters. Perhaps we could study together.”

    And then she’d been gone, her words of invitation hanging heavy in the air, changing everything in a moment.

    He’d thought it made a difference. For years, he held that hope.

    And fifty years later, the memory of that first touch still danced in his mind late at night, when he sat beneath the stars, alone despite the thousand other soldiers around him.

    Hope, it seemed, was only worth so much.

    **********

    This week’s prompt was “The memory of the first time they met the first person they loved.”
    My friends haven’t tackled this one yet, but you can see their entries for this week here and here.

  • Gentle Prompting

    By now I’m sure anyone reading this has noticed the Friday updates. I hope you’re enjoying them, too.

    I’ve never used writing prompts before. I never felt like I needed them or had time for them, since I was always so focused on other things. Then at the beginning of August, I hit a terrible slump in my writing. Slumps happen from time to time, but they’re still frustrating, especially when they hit right at the beginning of a project, and one you’ve been wanting to write for a dozen years, at that.

    I started the month with a plan to write 20,000 words for my next big project. It seemed like a reasonable amount, less than 1,000 words a day. And yet by the middle of the month, I had only 5,000 words, half of them needing to be scrapped and reworked. It was just that bad.

    So I picked up something different. Some friends were doing writing prompts for fun, something different from the norm that let them get the juices flowing with characters who might not get a lot of exercise otherwise. After all, even after you’re done writing a series, you still think of the characters you grew to love while working on it. And when you have a big workload with a lot of books to finish, like me, it might be a long time before you cycle back to some of your favorite fictional friends.

    I feel like it’s helped a lot to use prompts selected randomly from a list, and then complete them without editing anything written. It hasn’t gotten me all the way back on track–I certainly didn’t reach 20,000 words with my current project–but it does still have me writing, and every prompt I complete helps me feel like I’m getting back into the swing of things after a little bit of burnout.

    So for the next few weeks, at least, you’ll be seeing pieces of flash fiction from writing prompts posted here every Friday. They can be accessed in the future by viewing the Short Stories archive linked to on the left. And if you’re looking for more pieces of free writing, you can check out the work my friends are posting here and here!

  • Colors

    Colors

    “Focus!”

    Filadiel grimaced as his teacher’s shout caused him to lose just that. His awareness of the power around him faded, light seeping back into his eyes. He knew it was there, even without the colored reflection dancing on the surface of the water.

    His teacher sighed, raising her arms in a gesture of helpless defeat. “What am I going to do with you?”

    He swallowed against the thickness in his throat, scrubbing his sweating palms against his tunic. “I am trying, Indral.” He did his best to sound convincing, though he doubted it would make a difference. Indral was older than his parents and had served as leader of his people twice. She was the greatest teacher he could have asked for, but she was tough as burled wood and just as knotty in her disposition. Filadiel was grateful for her assistance, but it would have been nice if she’d ease up, even once.

    “Trying is not good enough. Trying is what has us stuck on this lesson, and why we’ve been here for three weeks.” Indral’s mouth twisted, a sour look, if not quite disapproving. “How do you expect to deal with humans if you can’t even control your eyes?”

    Curling his hands into fists, Filadiel looked down at the rippling surface of the lake. It was his favorite place to study and most of his lessons were held here, but he’d grown to resent the reflections. It was too dark out to see his face clearly, the soft pink outline of clouds in the west the last remnant of daylight. But his eyes shone on the water as clearly as the crescent moon, their hue flickering between their normal ruddy amber and the muddled greens of frustration.

    “I know you’re tired.” Her voice softened and Indral strode closer, laying a hand on his shoulder. “You’re still young by our standards, but by the reckoning of men, you would have lived for generations by now. They don’t understand the differing flow of time, the way the world keeps us young for so long. We can understand why you haven’t mastered this yet, but they won’t.”

    Sucking in a deep breath, Filadiel tried again.

    One by one, he attuned his senses, feeling for the subtle motion of the energies flowing around him. Every thread of power was different; earth and water, air and life, even traces of fire lingering in the light surrounding the clouds. He was blessed to feel them all, he knew; his people numbered few, and fewer each year. But feeling them and shutting them out was something else entirely. They were elves, true elves, and the power of all things was a gift to them alone. A power he had to master, he reminded himself.

    Water went first, the shield of his own energy splitting him away from that ugly thing that mocked him by spitting back the light of his eyes. Then fire, since it was weakest now, then air. As with before, he struggled to divide himself from the earth beneath his feet, but it was always the essence of life that did him in.

