Gathering of the Four: Book One of The Serrulata Saga: The Serrulata Saga, #1

By A.E. Bennett

"In the Realm, every citizen knows their place."

 

​Leora of Mae is a young woman orphaned at birth and raised on a remote farm. As a wielder of Xanthcraft, her abilities set her apart from her adoptive family and the other villagers.

 

Shortly before her twentieth birthday, she learns of her family's plot to sell her into servitude. Fearing for her life, she flees from the only home she's ever known—defying societal conventions and breaking the edicts of the Realm.
 
As she runs, Leora meets Roland Shallowbrook, a traveler on the Thieves' Road; Lady Aurora Verte, daughter of a powerful member of the gentry; and the White Rider Leopold, a soldier with a secret. 
​
Now, this found family will have to band together to survive.

 

Set in the far distant future, Gathering of the Four is the first book in The Serrulata Saga.

• Language: English
• Publisher: A.E. Bennett
• Release date: Apr 2, 2021
• ISBN: 9798224582211

Book preview

PROLOGUE

The cursor blinked, mocking Dr. Julius Qin as he stared at the query and answer on the screen, green font glowing on a black background.

Q: Display historical data from the Archives on the Hale-Bopp Comet.

A: The Hale-Bopp Comet was widely considered one of the most important discoveries of its time. It was called the Great Comet of 1997. It was discovered in [data missing]. It was named after [data missing] Hale and [data missing] Bopp. The comet was unique. It had two tails—one yellow and one blue—and was significantly brighter than almost all of the stars in the night sky. Additionally, depending on where one was relative to its location, the comet was visible before the setting of the sun. The comet was visible for over 500 days. This set a new record for this type of celestial body.

Julius sighed. He’d been told by other academics that his search was futile and that just because he sat down at a terminal in the public library of the City-State of New York, that didn’t mean he’d find any new information. But Julius was nothing if not stubborn. He was the youngest medical doctor in recent memory to pursue an advanced degree in history, in addition to his work in the hematology lab.

He ran his fingers through his straight black hair and typed again.

Q: Display cultural data from the Archives on the Hale-Bopp Comet.

The machine before Julius whirred before the answer typed out onto the screen.

A: The uniqueness of the comet spawned several doomsday cults. These were groups of individuals who feared that the comet was a harbinger of the End Times. One of the most notorious cults was called Heaven’s Gate. Followers of this cult believed the comet acted as a seal to a portal that would bring them to salvation. As the comet retreated, followers of this group gathered in a singular location and committed suicide. This was frowned upon by society at the time. [data missing] connection between Heaven’s Gate and a brand of footwear popular at the time.

Nothing I don’t already know, Julius muttered out loud to himself. He then instinctively ducked his head. Noise of any kind was frowned upon within the cavernous library, even in the research pods.

He typed his next, and most important, question.

Q: Display historical data from the Archives on the Hale-Bopp Comet and cross-reference with Xanthi.

A: The first mention of the word Xanthi in the Archives is [data missing] 1999 CE.

That’s not—argh! Julius whispered.

The library’s computer was one of the most advanced in the city, but it still required the user to sometimes enter detailed inquiries in order to produce desired results.

Julius pressed a little more forcefully on the keys.

Q: Display ALL historical data from the Archives on the Hale-Bopp Comet and the Xanthi.

The machine whirred again.

A: The first mention of the word Xanthi in the Archives is [data missing] 1999 CE.

Julius uttered a small, frustrated laugh. The InfoMate on his belt buzzed then, and he cursed inwardly. He had silenced the personal digital assistant before taking his seat but hadn’t turned it off. It wouldn’t do if his supervisor wasn’t able to get hold of him. He glanced up at the massive clock on the wall.

Just a few more minutes.

Q: Display cultural data from the Archives on the Hale-Bopp Comet and the Xanthi.

A: The Xanthi were not welcomed by the Ancients. The Xanthi were feared by the Ancients. Many of the Ancients’ cultural mores and norms were based on appearance. The Ancients did not like the appearance of the Xanthi. The eyes of the Xanthi differed from those of the Ancients. Before the fall, the Ancients and Xanthi did not get along.

