Chapter 14

  When I got back from my bath, I found Marta sitting by the fire with Emil on her lap, examining the fabric I'd salvaged from the town. She was running her fingers over the cloth, testing its weight and texture.

  "This is good cloth," she said when she spotted me. "Sturdy. Should last you a while if it's sewn properly."

  "You know about sewing?" I asked, settling down beside her.

  "I was a tailor back in Millbrook," Marta said with a small smile. "Had my own little shop near the market square."

  Emil looked up at his mother. "Mama make pretty dresses."

  "That's right, sweetheart." Marta ruffled his blonde hair. "And I can make Vera a nice dress too, if she'd like."

  I looked down at my torn jeans and stained t-shirt. The fabric was hanging on by threads at this point, and I probably looked like I'd been wrestling bears for a week. Which, to be fair, wasn't far from the truth.

  "I'd really appreciate that," I said. "These clothes are pretty much done for."

  "I noticed," Marta said tactfully. "The weave is... unusual. Very fine work, though I can't place the technique."

  Of course she couldn't. Denim and cotton blends probably didn't exist in this world.

  "They're from my hometown," I said. "Different style from around here."

  Marta nodded, accepting the explanation without question. "Well, let's see what we can do with this."

  She stood up, gently moving Emil to sit beside me. "Senna, can you watch Emil for a moment? I need to take some measurements."

  Senna bounced over immediately. "Come on, Emil. Want to help me gather firewood?"

  The little boy's face lit up. "Can I?"

  "Sure. Just stay where we can see you, alright?"

  As the two of them wandered off toward the edge of camp, Marta turned back to me. "Right then. Let's get you sorted."

  She had me stand up and spread my arms while she used a piece of string to measure my shoulders, waist, and the length from my shoulder to my knee. Her hands moved with practiced efficiency, the muscle memory of years spent fitting customers.

  "You're taller than most women around here," she observed, making a knot in the string to mark one of the measurements. "But not too tall. This should work just fine."

  "How long will it take?" I asked.

  "A few hours, maybe," Marta said, moving the string to measure my arm length. "Good thing I always carry my sewing kit with me."

  She reached into a small pouch at her waist and pulled out a bundle wrapped in soft leather. Inside were several needles of different sizes, spools of thread in various colors, and a small pair of scissors.

  "You had all that with you?" I asked, impressed.

  "Never leave home without it," Marta said with a small smile. "Habit from running my own shop. You never know when you might need to make a quick repair or take on emergency work.

  "Were you always a tailor?" I asked.

  Marta's hands paused for just a moment. "More or less. Learned from my mother, she learned from hers. It's good work for women, especially..." She trailed off, glancing toward Emil. "Especially when you've got a child to think about."

  There was something more to that story, but I didn't press. If she wanted to keep some things private, that was her business.

  "All done," she said, tucking the string into her pocket. "Now let me see what I've got to work with."

  "You sure you don't mind?" I asked, holding up my torn jeans. "I know you've got other things to worry about."

  Marta shook her head, already examining the fabric more closely. "Nonsense. You saved our lives—the least I can do is this.”

  "Besides," she added with a small smile, "it'll be nice to have something to keep my hands busy. Helps me not think about... other things."

  I understood that feeling.

  We spent the morning working together at the camp. Marta measured and cut while I held fabric and tried not to get in her way.

  By midday, she'd managed to create a simple dress from the rough fabric. It wasn't fancy—just a basic tunic-style garment that fell to about my knees, with sleeves that came to my elbows. But compared to my torn, blood-stained clothes from another world, it was a massive improvement.

  "There," Marta said, holding it up for inspection. "It's not much, but it should fit properly."

  "It's perfect," I said, meaning every word. "Thank you, Marta. Really."

  She smiled. "You're welcome, Vera."

  I went inside the shelter as it was empty for the moment, everyone was busy with their own tasks, scattered around the clearing.

  I ducked inside with the dress, then carefully peeled off my ruined clothes from Earth. The jeans and t-shirt were torn, stained, and barely holding together, but they were the only things I had left from my old world. They were useless now, but I couldn't bring myself to throw them away. I folded them neatly despite their condition and tucked them away in a corner of the shelter.

  The dress was rough against my skin, scratchy in places where the fabric hadn't been properly softened. But it fit well enough, and more importantly, it made me look decent.