    How could he cut himself off from life? How could he shut out its strength when it welled from within him, too?

    The light in his eyes flickered, faded, and then his shields fell.

    The light returned.

    Defeated, he hung his head and tried not to cry.

    “Oh, Filadiel.” Indral stroked his mousy brown hair before gathering him into her arms.

    It wasn’t fair to expect so much of him. He’d lived centuries, but Indral had been one of the first. They said she had grown from the earth itself, a seed of life planted by the creator. How could she understand his troubles? He was a child, a boy of middling years by the reckoning of his people, round-cheeked and small. He didn’t have good hold of his power, but he looked like any human child might, save his tall and slender ears that stood with their points towering above his head. How could anyone expect anything else?

    “It’s not that they won’t forgive your power,” Indral said, almost as if hearing his thoughts. “It’s the colors they won’t understand.”

    Blinking hard, he rubbed his nose with the back of his hand. “What do you mean?”

    She sank to the grassy bank beside him, resting her arms atop her knees. “Colors are very important. Not just to us, but everyone. But colors mean different things to different people, you see?”

    Filadiel shook his head.

    “Then I shall try to explain.” She cleared her throat, gesturing to the grass beneath them. “Among our people, green means frustration, anger, hurt. But among theirs, it can mean prosperity, life, and vibrance. Just as to us, the blue of a summer sky means life. To some humans, you see, blue represents sadness.”

    “To some?” he repeated, confused.

    “There are many kinds of people in this world, Filadiel. All of them with different beliefs and ways of life. To some red means anger. To others, honor. To us, red is an intensely private color, isn’t it?”

    Coughing, he flushed and looked away.

    Indral laughed. “Yes, precisely. Colors mean a great deal. And that’s why you must learn to control the flow of power within you. It’s a gift to feel power as we do, but we must learn to keep it from exposing our feelings so clearly. Your heart influences the colors you shine, but if a human’s eyes could shine that way, their colors would mean very different things.”

    “So we do it to keep from being misunderstood,” he said slowly.

    “Yes, precisely.” She chuckled, and for a moment, her dark eyes sparkled with a hint of shimmering pink light. A pale shade; a color of mirth. He knew her strength too well to think she’d let it slip.

    Wiping his hands on his tunic again, this time to dry them of tears, he breathed deep and shifted his stance wider. “All right. I’ll keep going.”

    Nodding, Indral smiled at him, the way a fond grandmother ought.

    His resolve bolstered, he tried again.

    **********

    This week’s prompt was “colors.”

    If you’d like to read more work following this prompt, you can check out my friend Megan’s take on it as well!

    If you’re a writer and you’d like to try the prompt for yourself, please drop a link to your results in the comments here, or leave me a message on Facebook.

  • Dance like no one’s watching

    Dance like no one’s watching

    I was twelve when Dance Dance Revolution first reached the US, though the game didn’t gain steam in our area until I was closer to sixteen.

    Like many things in my household, it was something disregarded as “ridiculous” early on. A video game where you have to move? Giant metal pads with arrows that light up when you step on them? What kind of gimmick was this? My siblings laughed at the idea, but not for the first time, I found myself peering through the windows of the arcade and wanting to try it anyway.

    The laughter kept me from it for a long time. The same way it kept me from playing Kingdom Hearts for a long time. I eventually did buy Kingdom Hearts and sneak it into my room to play. My sister inevitably caught me, but instead of laughing at me, it transformed her opinion of the series. With that in mind, I should have taken the leap a lot sooner.

    Arcade tokenArcades are rare these days, but they were common in my childhood. I grew up in the age of laying a quarter on a machine in use to claim the next challenge. By the time I was a teen, arcades were growing scarce. Only two could be found within an hour radius of our home, so we didn’t get to them often, but they were in malls, so it wasn’t uncommon for us kids to hit them up while our parents shopped.

    I was terrified of being laughed at, but on one occasion when we were in the arcade, we all had the chance of watching a guy with really cool pants rock a round of DDR.

    That was the tipping point.

    If that guy, with the really cool pants, could keep looking awesome while playing a game lots of people around me laughed at, why couldn’t I?

    I went to speak to my elder brother. He had the game, though he feigned ignorance whenever the subject came up. At 18, he was an “adult” and could get away with hiding things like that. I’d never laughed at him for playing the game, but I’d done a good job of hiding my interest, so he seemed a bit surprised when I asked to borrow it. Still, he was a good sport; he loaned me his game and his dance pad and told me to have fun.