Q: Display any and all data related to the existing Xanthi population.

A: It is unknown if any Xanthi currently still exist. There are no known Xanthi living within the borders of the New York City-State.

Julius felt his InfoMate buzz again and clenched his teeth. He’d never finish his degree—or even this term paper—at this rate. But, as his supervisor had recently reminded him, his primary function as a citizen was to assist with medical research, not fritter around asking questions about incidents from two thousand years ago.

Julius clacked on the keyboard again and more lines of text danced across the screen.

SAVE QUERY

C:/QINJULIUS/RESEARCH/BLOODWORK

QUERY SAVED 1 MAY 4385 CE

1

In 4055 CE, the Border went online. Unfortunately, not much other than that is known about the founding of the Realm.

~ Excerpt from The Memoirs of Dr. Julius Qin, First Edition, College Press, 4405 CE

Two things happened at the beginning of the 330 th year of the Realm: a brilliant comet with two tails—one yellow and one blue—appeared in the sky, and the sovereign of the Realm died.

Neither of these events directly affected Leora of Mae, but she couldn’t help but tilt her gaze upward at the mysterious celestial body that was visible even during daylight. She made her way toward the run-down cabin she called home, struggling as she slogged a full bucket of water in both of her chapped hands.

You stupid, stupid girl! Quit dawdling and get over here!

She heard the voice before she saw the woman, which was usually the case. It was a voice that grated and was attached to a body that could swing a wooden spoon like a mace.

You foolish little twit! For the last time—

Leora approached her adoptive mother, panting and shivering. It was the beginning of Third Month, and snow still dusted the hard ground. Her trousers, cast-offs from the donation bin in the village, were slightly too long for her short legs, and she nearly tripped on the hems. They were saturated from the knee down and clung to her thin, toned legs. She looked up at the woman standing in the doorway of the cottage and grimaced.

Coming, Liza! she called.

The woman harrumphed with contempt. She spat into the dirt and sneered. What took you so long to get water?

Leora’s shoulder slumped, weighed down by the large bucket she struggled to carry. She kept her gaze on the ground. I fell coming back the first time.

"Stupid and careless." Her adoptive brother, Preston, poked his head out from behind his mother’s skirts and stuck his tongue out at her.

Leora was careful to not betray her desire to reach out and smack the child right across his sour face. She slinked by the pair standing in the doorway, her worn boots clomping on the dirt floor of the cabin as she entered. She minded her steps with the utmost caution, knowing that one of the boy’s favorite pastimes involved sabotaging her work. This, of course, included tripping her when she was carrying the bucket. The cabin was not well heated by any means, but it was warmer than being outdoors, and Leora rubbed her hands on her arms after she set the full bucket down by the stove.

Wonder where your father is. How long could it take to help a neighbor repair a hole in a roof? Leora’s adoptive mother spoke to her son, purposefully acting as though Leora wasn’t there. Preston plopped his skinny arms onto the table and hoisted himself into an adult-sized chair that was too big for him. At ten years of age, he was much too large for the tiny chair his father had fashioned for him when he had been a toddler, but he was also still too small for the adult-sized furniture within the cabin.

Leora knew well enough not to speak unless directly spoken to. Liza Fellow had cared for Leora since infancy and was quick with not only wooden spoons but also the handle of a gardening tool or any other object she could get her hands on.

Mum! Preston pounded a small wooden horse his father had carved for him on the table with impatience. It was evident he was hungry. Hard harvests meant empty stomachs, and he, like several other children in the village of Mae had caught the red fever a few months back. He was just now showing signs of a full recovery.

When will I be able to help Da in the fields, like the rest of the boys my age? he asked. Can I go into the fields with them next month? I wanna work this year!

Liza’s eyes briefly landed on Leora, anger flickering through them. She turned to her only child and beamed. You need some fattening up before you can go to work. The red fever hurt you. I care about you too much to lose you!

