Celeste

  The villagers cursed, some clutching at their eyes, others turning away with pale faces. No one made to chase. Not after what they’d seen.

  I steadied myself against the doorframe while my eyes blinked to see again, but the world swayed anyway. Outside, the dust was already settling where my mare had vanished, carried off beneath the thief. In saving one boy I had doomed myself.

  I finally pushed out into the square, vision still blurred from the blaze he’d loosed. The dust was gone, my mare with it, and only murmurs of the villagers remained.

  “Where’s a horse?” My voice cut through the hush sharper than I meant. I turned on the boy’s father first, then the knot of men nearby. “Any horse. I’ll ride him down before he gets far.”

  No one moved. The men shifted their weight, eyes sliding to the ground. One cleared his throat, another rubbed the back of his neck, but no offer of help came.

  I stepped closer, heat rising behind my eyes. “You saw what he did. You saw him steal from me. From you. Who here will help me chase him?”

  Still nothing.

  I swept my eyes over the rest, searching for courage in their faces. “How did he arrive here, was it on foot? Did anyone see?”

  The father’s mouth worked soundlessly before he muttered, “We… we’re sorry. Truly. But he had no horse of his own. Just… walked off the road and stayed on.” He trailed off, gaze fixed on the packed dirt.

  Another man nodded quickly, as though eager to be rid of the explanation. “He’s no local. A wanderer, by the look of him. He came in with the caravan two nights past. Might’ve hitched a ride, we don’t rightly know. But he lodged over at Tersa’s place, farther down the road.” He gestured vaguely toward the lane, not daring to meet my eyes.

  Their silence pressed until one man finally found his voice. He wrung his cap in both hands, shoulders hunched as if expecting a blow.

  “We’re sorry, miss. But we’re not… we’re not Casters. We don’t know what he did, not really. Light like that–” His eyes flicked away, throat bobbing. “We can’t chase a man who can throw the sun at us.”

  A ripple of agreement moved through the others, mutters and averted gazes. Fear thickened the air and drained the fight from their bodies. They hadn’t only lost their nerve, they’d lost it to the very idea of power.

  I clenched my jaw and turned toward the lane they’d pointed out. Tersa’s. If he’d left anything behind, I’d find it there.

  As I started away, another man called after me, his voice faltering. “Barthalomew might… he might help. He’s a Water Caster, lives just past the green.”

  The name meant nothing to me. Just another face in a place I didn’t know, offered up because they had nothing else to give.

  I spun back on them, heat snapping in my voice. “You had fists enough to beat him bloody when he was down, but none to stand when it mattered. Casting or not, you chose to cower. And now you throw out another Caster’s name like an offering, all while you whisper excuses.”

  I didn’t give them the chance to sputter an answer. Their shame was plain enough. I turned and strode down the lane, my boots striking harder than I meant, each step carrying me farther from their cowardice.

  The settlement thinned as I went, the knot of gawkers left behind. Here, people leaned in doorways or bent to their work. Faces calm, untouched by what had just torn at the edge of the village. A few glanced up at me as I passed, brows furrowing at the edge of dust and sweat on my cloak, but no questions came.

  By the time I reached the lane past the well, the commotion felt like something that had happened in another town. I stopped before a low house with its shutters thrown wide, the boards weathered gray with age. Lifting my hand, I rapped on the door.

  It opened a moment later to a man with tired eyes and work-rough hands. He looked me over once, cautious but not unfriendly.

  “Does Tersa live here?” I asked, steadying my voice.

  He nodded. “Aye. My wife. What’s your business with her?”

  The man’s hand lingered on the doorframe, as if deciding whether to shut me out. Before he could, a woman’s voice carried from behind him.

  “Who is it, Edric?”

  She stepped into view, her head poking past his shoulder. She had her hair pinned back, apron dusted from flour. Her gaze caught on me, curious and wary.

  “I’m looking for someone,” I said quickly, leaning a fraction closer. “Middle-aged, wore a cloak. About your husband’s height. Nose a little pointed.”

  Recognition flickered in her eyes before her husband could answer. “Renald,” she said. “Yes, we know him. He’s been lodging here these past two nights. Our boarding rooms are for travelers.” She glanced at her husband, then back at me, her voice tightening. “Why? Has something happened?”