  I looked down at myself, smoothing the rough fabric of the dress. It wasn't comfortable, and I already missed my jeans, but it was better than what I had.

  When I stepped back outside, Emil clapped his hands. "You look pretty!"

  "Much better," Henrik agreed.

  I laughed. "Thanks. I think."

  "Speaking of which," Henrik said, settling down on his usual log. "Have you given any more thought to our offer?"

  All eyes turned to me again. I could feel the weight of their expectation, their hope that I'd say yes.

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  The truth was, I had been thinking about it. All day, actually. And as much as the idea of exposing myself to the world made me nervous, staying in the forest wasn't really an option anymore.

  Winter was coming. These people and I needed proper supplies and shelter, something all of us needed. And despite my fears about the world and everything else in between, I couldn't just abandon them.

  And….I want to know more and explore what this world has to offer.

  "I'll come with you," I said.

  The relief on their faces was immediate and obvious.

  "Thank you," Marta said softly. "I know it's asking a lot, but—"

  "I was planning to do it anyway," I interrupted. "I need to see more of this world anyway. And you're right—traveling in a group is safer than going alone."

  "When do we leave?" Aldric asked.

  Henrik rubbed his beard thoughtfully. "Day after tomorrow, I think. Give everyone time to rest up and gather what supplies we can.

  "What about..." I glanced meaningfully at my monsters. "How are we going to explain them when we reach Oakenford?"

  "Ye’r a mage." Henrik said simply. "Mages have familiars. It's unusual to have so many, but not unheard of."

  "Is it really not unheard of?" I asked.

  "Well," Henrik admitted, "it's pretty rare. But not impossible.”

  "We'll figure it out when we get there," I said.

  “Fine.”

  =====

  Blackwind Duchy. Drakmoor Kingdom.

  The hall of Blackwind Keep was dimly lit by torchlight, casting shadows across the stone walls. Tapestries bearing the duchy's black raven sigil hung between tall windows as the air smelled of smoke and old wine.

  Duke Blackwind sat in his ornate chair at the head of the hall, his fingers drumming impatiently against the armrest. He was a thin man with sharp features and graying hair, dressed in black doublet and hose that matched his duchy's colors. His pale eyes watched the approaching group with coldness.

  The knights marched in formation down the center of the hall, their armor clanking with each step. Twenty men in total, their weapons still stained with dried blood from their recent work. Behind them walked a figure in robes, a staff clutched in his pale hands.

  Gorvain, the knight-captain, stopped ten paces from the duke's chair and removed his helmet. He was a scarred man with close-cropped brown hair and eyes that had seen too much killing.

  "Your Grace," Gorvain said, dropping to one knee. "The task is complete."

  "All of them?" Duke Blackwind asked, his voice carrying the bored tone of a man discussing the weather.

  "Every soul in Millbrook, my lord. The town burns as we speak."

  The duke's lips curved into a thin smile. "Good. And the boy?"

  Gorvain’s confident expression flickered for just a moment. "We... encountered complications, Your Grace."

  The duke's fingers stopped drumming. The temperature in the hall seemed to drop several degrees.

  "Complications?"

  "Some of the villagers escaped into the forest before we could secure all the exits," Gorvain continued, his voice carefully controlled. "We pursued them, but..."

  "But?"

  "We lost two men, Your Grace. Something in the forest killed them. Some kind of beast, by the look of the wounds."

  Duke Blackwind's eyes narrowed. "A beast."

  "Yes, my lord. Large predator, from what we could determine. Wolves, perhaps, though the damage was... extensive."

  It was not uncommon for monsters to wander the outskirts of the forest from time to time.

  Duke Blackwind leaned back in his chair. "And the boy was definitely among the villagers?"

  "We searched every house before the burning," Gorvain replied. "No sign of anyone matching the description you provided. If he was there, he would have died with the rest."

  "If." The duke's voice carried a dangerous edge. "I don't deal in 'if,' Gorvain. I deal in certainties."

  The knight-captain's jaw tightened. "Your Grace, with respect, we eliminated an entire town. If the boy was there—"

  "Then you should have his body to show me."

  An uncomfortable silence settled over the hall. Several of the knights shifted nervously, their armor creaking in the quiet.

  "Perhaps," Duke Blackwind said slowly, "I need to make myself clearer about the consequences of failure."