    I locked myself in the basement with a small television and my PlayStation 2 for every afternoon that week. I was determined to play, but I was also determined not to have anyone laugh at me, so I decided I would practice until I could clear a song somewhat gracefully before I let anyone watch me play.  I picked one song that had a beat I was comfortable with and repeated that track over and over until I could clear it easily.

    Then I showed my siblings.

    Instead of laughing, they ended up being impressed. Not only that, but it started a new household hobby. After I broke the ice, everyone was eager to jump on the dance pad–even my parents. They bought a game and a couple dance pads so we could keep playing after we gave my brother’s game back; the dance pads had to be replaced every few months because they were used so often we’d wear them out.

    I’ve never been good at the game, despite my love of it. I only have a handful of songs I can clear on heavy mode and I’ve never been able to figure out that weird gallop step my younger brothers mastered. But I did pull together the courage to play the game whenever and wherever I wanted, regardless of who was watching.

    A few years after I first stepped on the pad, I visited the arcade and stomped out a decent AA rating on Twin Bee in heavy while wearing enormously clunky goth boots with a six inch heel. It impressed my friends, but more importantly, it impressed a little girl who watched from the back of the arcade. When I jumped off the machine and laughed my way out of the arcade with my friends, I saw her approach the machine and heard her ask her dad for some tokens.

    “I want to try this one now,” she told him. He was hesitant, saying she might not be good at it because she’d never played before.

    “That’s okay,” she said. “I just want to try.”

  • She studied her face in the mirror

    She studied her face in the mirror

    It proved difficult to study the color of her own eyes. Each time she tried to focus on a new point in either iris, her eyes flickered and lost focus, breaking her concentration. And she could only study one eye at a time, a quirk of vision that had never bothered her before.

    No matter how long she stared, she saw nothing remarkable. Her eyes were still brown, so dark they were almost black. They hadn’t changed.

    But they would.

    The mirror fogged when she exhaled, the breath she’d held until it burned in her chest carrying the weight of her worries with its release. Sera straightened, adjusting the multitude of tiny dark braids around her earth-brown face. She wasn’t worried about her hair, it would turn white eventually regardless of the life she chose. But her eyes were her mother’s eyes, her father’s eyes, a family legacy she’d carried with her in the travels that took her far from home. They were as much a part of who she was as her long, slender fingers and her wide, mischievous smile. As much as the power she carried, which threatened to take their color away.

    Most magelings looked forward to the day their eyes changed color. As a yellow-rank mage she knew she was likely some time from having to worry about it; most mages didn’t see their eyes change color until they were blue-rank, or even named Master. But eyes always changed before their hair turned white. Their teachers said it was a mark of their power, but Sera had heard other stories. A Master once told her the sudden change in the color of their hair was a mark of trauma, attained when they reached the pinnacle of their strength and attempted to reach beyond it. She didn’t know what that meant, not really, since the Master had refused to speak of it any further, but the pinched expression that had crossed the woman’s face said more than words ever could.

    Sera didn’t regret the choice to pursue training of her Gift. She didn’t think she’d be a powerful mage, but she had finesse and clever ways of solving problems without expending much of her own energy. Her teachers were fond of her, and she of them; their kindness made the loneliness of being so far from her family worth it. With the unrest in the southern trade kingdoms, she didn’t know how much longer they’d be apart. The last letter her mother sent her told of their worries and asked many questions. Though her mother hadn’t said it outright, she knew her family still considered leaving their homeland. She had tried not to sound too eager in her reply, but the coastal country that was home to the Grand College of Magic was as good a place to live as any, and she did want to see her baby brother before he grew too much more.

    But even if they did come, it would take months to cross the sea between continents. Gating had been forbidden after the feuds began, keeping Sera separated from her loved ones for longer than she liked.

    How old would Garam be when they finally saw each other again?

    And would her eyes still be brown, or would they have changed to the strange, crystalline, almost luminescent blue of an accomplished mage?

    Frowning, she pulled herself away from the mirror, adjusting the collar of her training robes and peering through the window at the tall courtyard clock. It was almost time for her next lesson, she couldn’t dally any longer. Her eyes were still brown today; that was all that mattered. Even if her eyes were blue when she reunited with her family, she’d still be herself.

    Wouldn’t she?