  The words burst out before I could temper them. “He’s a damned horse thief and a fraud. He pretended to heal a boy only to line his own pockets. And when he was found out, he blinded half your neighbors and rode off on my mare.”

  Tersa’s hand flew to her mouth. “Gods above.” She turned back at once, eyes sharp with anger. “That snake. And under our roof, too.”

  Her husband shook his head, muttering a curse, then looked back to me. “Come inside, miss. You shouldn’t be left in the lane with this news.”

  I stepped through, the air cooler inside, shadows cast long from the shuttered windows. Tersa wrung her hands, still fuming. “Did he stable a horse here? Or anywhere near?” I asked quickly. “Anything that might give me a chance to follow?”

  The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  Edric shook his head. “No horse. He walked in with a caravan two nights back. Claimed he’d caught a ride and paid for a bed.”

  “And he said he was bound for Elmswyke,” Tersa added.

  The name hit hard in my chest. Elmswyke. North. Farther north than even Rodin. I cursed inwardly. The bastard would have me chasing the wrong way before he even left the square. It would be useless to ride after him now.

  My purse was still strapped beneath my cloak, and for that I was grateful. But the rest, feed, blankets, food – all gone with the mare.

  “You’ve lost more than a horse, I think,” Tersa said softly, her anger giving way to pity. “You’ll not pay us for a bed tonight. Not after this. Take his room and rest. He left things behind. You’re welcome to them.”

  Edric nodded, already reaching for a ring of keys. “What’s his is yours now. Might you’ll find something of use.”

  I followed them down a narrow hall. At the end, Edric stopped before a plain door, fit a key into the lock, and pushed it open. The room smelled faintly of travel and stale ale.

  “You’ve the room to yourself and the linens are fresh,” he said. “Take whatever you need.”

  He left me at the threshold, the key still in the door, I stepped inside.

  The room was as plain as I’d seen. A narrow bed with its blankets made, a chair shoved against the wall, and a small satchel slumped on top of it. I knelt, half hoping for something, anything that would point me after him.

  Clothes. A threadbare shirt, patched trousers, a pair of socks that stank of old sweat. Nothing more. Nothing that spoke of who he was or where he’d gone.

  At the bottom I found a purse. Inside clinked a few coins, not much, but more than nothing. Perhaps he’d meant to come back for it, or perhaps he’d been too panicked to think straight. Either way, it was mine now, though it felt a poor trade for everything he’d taken.

  I sat heavily on the edge of the bed, the frame groaning beneath me, purse in my lap. For the first time since the chase began, the fire that had kept me moving faltered.

  Maybe I’d been wrong. Maybe I should have listened to Art and gone north to Rodin like he said. What if he’d already slipped their grasp? What if he was in Rodin even now, expecting to see me there? Searching for me while I blundered south chasing shadows.

  The thought clawed at me until I pressed my hands against the water behind my eyes. What if this whole trip was for nothing? That I’d lost the only chance to find him, to help him, because I couldn’t trust his word.

  I had enough coin left to buy a horse – if anyone here would part with one. But even if I had it beneath me, where would I ride? Back north to Rodin? Or south again, hounding after a platoon of soldiers who might already be gone beyond reach?

  The room pressed close, the air heavy with stale ale and sweat. I drew a breath, sharp and unsteady. The road forked in every direction, and I no longer knew which way was mine.

  I forced myself up from the bed, my legs heavier still. Sitting here wouldn’t bring Art closer. Every hour I lingered was another he could be moving farther away. Whether to Rodin, or south in the soldiers’ ranks. I couldn’t say.

  I found my way back down the narrow hall, the boards creaking beneath my boots. At the front, Tersa and her husband were still waiting, quiet with worry. The boy’s father was there too, his shoulders hunched as he spoke low with Edric. I caught his eye but turned back to the couple instead.

  “Did any soldiers come through here?” I asked. My voice came out sharper than I intended. “Last night, this morning?”

  Edric shook his head. “No, miss. Not that we saw. The road’s been empty.”

  The answer landed like another punch to my gut. Empty. If they hadn’t come through here at all, then had I chased the wrong trail? Had I lost them that fast? My mouth went dry, my mind skidding toward the pit of doubt again.