Liza had forty-five years behind her, but she looked older. She had married her husband as soon as she had reached the majority age of twenty, with simple goals that included being a good wife and mother and caring after the house on the small farm on which they lived. She had not planned on losing her first two children to miscarriages. So, when her third child had taken ill during the past winter, she had almost died herself from fear. She and her husband had spent all of their coin on tinctures and healers, which had saved their precious child but left them with nothing but the roof over their heads.

It also left the woman openly resenting Leora’s presence more bitterly than she ever had.

Leora finished pouring the water into the basin that would serve as a bath for the head of the house when he returned from the village. She knew that her adoptive mother didn’t care for her at all, but she also knew that the head of the house would protect her.

Leora made her way back outside, but Liza grabbed her arm firmly before she could leave. Go see if there are any eggs.

Liza clenched Leora’s arm as hard as she could, and Leora struggled not to cry out. Any sound was disobedience, and disobedience would be punished with the spoon Liza was holding. Leora’s arm burned as though it were on fire, but she had learned discipline during her nineteen years and squeezed her eyes shut, willing the pain away.

Liza, seeing that she would get no satisfaction from her current endeavor, released Leora and huffed, turning back to her stew.

Leora slinked toward the doorway, cradling her arm.

Beast eyes! You look like an animal! An ugly animal! Preston teased as she passed.

Grinding her teeth at the pejoratives, she ignored the familiar aspersions as she made her way to the coop. She knew as well as her adoptive mother did that there would be no eggs. The lone hen they still owned hadn’t given eggs for a week now, which meant she was going to be part of a few meals in the near future.

She glanced up nervously at the sky and trembled slightly, though the near-freezing temperature had little to do with her discomfort. There it hung, like a giant, mysterious ball. The Great Comet. That’s what the village leader had called it. A bulky man, he was one of the few residents of Mae who had ever learned how to read and thus relayed important information to the rest of the villagers when the weekly news parchment arrived.

The baffling object had simply appeared a few days ago, dazzling enough even in the daytime to display its radiant magnificence, along with two tails—one yellow and one blue. Leora could tell the village was buzzing about it simply by the way Liza talked with her husband, Nial, and Leora hated to admit that she agreed it was not just disconcerting but frightening. What was it? Why had it just materialized out of nowhere?

What did it mean?

Hello, girl, Leora whispered as she approached the coop, patting the chicken on the head. If you don’t start performing soon, Liza-Bitch will have your head—literally.

The hen clucked and looked up at her with beady eyes. Leora sat down next to the bird, shielding her face from the setting sun and massaging her wounded arm. She picked up a piece of straw and began to chew.

Leora had been in the care of Nial and Liza Fellow since she was a few days old, or so she had been told. She had no idea who her birth parents were, and neither Nial nor Liza had ever been forthcoming. Nial had only hinted that both he and his wife owed them some sort of debt and had agreed to look after Leora until their return.

Their return never happened. The only other thing Leora knew was that they had been Xanthi.

Liza, who had grown only more bitter and angry with each passing year, constantly prodded her husband about the fact that it had been almost two decades since their promise had been made. She demanded to know how long one was supposed to wait for Xanthi tricksters who had probably never intended to return in the first place.

Leora spat and kicked at the ground with a worn boot.

Xanthos. It was such a nasty term in her mind and the minds of the villagers, including her adoptive family, but that was what she was. That was what her people—her kind—had been called since the establishment of the Realm. No one knew where her people had originally come from, but their golden eyes and mystical abilities set them apart. Leora was the only one in Mae, a fact that the rest of the villagers never let her forget. In fact, she had never even met another Xanthos, though she dreamed about them often.

The Xanthi possessed special abilities—Xanthcraft. Written documents from the establishment of the Realm were scarce, but oral history said the Xanthi had used their abilities to fight fiercely alongside those without special abilities against the marauders and vicious gangs that had threatened the Realm and eventually caused the Founders to establish the Border in the first place. That had been back when all Xanthi possessed powerful Xanthcraft that allowed them to create fire on a whim or become invisible with a mere thought or appear as though they were standing in one place when they were really in another. Now, generations later, very few Xanthi could call upon Xanthcraft, though all retained their shining golden irises. Those that could perform their craft were forbidden from doing so by the edicts. Only the fearful White Riders and their master, the sovereign’s advisor, were allowed to practice Xanthcraft without severe repercussions.