  • Gale’s Gift e-Book now available

    Gale’s Gift e-Book now available

    Gale's Gift by Beth AlvarezNow that it’s been blogged and some people have read it and messaged me about the story, it’s interesting to look back at the project that was Gale’s Gift. I didn’t speak much about the story before putting it out there, so here are some tidbits about the novelette:

    Gale’s Gift is 12,602 words long. When I started it, I projected that the story would be around 15,000 words. The first draft came close, but lost weight after editing.

    It took me about a month to write, edit, and format the story for publication.

    The story is based on a dream I had. I have a lot of dreams that are more like watching movies. The final result is pretty similar to the dream, even including some of the dialog, but some of the events were rearranged to work more smoothly as a written tale.

    The story takes place in the world I created for my epic fantasy series.

    I drew the cover art myself in Photoshop. I took reference photos with my trusty little Pentax camera to help me get the lighting and texture of the clouds and rocks right, but my favorite part is the water, which I didn’t use any references for and had the most fun drawing.

    With that said, the novelette is now available–for free!–in e-book format. It’s currently available in Nook, Kindle, and PDF versions, though more will be added in the future. To download a copy of the book, view the story’s page in the links on the left, or click here.

    Happy reading!

  • Gale’s Gift: Chapter Four

    Gale’s Gift: Chapter Four

    Gale's Gift chapter 4

    “Hold on,” Morghram murmured, reining his horse to a halt. Eona stopped behind him, clutching the pommel of her saddle. Four days of riding had made her more comfortable on horseback, but she still looked nervous any time her horse moved without direction, and her gelding pranced in place.

    They’d reached the first rocky cliffs of the mountains the night before, but the heavy rainfall that preceded them made the footing unsure, so they had agreed to wait for sunrise before starting up the winding trails.

    “What is it?” Her voice was high, her face pinched.

    He slid from his mount, handing her the reins. She wouldn’t be able to hold the beast if it spooked, but at least she could keep it from wandering off. He didn’t reply right away, instead following the traces left in the mud for a little way before grumbling in displeasure. “We’ve been following ruts left by the wagon’s wheels for a few days. Followed them right onto this trail. No wheel tracks any more. Only footprints.”

    Blinking, she leaned forward to look at the muddy trail. “You can tell all that? All I see are our hoof prints.”

    “They teach all soldiers a little tracking. Was never good at it, myself, but I got by.” Rubbing the stubble on his chin, he walked back the way they’d come. “There weren’t any side roads. Nowhere to hide a wagon, either.”

    “So where would they have gone?”

    Morghram pursed his lips. His eyes drifted to the ledge to the left of the trail. It wasn’t a terrible drop, perhaps twenty feet, but that was plenty to shatter a wagon and let the underbrush hide its remains. “They must’ve pushed it off. Probably means they couldn’t take it up the road ahead, but didn’t want to leave anything obvious behind.”

    Eona fidgeted, peering at the ledge as well. “Wouldn’t you have seen tracks from it being pushed off the cliff?”

    “Maybe.” He shrugged. “Maybe not. I haven’t been watching that closely, since there’s no other way they could have gone.”

    “Should we go back and find it?”

    “No need.” He returned, taking his horse and dragging himself into the saddle again. His leg protested; he thought it fair in its objection, considering his history with horses, though it would have complained just as much had they walked the last four days themselves. “As I said, there were no other trails branching from here. Wherever they’ve gone, it can’t be far.”

    The trail narrowed as they went on. Eona stayed at his back, though the path was still wide enough for them to ride side-by-side. They went slowly, Morghram leaning forward over his horse’s shoulder to watch the traces left behind.

    There were many footprints left where the earth wasn’t so hard-packed, though the direction varied. But he couldn’t tell if they were left by a few men running back and forth to unload supplies from their lost wagon or many. Everything they’d seen alongside the wheel ruts indicated only two or three men, but if they had some sort of hideout in the mountain range, who knew how many might be waiting for them?

    Abruptly the footprints veered toward the stone wall to their right, vanishing into a narrow path hidden by brush. Morghram raised a hand and slowed, turning his horse around.

    Again Eona gripped the saddle, looking nervous. “What is it?”

    He gestured toward the pathway before dismounting. “In here. Path’s too narrow for a horse.”

    “What should we do with them?” She shifted to get down but he stopped her, passing her the reins to his horse once again.

    “We’ll decide after we see where the path leads. I’ll scout ahead, you mind the horses. It might just be a shortcut up to the next path.” He figured that most likely, with the way the trails switchbacked up the mountainside. “I’ll only be a minute, but scream if you have a problem.”