  Before I could speak, another voice broke in. “I heard them.”

  I turned. The boy’s father had stepped closer, his hands twisting against each other, his voice rough but steady. “As you know, my home sits near the northern edge of town. When the storm came through last night, I heard them on the road. Boots and hooves in the mud, too many to be traders. They didn’t stop. They kept south, even through the rain.”

  Hope stirred, faint but fierce. They had come this way. I wasn’t chasing ghosts.

  I fixed my eyes on him. “Do you know where I can buy a horse? Anyone here willing to sell?”

  He nodded, glancing between Tersa and Edric. “Aye. A man down the lane keeps two geldings penned behind his shed. He won’t part with one cheap, but for the right price…”

  It wasn’t certainty. But it was enough. Enough to stand, enough to move again.

  The road curved toward the edge of the settlement, where the houses grew farther apart and the fields began again. Trent, the boy’s father, walked a half-step ahead. Every few paces he cleared his throat, as if he meant to speak, but no words came.

  I followed in silence. My boots dragged a little through the ruts, the weight of the day pressing heavier than the cloak on my shoulders.

  By the time we reached the fence line, the sun had begun its slow descent, the light turning warm and low across the fields.

  Two geldings stood inside the pen, tails swishing lazily, their coats gray with road dust. Trent slowed near the gate and nodded toward them.

  “That’s Harven’s place,” he said. “He breeds work stock mostly.”

  A small yard spread out before the house, tools scattered near the fence and a half-split log resting on its side where someone had left it mid-swing. A boy was out front, maybe twelve, sleeves rolled past his elbows and straw clinging to his hair. He straightened when he saw us, wiping his hands on his trousers.

  Trent lifted a hand in greeting. “Your father about?”

  The boy nodded. “He’s here. Out back, gathering some food from the garden for supper.”

  Before either of us could answer, he dropped the rake he’d been holding and jogged off down the side of the house, calling for his father as he went.

  A few moments later the low murmur of voices carried back towards where we stood. Then a man rounded the corner, tall and broad, his shirt damp with sweat. He slowed when he saw us.

  “Trent,” he said, tone even but wary. “Didn’t expect to see you this evening. What’s this about?”

  Trent cleared his throat and took a step forward. “Evening, Harven. Hate to trouble you, but we’re in a bit of a bind. This woman’s looking to buy a horse, if you’re of a mind to sell one.”

  Haven’s brows went up. Then barked a short laugh, low and rough. “Sell one? You think I’ve got stock to spare? These two pull my plow and haul my grain. If I part with one, the other’s no good alone.” He shook his head, amusement fading to something closer to disbelief. “Not likely.”

  I stepped forward before Trent could answer. “Please,” I said, the word slipping out. “My horse was stolen. A thief rode off with it and left me stranded.”

  Harven looked me over, taking in the dust on my cloak, and whatever look of desperation I held on my face. He let out a slow breath through his nose. “Then he’s gone, miss. I don’t mean to sound cold, but I can’t spare a horse. I’ve mouths to feed, and them beasts are the only way I manage it.”

  “I’ll pay double,” I said quickly. “Triple, if I have to. Just name your price.”

  He crossed his arms, the faintest ghost of a smile at the corner of his mouth, not cruel but certain. “Doesn’t matter what you offer. Gold can’t pull a plow. Coin won’t plant the spring fields.”

  The finality in his tone settled like a stone between us. I felt the words catch in my throat, but before I could find something else to say, Trent shifted awkwardly beside me, looking from one to the other. There was nothing left to say.

  I turned back toward the road, the weight of failure dragging heavier with each step.

  By the time we reached the first houses again, the air had changed. Doors stood half-open, faces peering out. A whisper followed us, faint at first, then another, then more.

  Someone stepped out into the road ahead of me. Then another.

  “Miss,” a woman said, clutching a child to her chest. “You’re the one who healed that boy, aren’t you?”

  I stopped cold.

  The crowd pressed closer, their pleas climbing over one another until they were a single roar.

  A hand shot out and caught my arm.

  I twisted to pull free, but his grip only tightened, rough fingers digging into the muscle above my elbow.

  “I’ve been looking for you,” he said.

  His other hand clamped over mine, and the weight of him pressed forward.