Leora, sitting by herself next to the chicken coop, had little use for the edicts as the lone Xanthos in an obscure village on the vast Verte lands. She breathed in and out and opened her palm, marveling as a small ball of fire appeared. The hen beside her clucked again, and she wrapped her fingers around the light, extinguishing the flame.

I’d set them all on fire if I could get away with it, Leora grumbled, staring down at her grimy, chapped hands. Well, maybe not Nial.

Leora examined her hands more closely as she relished the few moments of rest. A raised red mark stood out; she’d have to find a pin and remove that splinter soon, or it’d get infected. She stood, brushing the bottom of her worn pants, then squeezed her finger, as though pressure and will would remove the sliver of wood.

Leora had never thought of herself as pretty. She’d grown up hearing about how hideous her eyes were and how uncomfortable they made everyone in Mae. She often wondered how she would have been viewed by the other villagers if she looked normal. Besides her eyes, she wasn’t so different from many of the others who farmed around Mae. She was short, that was true, but she had smooth, dark skin and curly, dark hair. The village of Mae was home to people with all manner of coloring—some almost as pale as snow, with eyes of blue or green or gray, others as dark as Leora and her adoptive father. None, however, bore the mysterious eyes of the Xanthi.

None except Leora.

She pinched her own finger too hard and cursed, her breath clouding in the air. No use dwelling on what she couldn’t change. She was a Xanthos. She was shunned by everyone in the village. She was hated by her adoptive mother and brother. And she was hungry.

She plodded back toward the cabin, relatively sure that Nial would have returned by now. The sun was sinking lower and lower in the sky, and work, no matter how necessary, would be impossible without light.

Ah! Leora! Nial greeted her warmly as he approached the cabin from the path that led toward the village. He embraced her briefly. Nial was a gentle man who mostly obeyed Liza. But unlike the woman he had vowed to honor, Leora knew he felt a bit of affection for her.

Over the years, he’d sometimes snuck her extra pieces of bread or meat despite Liza’s insistence that Leora had had enough. During one long-ago winter solstice, when times had been flush and Nial had been able to afford a jug of ale, he’d gotten tipsy and whispered that he didn’t blame Leora for the fact that she’d been abandoned as a baby. Leora understood he strived to treat her as kindly as he could without incurring the wrath of his wife.

How has the day been? He gave her an exhausted smile, and she met it with a grin.

Very pleasant.

Look what I have. Nial grinned as he held up a single dingy coin. It was the lowest denomination and wouldn’t purchase much, but it was more than the family had had before Nial had agreed to help their neighbor. Leora nodded at her adoptive father’s success.

What’s for supper? he asked, heading into the house.

Stew, I believe, Leora answered quietly, following slowly after him.

Leora tossed restlessly in the loft of the barn. Spring was coming but hadn’t arrived yet, and the nights were still frigid. She shivered and fervently clutched her lone, but thick, blanket fervently. Dawn was now just making its appearance over the horizon.

She gulped, worried that the lump in her throat meant she was coming down with a fever. It wouldn’t bode well for her to get ill when there was so little coin in the house. Liza would refuse to spend anything on someone she already saw as a burden when healthy.

Leora beat her arms to make the blood and feeling return to them. She hated sleeping in the barn, although the only alternative was on the floor by the hearth in the cabin, which Liza only permitted during the coldest winter months. The cabin had been built before Leora was born and probably could have been modified to comfortably sleep more than three people, especially when one was a child. But Liza would have none of it and had banished Leora to sleep in the barn shortly after the marking of Leora’s fourteenth birthday. Nial had protested, and a compromise had been made, but it was now Third Month, so Leora had recently moved back into the loft.