    She opened her mouth as if to protest, but closed it again without speaking. He raised a brow but didn’t wait, pushing back the low branches of the scraggly pine and slipping past.

    The stone walls were close, barely wider than the span of his shoulders, and the soft carpet of dead leaves and pine needles beneath took no footprints. Were it not for a the grasses that were bent and broken, he wouldn’t have known anyone had walked that path before him. Judging by the plants, they weren’t far behind whoever had been leading the wagon. He’d thought it drawn by horses before, not realizing until now that he’d never seen any hoof prints. A hand-drawn wagon, then; likely something small, just big enough to transport goods and not big enough for a man to ride. Which meant one of the men on foot had to be Dolbin; another point in their favor.

    The path was steep, widening before it met the wider mountain road. As he’d expected, it was a shortcut. What he hadn’t expected was turning his head to see a pair of men sitting beside an old mine entrance not thirty feet away.

    They hadn’t seen him, the two of them hunched over a barrel and shaking a dice cup, but Morghram ducked behind the brush at the mouth of the shortcut just the same. Neither one fit the description Eona had given him, which meant their fortune had come to an end. Either Dolbin was inside—and under guard—or he wasn’t with these men at all. There was no doubt they were brigands; there was no reason to be sitting outside a run-down mineshaft otherwise. The old mines were places to store stolen and smuggled goods these days. If there were men sitting watch outside, it meant there was business going on inside. Frowning to himself, Morghram turned back down the trail.

    Eona and the horses were in the exact place he’d left them, though she gripped the reins of both horses so tightly that her knuckles were white. She straightened when she saw him, though she looked relieved. “Did you find something?”

    “Just a shortcut, like I said.” He dusted pine needles from his armor, sighing. “And men by the mine ahead on the trail. If Dolbin is with them, he’s in the mine now. Under guard, likely doing business with a smuggler of some sort.”

    “That would be just like him, wouldn’t it?” she muttered. “So we confront them?”

    He hesitated.

    “Morghram?”

    “We’ll go up,” he said, taking his horse and walking it a few paces ahead to give him room to mount. “But we ride around the long way and start a conversation without startling them. Don’t want them to think we’re trying to sneak up on them. Surprises can make a man unpredictable.” And it gave them a chance to run if things went sour, besides. He made himself comfortable before nudging his horse forward, glancing over his shoulder to make sure Eona followed without trouble.

    The long way around took only ten minutes more than the narrow trail carved into the cliff. Both good and bad if they needed to flee; the first turn would be close, but if the men in the mine shaft had arrows, racing down the mountainside beneath them would put them at a sore disadvantage.

    The men at the mine’s entrance came into view within minutes. Both sat upright when they noticed the sound of the horses, turning to watch them with suspicion. Morghram motioned for Eona to slow her mount, putting himself farther ahead at the same time.

    “What you want, old man?” one of the men barked. He was a big fellow, broad through the shoulders and wearing scant armor.

    Morghram kept his expression neutral, though the way the man addressed him made him bristle. “Looking for someone. Maybe you’ve seen them pass?”

    The man scoffed. “Nobody’s passed here.”

    “A man,” Morghram continued, “with a pretty face. Flaxen hair, eyes like ash.”

    The second man snorted a laugh, slapping his larger comrade’s shoulder. “They’re looking for the dandy! You missed him, old man. Passed him on your way up.”

    Morghram’s eyes narrowed. “Beg pardon?”

    “He’s dead,” the small fellow blurted. Stupid, Morghram decided, a label that seemed to fit when the man went on. “Didn’t have a shovel, so we dumped him off the side of the cliff.”

    “You killed him?” Eona choked.

    Both men looked offended. “Of course not,” Big said. “We just took care of it after his business went south. Now get on, old man. We’re in the middle of a game.”

    Sliding to the ground, Morghram adjusted his armor. “Your game can wait. I’m not done yet. The man was in possession of something that rightfully belongs to the lady. You emptied his pockets before throwing him off the cliff, I’m sure.”

    “They were already empty when they dragged him out here,” Stupid said. His companion shoved him, glaring.

    Morghram turned toward the mine shaft’s entrance.

    “No one’s allowed inside,” Big said.

    “You going to stop me?” Morghram raised a brow.

    The two men exchanged looks. Stupid shrugged. “They ain’t paying us to stop people. Just to stand watch.”

    “Lousy watchmen,” Morghram muttered. “Eona, you head downhill. I’ll be along.”

    “No.” She struggled down from her horse. “I’m coming with you.”

    Big sighed. “Better head inside and tell the boss.”