  He gestured to one of his personal guards, a massive man in black plate armor who stepped forward without hesitation. The guard's sword whispered from its sheath.

  "No, Your Grace," Gorvain said quickly, his composure finally cracking. "Please. We can return, search the forest more thoroughly—"

  "The forest burns," the duke reminded him. "Or did you forget Magus Kellan's work so quickly?"

  "We can search the neighboring settlements," Gorvain continued desperately. "Check the roads, question travelers. If anyone escaped, we'll find them."

  Duke Blackwind considered this for a long moment, his pale eyes studying the kneeling knight like a cat watching a mouse.

  "You have one month," he said finally. "Find me the boy, or find me his body. Fail again, and I'll feed you to my hounds myself."

  "Yes, Your Grace. Thank you, Your Grace."

  The duke waved dismissively. "Get out of my sight. All of you."

  The knights filed out of the hall with considerably less swagger than they'd entered with. Only Magus Kellan remained, standing silently before the duke's chair.

  "You think they'll succeed?" Duke Blackwind asked once they were alone.

  "Does it matter?" Kellan replied. "The boy is four years old. Even if he survived the initial attack, he won't last long in the wilderness. Winter will do what our knights could not."

  "And if he doesn't die? If someone finds him, takes him in?"

  The mage's eyes glinted with amusement. "Then we'll simply have to ensure that anyone foolish enough to shelter him shares his fate."

  Duke Blackwind nodded approvingly. "I knew there was a reason I kept you around, Kellan."

  "The bloodline must end," the mage said matter-of-factly. "The old king had too many bastards, and bastards have a way of becoming a hindrance when they grow up."

  "Indeed they do." The duke rose from his chair, smoothing down his doublet.

  "Speaking of which," the duke said, settling back in his chair. "How fares our young Crown Prince? Is he still... receptive to guidance?"

  Kellan smiled. "Prince Galan remains under my influence, Your Grace. The hypnotism spell grows stronger each day. He believes every word we whisper in his ear comes from his own thoughts."

  "Good. And the other princes?"

  "Prince Reedus died in that hunting ‘accident’ last month, as planned. Prince Gareth's food poisoning was quite tragic - the palace is still in mourning." Kellan's eyes gleamed. "That leaves only Prince Roderick and Prince Daemon as potential threats to your nephew's claim."

  Duke Blackwind swirled his wine thoughtfully. "Three princes left, then. Four if we count the bastard child."

  "Prince Roderick commands too much loyalty among the northern lords," Kellan observed. "He'll need to meet with an unfortunate accident soon. Prince Daemon, however, might prove useful - he's weak-willed and easily manipulated."

  "And if the bastard lives?"

  "Then he becomes a rallying point for anyone who opposes your nephew's rule," the mage replied. "Royal blood is royal blood, legitimate or not. There will always be those who prefer a bastard with the king's face to a prince who dances to our tune."

  The duke rose from his chair, pacing to the tall window that overlooked his lands. "My brother thought he was so clever, seeding bastards across the kingdom. Insurance, he called it. Backup heirs in case something happened to his legitimate sons."

  "He never imagined someone might eliminate both the legitimate heirs and the bastards," Kellan said with dark amusement.

  "Indeed. See that the men are fed and given fresh horses. If they're to spend the next month hunting ghosts, they'll need to be properly equipped."

  "Of course, Your Grace. And the Crown Prince?"

  "Continue the treatments. By the time he's crowned, I want him so thoroughly under our control that he'll sign his own death warrant if we ask nicely enough."

  As Kellan turned to leave, Duke Blackwind called after him. "And Kellan? Next time, try to leave something standing. Ash and bone tell me nothing about who escaped and who didn't."

  The mage paused at the doorway. "I'll remember that, Your Grace."

  When he was gone, Duke Blackwind returned to his chair and poured himself a goblet of wine from the bottle on the nearby table. He sipped it slowly, staring up at the tapestries on his walls.

  The game was nearly won. With the Crown Prince under their control and most of the royal bloodline eliminated, all that remained was tying up a few loose threads.

  Two more princes and a bastard.

  Minor obstacles, really. Nothing that couldn't be handled with the right application of poison, steel, and fire.

  Duke Blackwind smiled as he sip his wine. Soon, his nephew would wear the crown, and he would be the true power behind the throne.