She knew sleep would continue to elude her so, grumbling, she stood slowly for a walk around the small parcel of land that her adoptive parents could call their own—as much as anyone could call anything theirs under the gentry. She made it to the lone serrulata tree on the lawn before she realized she was not the only one awake.

She crouched down and held her breath as she strained to listen to the voices coming from the direction of the farm- house. Concentrating as she closed her eyes, she breathed in and out slowly, then opened them, feeling a surge of triumph. Her skin was tinged lavender, as was everything around her, which meant her Xanthcraft was working. She was now invisible. She still had to creep toward the farmhouse, though. No one could see her, but they could still hear her if she made any noise.

I don’t care; we made a promise—

Promise nothing!

Liza and Nial were arguing in hushed whispers. Although Leora had heard them disagree in the past, Nial’s voice was more urgent and strained than she’d ever heard it.

"It’s been nineteen years! Years! And now this comet!

And we’re starving —"

—not starving! What are you talking about? The comet means nothing—

"—put that thing before your own son—comet a sign—time to let her go—"

Leora shivered when she heard her adoptive mother refer to her as a thing.

A slight breeze picked up then, rustling the grass and making it impossible to hear their next few sentences. It died almost as quickly as it had come, and Leora slapped her hands over her mouth at the next word she heard.

Servantry.

She knew Liza hated her, but not even she could be so cruel. Or could she?

Are you out of your mind?

Keep your voice down!

There was a pause, as though a heavy cloud had descended on the field.

You needn’t be here—will come for her—out in the field—don’t even have to say goodbye—

I cannot—cruel.

Not cruel—our son—our family—

There was another dark pause. Leora’s chest constricted, as though a large beast had curled up and taken residence within her heart. Surely Nial couldn’t—wouldn’t—let her go. Not like this! She only had another half of a year before she would be of age and could go off into the world…and leave the family with nothing to profit from. Twenty was the legal age of majority throughout the Realm, no matter a person’s station, and a child under that age could be sold into the servantry. An adult who had committed no crime could not.

Her twentieth birthday was this summer.

Bile rose in her throat. Nial had yet to give his wife a firm no. He had been her one ally against Liza’s, and eventually Preston’s, cruelty. He had tended to Leora’s skinned knees and bruised elbows and other growing pains. He’d mopped her forehead free of sweat during that one winter, years ago, when she’d fallen ill with fluenza. He was the only one in the farmhouse who’d had time to give her smiles and ask about her well-being. He couldn’t abandon her. Not when she needed him so desperately.

—make it quick—I don’t want to be here when they come.

—I will give you that—

Panic rose in Leora’s chest. She had always counted herself lucky to be a peasant rather than a servant. Although she had never really considered running away from the only home she had ever known—after all, where would a young, illiterate Xanthos with no real skills go?—she had always assumed she would be able to choose a life for herself at some point. And, although she knew it was foolish, some tiny part of her had hoped—always hoped—that her parents would return for her and sweep her away from Mae and its awfulness.

Nial and Liza must have embraced, or at least come to an understanding of some kind, because Leora heard no more from either of them.

Barely able to breathe, Leora returned to the barn where she knew she could cry and pace freely.

Servantry.

A death sentence by another name.

Some residents of the Realm were born into the servantry. Others sold themselves into it in order to earn coin for the rest of their family. And some were forced into it as punishment for a crime. No matter how one entered, one never left.

The servantry was the lowest classification of citizenship in the Realm. Although the gentry claimed it was more humane than letting peasants with no other options die in the streets and fields from hunger, most peasants knew this wasn’t the case. A lord or lady had complete control over a servant, from daily tasks to whether they could marry or have children, and even whether or not they could leave a specific piece of property.

Once in the servantry, always in the servantry.

The mantra echoed in Leora’s mind as she crept back into the barn and wrapped her arms around her legs. Her mind reeled.

No, no, no!

She had no idea why she had been abandoned by her parents or why she was so hated. She had been obedient and never made much of a fuss. She had endured beatings from Liza and taunts from bratty Preston and scorn and derision from the villagers.

But she would not—could not—endure a life where she had no say over her own fate.