    “I’m not going in. I’m not getting sucked into fighting.” Maybe Stupid wasn’t so stupid after all. He shook his head, scooping up the dice and putting them into the cup.

    His companion sneered. “He’s just an old man!”

    “An old man whose armor matches,” Stupid replied. “You go on, but I’m done. I got my gold.” He gave Morghram and Eona a sidewise glance, shaking his head before trudging toward the hidden path they’d discovered earlier.

    Big hesitated, shifting on his feet.

    Morghram rested a hand on the hilt of his sword, bracing himself as he slid an inch of steel from its sheath.

    The big man eyed it uneasily. Then he snorted, shaking his head. “Ain’t worth the trouble,” he murmured to himself, starting after his friend. “Not for that pay.”

    Morghram watched the two men disappear into the brush, frowning. Ruffians, nothing more, hired hands that weren’t good at anything but dice. Still, two of them could have been more than he could handle. For the second time in their travels, he found himself breathing a quiet sigh of relief and being grateful for the king’s steel at his hip. The sound of the men pushing through the undergrowth faded before he turned to face Eona.

    Her silvery eyes were sad, the corners of her mouth downturned, though she wasn’t frowning. It was a wonder she didn’t; in a single turn, she’d been widowed and her fortune taken out of hands the law could retrieve it from.

    He cleared his throat, laying a hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry,”

    She tried to laugh. “What, for Dolbin? Don’t be. He gets what he deserves.”

    “But he was your husband, nonetheless.”

    Sadness shone in her eyes. She looked away. “Yes, he was.”

    Looking back to the shadowed entrance to the mine, Morghram smoothed his hair. “Shall we go on?”

    “What choice do we have?”

    He didn’t want to agree, but what choice was there? They’d come all the way from the coast and were still empty-handed. But there was still a chance to change it. He gazed into the dark, squinting at the glimmer of torchlight far into the sloping tunnel. The wind still blew north. Just as it had when he plucked Eona from the sea, and when their journey began. Still beckoning them onward, urging them farther.

    “It’s worth a try,” he said at last, adjusting the scabbard at his side. He tied the horses to a scraggly pine, looking to the sky before beckoning for Eona to follow. “Keep some distance between us. If we run into trouble, I’ll need room to swing my sword.”

    “Is there room for that in a mine?” She peered down the tunnel, clutching her skirt.

    “Don’t know. Never been in one.” He took his time ambling down the slope. The dirt was hard-packed underfoot, but there were loose pebbles and patches of damp earth to hinder them. Eona walked behind him with a hand on the wall. The rocky walls were sooty where torches and lamps had burned against them, but otherwise clean. He’d expected most of the mountain mines to be for digging coal seams, but coal dust would have left everything black. What this mine had been for, he didn’t know.

    The tunnel curved to the right just after the burning torch. Morghram paused, nodding at the flames. “See that?”

    “What?” Eona slid in gravel, catching herself on the wall.

    He put a hand out to steady her. “The way it flickers and dances. There’s an air current down here. Must be more openings to the mine.”

    “And more chances for whoever has my inheritance to escape,” she murmured.

    Morghram lifted a finger, hushing her.

    She tilted her head, listening. “What is it?”

    “Voices,” he said, creeping ahead.

    Lanterns cast dim light on the path before him, sprawling strange shadows out behind him. Morghram gripped his sword, moving slowly. There had been no reason to hide their presence outside, needing information and having room to run. Trapped within the confines of the mine, not knowing how many thieves may be there, things were different.

    A shadow sliding across the path ahead was the first indication that someone was coming, emerging from an adjacent hallway just a step ahead.

    The figure turned the other direction, never saw them coming. Morghram tensed, shifting back. He could charge the man, catch him from behind, but he couldn’t kill him or get any answers before the man called for help. Instead he waited for the brute to put distance between them, letting the man all but disappear into the darkness ahead. Then he moved forward, following quietly. It was strange; he’d always thought mines and caves would echo. Instead the air was weighty, dense, deadening sounds.

    Eona had been right to question the size of the mine shaft. The corridor grew narrower as they walked, though the lanterns were still evenly spaced and burning low. The path wasn’t straight, either, curving ever so slightly before it joined another hallway. The man ahead of them turned. They followed.

    A brighter light glowed at the end of the short hall ahead of them, crude furnishings visible inside a rough-hewn room. What it was originally for mattered little, but a pair of bunks stood in the corner, the light coming from the other end.

    “We’re getting ready to ride,” the man they’d followed said. “You sure you don’t need us to stay for the next deal after that fight the dandy put up?”

    “There won’t be a fight this time,” someone replied. “The client’s not a dandy.”

    Morghram lifted a hand to tell Eona to stay back. She nodded, pressing herself to the wall beside her while he inched forward.

    His hope to sneak a peek was dashed before he reached the doorway, the man they’d tailed appearing in front of it.

    Morghram had his sword out before the man could do more than shout, lunging in a thrust for lack of room to swing.

    The man fell back and sidestepped, jerking a too-large two-handed sword from a barrel by the wall. Across the room another man leaped up from a table, knocking over his chair.

    The room was crowded, but big enough to move in. And with Eona in the hall, Morghram had an advantage; no need to worry about harming an ally.

    He ducked beneath a lumbering swing, jabbing his sword into a gap in the brute’s mismatched armor. Roaring in pain, the man fell, hands cupping his side. The thief at the table surged over his writhing companion with blade unsheathed, striking hard and fast.

    His weapon still in his hands, Morghram blocked but fell off balance, stumbling back on his bad leg.

    Darting at the opening, the thief swiped at Morghram’s leg. The sword caught on a lamellar plate and bounced before raking down Morghram’s thigh, lighting a fire in his leg that rivaled what had ruined it years before. He howled, staggering against the wall.

    Eona shrieked and the thief turned toward the hallway in alarm.

    Morghram shoved himself from the rough wall before the man could move, plowing a shoulder into the thief’s side and driving him to the ground.

    The man clawed at him, jerking his sword around to strike with the hilt, but Morghram caught it beside his temple and wrenched the blade from his hand.

    “Tammin!” the man shouted, writhing beneath Morghram’s weight, looking to the other man on the floor. The fellow didn’t move.

    “Shut up!” Morghram bellowed, striking the man’s jaw with the back of his gauntlet. The man groaned, his head lolling. Wrestling him upright, Morghram pinned him to the wall by the collar.

    “Dolbin’s money,” Morghram snarled, giving the man a shake. “Where is it?”

    The thief’s head bobbled, but for some reason, he grinned. “That’s what you’re here for?” He clutched at Morghram’s wrist, trying unsuccessfully to loosen his grip. “Everything left is in that tankard on the table.”

    Morghram shoved him against the rock and let go. The man slumped to the floor but Morghram never took his eyes from him, shuffling backwards until he bumped into the table and could reach the tankard. He lifted it and dumped it over his hand.

    Eight small copper coins fell into his palm.

    Across the room, the thief laughed. “The money’s gone, been gone for days. Your friend spent most of it on his own. We took what was left when we killed him, split it between the group. No telling where they are now. You wasted your time, old man.”

    Grinding his teeth, Morghram threw the tankard to the ground, curling his fingers around the coins.

    “Morghram,” Eona started.

    He shook his head, limping toward her, laying a gentle hand on her shoulder and turning her back into the hallway. “Let’s go.”

    Behind them, the thief still laughed.

    ❦

    They didn’t travel far from the old mine before Morghram asked to stop beside the small brook they’d filled their water skins at that morning. He was more grateful for the horses than ever, though even on his own two feet he’d managed not to limp any more than usual. His trousers were plastered to his thigh with sticky, itchy drying blood and he hated to think of the wound beneath.

    “You should have let me bandage that right away,” Eona chided, tying their horses while he settled beside the stream.

    He drew his belt knife, cutting away the fabric to inspect the injury. It wasn’t as bad as he thought; not even a fingernail deep. Had it not been for the blade catching on his lamellar, his bad leg might have become his missing leg. “A little bleeding’s good for it. Cleans it out.”

    “Well it’s going to have to be cleaned properly. You’re just fortunate my grandmother taught me a bit about tending wounds.” She gave a lofty sniff, scouting around a few trees before she stopped to pick something from the bark.

    He eyed the green fluff in her hand with a dubious frown. “Lichen?”

    “An antiseptic,” she explained, kneeling beside him. She scooped water from the brook with her hands, pouring it over his leg, rinsing the scrap of fabric he’d cut away and using it to scrub his skin clean.

    He grunted and grimaced but she ignored it, making sure the wound was clean before she pressed the lichen to it.

    “Feuds between islands of the Chains were common, even after being united. They broke out often enough for most young men to earn a few scars before they married, in any case.” She took his belt knife, sitting back and cutting strips of linen from the bottom of her underdress.