She picked up a piece of straw and mashed the stalk between her teeth, grinding it until her entire jaw hurt, and began formulating a plan.

Leora did her best to ignore Nial’s sad smile the next morning as he bid her farewell. He was headed back into the village, hoping to procure another building project. He looked haggard and exhausted, as though he hadn’t slept much.

Leora wanted to hate Nial. A painful cry sat in her stomach, threatening to emerge from her throat. She clenched her fists as Nial patted Preston on the head and walked in the direction of the village.

Why? she wanted to scream as he strolled forward, his shoulders slightly hunched. How could you abandon me?

She rubbed sweaty palms on her grimy pants and willed away tears. She had to pretend like this was a morning like any other.

Leora!

Leora whipped her head upwards to meet Liza’s angry gaze.

Why do I have to ask you to do everything more than once? Chores! Now!

Leora nodded fastidiously and marched out of the cabin as though propelled by unseen hands. Be patient. Be calm. She repeated the words over and over in her mind until she could think of nothing else.

Only an hour more, and then she would be free.

She performed the motions of her daily routine as though watching herself from outside of her own body. She saw herself bend down and tug at the weeds stubbornly poking themselves through the hard, clayish soil that was still dusted with remnants of last week’s snow. She barely flinched as Liza bent down to swat her on the head before calling to her son, beckoning for him to follow her into the village. She breathed a small sigh of relief as soon as Liza and Preston’s forms faded in the distance.

Suddenly, she was back in her own body, and everything began to move faster than normal. She was inside the cabin, tearing around the back room where Nial and Liza slept. She frantically grabbed an old cloak of Nial’s and threw it over her dingy, too-large tunic. She then tore into the topmost drawer where Nial and Liza had kept all the family’s coin since before Leora could remember. Shoving Nial’s pathetic smile out of her mind, she grabbed the sole bit of metal and thrust it into her pocket.

She then raced out of the cabin and ran as fast as she could toward the woods, away from the only place she had ever called home.

2

Within the society of the Realm, there is nothing lower than a servant except a thief.

~ Excerpt from The Memoirs of Dr. Julius Qin, First Edition, College Press, 4405 CE

Roland Shallowbrook cleared his throat slowly, knowing that his attempt to be polite would be ignored.

He waited for a few ticks, then cleared his throat again, louder this time.

When there was still no movement, he rolled his eyes.

He hated this part. Especially because he couldn’t remember her name.

Um…er… he stammered, extricating his arm from underneath her neck with the care of a seasoned professional.

She stirred slightly, and that was when he knew she was fully awake.

Losing patience, he sat up and poked her rather forcefully on the shoulder.

Last night was fun and all, but I have this room for a bit more, and I’d like to have time to myself.

She rolled over and blinked at him with large, liquid-ink eyes. Sorry, my lord.

Ugh, Roland grimaced at the term, reserved for men of the gentry and used by her sarcastically. Spare me the waterworks.

The woman—what had she called herself?—sneered but covered her naked chest and stood up, hiking her skirts on quickly and shoving her feet into the tiny black boots tucked underneath the bed.

Well, you ain’t the worst I’ve had, she began insultingly.

And I let you stay the night, Roland finished before she could continue complaining. Now, if you don’t mind… He motioned with his eyes toward the door.

The woman’s face paint had worn off during her slumber, betraying her true age, which put her about ten years older than Roland had assumed the night before. She squinted at him, tugged her blouse over her head, and sauntered toward the exit.

Oh, she said over her shoulder, it’s Jade. Tell your friends.

He winced as she slammed the door behind her. The landlady was going to give him an earful. It was still early, and she had repeatedly told him he could stay for free if he made sure to keep silent.

He shrugged, rolling over and grabbing the pillow Jade had been sleeping on. He gagged, finding it laced heavily with her perfume, and tossed it aside. The men he bedded never wore scent. He wondered why women felt it necessary.

No rest for the weary.

Roland had recently celebrated his twenty-fifth year of life, and all he had to show for it were the few coins hidden carefully in one hollow boot heel and a head full of wits that came with having to keep one step ahead of coppers and bounty hunters.