    “I suppose that’s the same anywhere you go,” he said.

    “I suppose. And I suppose the experience is good for them, as long as they survive. I don’t think I’ll ever understand the ways of battle.” She paused, meeting his eyes. “But I thank you for knowing it. You risked your life for me, bringing me on this adventure, knowing we might walk away empty-handed.”

    Morghram held his gaze with hers for a long time, studying the dewy silver-blue of her eyes. She was still pretty, still ladylike, but it seemed she’d matured in their travels. Or maybe his opinion had changed, seeing her stubborn determination as they traveled. She wasn’t a waif plucked from the sea; she was a strong woman who’d made a mistake, something of which nobody was innocent. At least she’d tried to set it right.

    Realizing he was staring, he tore his eyes away and bowed his head with shame.

    She grew still. “Why do you look away?”

    He sighed. “I forgot my manners. Forgive me. I’ve no right to study you when I’m as old and ugly as I am.”

    Eona scoffed. “I’ve known ugly people. Hideous people, in fact. I’d rather have you look at me. The worst part about ugly people is that they hide it all behind a mask of prettiness. You never even realize they’re ugly until you’re close enough to see what’s beneath it. And by then, it’s too late.” She leaned forward, gently cupping his cheek in her hand.

    He lifted his eyes to hers again, finding comfort in her smile.

    “There’s nothing ugly about you, Morghram,” she murmured. “Nothing at all.”

    ❦

    “We didn’t come so close to the capital before,” Eona murmured as they rode toward the market south of the city.

    “No,” Morghram agreed, “but we’ll need to stop and sell one of the horses. I can’t afford to feed both through the winter. We’ll share a mount on the way back to the coast.”

    Both of them were weary from days in the saddle, but the morning was still young, lending them at least a little strength. The market buzzed with life, just as festive as he remembered, filled with colorful striped tents and bright banners waving overhead. He nodded to the few merchants he knew, making his way to a wide stall at the far end of the market. There he dismounted, leading his horse toward the grizzled blacksmith and his smooth-cheeked apprentice. “Looking to spend some coin today?” Morghram called.

    The blacksmith waved a red-hot horseshoe in his tongs before dunking it in oil. “Depends on what you’re selling, you old goat. Where’d you come by a horse?”

    “It’s an odd story. I’ll tell you over an ale next time I’m in for an evening. But I’m selling more than the horse.” Morghram tapped the sword at his belt.

    The blacksmith’s eyebrows rose.

    “Oh, you can’t sell that!” Eona cried.

    Morghram barked a laugh. “I can and I will. I think I’ve enough adventures for one lifetime.”

    “Well, I won’t refuse.” The blacksmith put his tools aside, dusting his hands against his soot-stained trousers. “Slap a new hilt on it and I won’t have to do a lick else to have it sold. Let’s talk.”

    They inched farther from the road, haggling back and forth with a few hearty laughs before shaking hands. The smith counted coins from the purse at his belt and then slapped Morghram’s shoulder. “Next time we’re at the Worn Prayer, then. Safe travels.”

    “And fair trade to you,” Morghram replied, striding back to where Eona waited with the horse they’d kept.

    She dismounted, watching the blacksmith’s apprentice lead the other horse away.

    “It’s not much,” he said, offering the handful of silver and few gold coins. “But it should be enough to get you back home to the Chains.”

    Eona stared at the offering for a long time before reaching for it. But instead of taking the money from his hand, she curled his fingers closed around it. “Thank you. But I don’t need it any longer.”

    He stared at her hands against his rough fingers, his brow furrowing. “But I thought-”

    “I’ve learned a lot during my travels, Morghram,” she said. “I can never say how much I appreciate all you’ve done. Don’t think of our time together as a waste. We may not have found what we were looking for, but I believe I’ve found a greater treasure than what I lost.”

    His eyes darted to her face.

    She smiled.

    ❦

    Lightning flickered on the horizon, licking the waves of the choppy sea below the dark clouds. A northward breeze carried the tang of salt and the cool scent of rain. Morghram lingered on the cliff, watching as the thunderheads piled themselves higher into the evening sky.

    “Morghram,” Eona called from the doorway, drying her hands on her apron. “Come inside already! Supper’s getting cold.”

    “Coming,” he replied over his shoulder, offering her a smile before he looked back out at the sea, one last time.

    He’d always hated storms, feared the way a strong one could take or ruin a man’s life. Now he thought that foolish and couldn’t think of anything in nature he loved more.

    After all, a gale had brought her.