Head still woozy from the night before, he sat up and groaned. Though he didn’t think he had drunk that much, he had been downstairs in the tavern below with Jade for several hours, which meant he had most certainly drunk more than he had intended.

He shook his head and limped toward the basin in the corner of the room, wincing at the inevitable pain that came every morning in his left knee. The wound was the result of a well-planned robbery gone wrong several years ago while he’d been living in Charm City. He now always looked before he leapt out of any window, whether in haste or not.

The water was stale but cold, and it would do for clearing his head.

Splashing some of it on his face, he glanced at himself in the mirror. He was neither handsome nor ugly—a true benefit when avoiding a copper or needing to lose oneself in a crowd. With light brown skin, dark brown eyes, and almost-black wavy hair, he looked like just another young, scruffy peasant. He rubbed a hand along his face and scowled at the stubble. Perhaps he’d treat himself to a visit to the barber, if this tiny hovel of a village even had one.

He sat down on the bed and yanked on his boots. After sliding his feet into the well-worn leather, he shook the left one, relishing the sound the three coins made. He slid the heel of the boot sideways and the coins fell into his open palm. Knowing it wouldn’t do to have them rattling around as he walked, he dropped them into the small, empty purse underneath the rumpled tunic that lay on the floor. He slipped the purse around his neck and then slung his dirty, coarse shirt over his head. He stood and made his way as quietly as he could out of the room across the warped wooden floor.

You!

Ow! Roland whispered loudly, shying away from the tiny woman beside him who swatted at him with a dishrag as he made his way out of the room.

I told you to be quiet! the woman hissed, shooing him down the stairs.

What? Roland made it to the bottom of the landing, holding one arm above his face as though to shield himself from a vicious attack. He grinned up at the woman from underneath.

You are a rogue. The woman, Agnes, smiled, though her face was tinged with a hint of sadness. She motioned for him to follow her. Roland did as she commanded as they strode into the kitchen. I don’t have much, but you can have some bread and this.

His eyes widened at the dried red fruit clutched in her skinny, wrinkled fingers.

Madam— he began as her smile faded.

I owe you a debt, Roland Shallowbrook, Agnes said, becoming serious. You did not have to bring back my son’s share.

Course I did. Roland sucked on the dried apple slices before chewing voraciously. Fruit during this time of year was a rare treat indeed. He was my pal. I only wish—

What’s done is done. The woman shook her head. Not everyone is as good as you at evading the coppers.

Yeah, well. Roland swallowed. The taste of the fruit went bitter in his mouth at the memory of his recently executed friend. I’m not sure hanging a man for stealing is all that just or fair. Plus, that Great Comet’s now keeping us all sorts of honest. Kind of impossible to commit crimes in the dead of night when that thing’s shining down brighter than the moon.

Both Roland and the older woman glanced out of the window in the kitchen and up at the sky where the comet hung, illuminating the present morning much as it had the darkest nights previous.

My son knew the consequences, Agnes said, narrowing her eyes, same as you. Why don’t you find a nice girl? Settle down? A farm would suit you.

And deprive your ladies of this? Roland winked at the woman.

Did Jade treat you well? Agnes continued her morning routine. She straightened bowls and plates and the few knives and forks she had available for higher paying customers on the counter that separated the stove from the rest of the back room.

Well. Roland continued to chomp down hungrily on the fruit. It had been ages since he had tasted food so sweet. She didn’t steal from me, if that’s what you mean.

Humph. Agnes raised her eyebrows. An honest whore. At her age, too.

Roland rolled his eyes. You might have warned me about that. What was she, forty?

And what, she asked slowly, a slight smile curling her lips, is wrong with forty?

It’s not twenty, Roland responded flatly.

She didn’t give you any guff about that missing tooth, I bet. Agnes crossed her arms over her chest, feigning annoyance.

Roland shoved his tongue into the space where his left canine was missing. He then grinned.

How did you lose that tooth, anyhow? Agnes asked.

Roland shoved the back door of the building open, tearing into the bread with a vengeance while ignoring her question.

That’s right, get out, she laughed. And next time, you pay!

Roland bowed as he exited the dark kitchen. I am grateful for your hospitality, madam.

He turned away from the boarding house, stumbling slightly and squinting in the sun. It was already mid-morning, but boarding houses kept odd hours. Breakfast at a boarding house was everyone else’s idea of a mid-day meal, and bedtime at a boarding house was, well…

Roland stifled a yawn and sauntered down the only road that cut between the two rows of buildings that made up the roadside stop. The collection of modest structures could hardly be called a village. Its only reason for existing was as a resting place for those traveling in between towns on the single road that cut through this part of the Verte lands. It was a place where one could rest for the night, grab a drink or pleasure or both, and then continue on. It was not a place one stayed for an extended period of time or planted roots of any kind, and yet Roland’s former partner in crime had called it home.

Roland couldn’t help but shake his head at the memory of Will. The man had been older than Roland by several years, and it had been his mature-looking, sunburned face and shining, brown eyes that had attracted Roland to him in the first place. Roland had initially approached Will in the tavern that night looking for a quick back-alley fuck. He had been full of drink and made an epically stupid decision, approaching a stranger. Will had graciously declined, an action that had shocked Roland once he’d sobered up, given the criminality of his behavior, but the two ran into each other again a few weeks later and found they had some things in common: they both hated the gentry, and they were both experienced house- breakers. So, when the older man made Roland an intriguing offer involving robbing a particularly prominent member of the gentry, Roland had readily agreed. He’d been acquiring coin dishonestly since the age of thirteen and had no scruples about stealing.

Their plan had, unfortunately, more than one flaw and failed. Roland was able to flee with the coin. Will was not.

Roland surveyed the road stop around him and could almost count the number of buildings on one hand: the boarding house, the tavern, the blacksmith, the weaponsmith, and the actual boarding house where men who stupidly traveled with their families had to lay their heads.

He shoved his hands into his pockets and walked with the expert slowness of someone used to procrastinating on his choice of destination. His initial instincts had been correct. Not a barber pole in sight. He itched his chin, wondering if it was time to invest in a razor.

For lack of any better idea, Roland strolled over to the tavern, convinced he would be able to think more clearly about where he should go next after consuming a drink…or two.

Leora crouched down in the weeds and looked hungrily with tired eyes at the small gathering of buildings. The cold air of the early spring evening penetrated her lungs, burning in her chest.

She had been running all day. Life on a farm had few benefits, but it had kept her in excellent shape. She’d been able to maintain a steady pace along the bank of the river for hours. Now that she had stopped, however, her knees buckled, and she nearly collapsed.

Should she venture forward? Would she be safer sleeping in the woods?

Although she had been deprived of a bed for years, she knew very little about sleeping out of doors—really out of doors. She knew there were beasts in the woods. She had never seen one herself, but she had heard stories and assumed there was some truth to them, even if their primary function was to scare children into obedient submission to their parents. Should she sleep in a tree, then? How would she even accomplish that without falling?

Her mind raced as she scanned the roadside stop. There was also the issue of her eyes.

She’d never been farther than the outskirts of Mae, and she worried her appearance would compromise her safety. Would the people at this roadside stop hate her as much as the villagers of Mae had? Leora didn’t know, and she was terrified to find out.

She supposed she could use her Xanthcraft to make herself invisible, but then she wouldn’t be able to consume any food or drink. Years ago, when she had first discovered the ability to will herself undetectable from the world around her, she’d also learned she was unable to hold any object that hadn’t become invisible with her. She had tried and tried to remedy the situation with no success.

Her stomach rumbled, and the lone coin in her pocket pressed heavily against her thigh.

Quiet, you! Leora spoke to her belly—her only friend. In her haste, she had neglected to plan for future meals. Just as she had neglected to plan for what she would do when the sun set. She had been so set with panic, she hadn’t really thought out her plan all that well.

She had just run.

Maybe if I keep my head down and my hood up, they won’t