I didn’t, either. Indeed, the entire city seems as if it’s full of crooks and brigands now. Every man who passes looks like a potential thief, and whenever someone sidles too near to the cart, I stiffen in alarm. Gwenna grabs the handle of the cart and groans as she gives it a tug, with me still atop the baggage. “Milus’s bones, Aspeth, what have you got under that dress? Rocks?”
“Think frocks, not rocks,” I joke, keeping a bright smile on my face so Gwenna doesn’t panic. I know she hates this trip already. I know she’s afraid of how vulnerable we are now that we’ve left Father’s hold. I could be kidnapped by another holder family for ransom. I could be set upon by thieves. I could be compromised in any number of ways a noblewoman is compromised. I could find myself dumped in the woods to the east and lost there forever. All of these things she’s brought up multiple times during our journey here to Vastwarren City.
I’ve considered them all. I’m not stupid. I’m just completely out of options.
Gwenna’s right that this place is unsavory and dangerous, but coming here is worth the risk. If anyone finds out that Honori Hold has nothing but a few dead artifacts and that my father’s gambled the rest away? We’ll be tossed out by rivals before a fortnight passes…and that’s the best-case scenario. This is something I have to do.
As another passerby eyes the cart, I scowl at him and clutch Squeaker harder. The cat is squirming dreadfully, but I keep her tightly in hand. I know I’m heavier than Gwenna. My upbringing as a holder’s daughter has been full of sweets and books and very little physical work, and it shows in the size of my derriere. “If you want to sit while I pull, we can switch.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Gwenna says, jerking on the handle of the cart. “You’re the lady and I’m the maid.”
That makes me frown, because I’ve left the hold. I’m no longer a lady. I’m supposed to be Sparrow and she’s supposed to be my equal and friend, Wren. We’ve discussed this. But the middle of a crowded street is not the time to argue, so I just hold my squirming cat harder. “Let’s find an inn and get settled, shall we?”
We fight our way down two more streets (or rather, Gwenna does) before we come to an inn. There’s a wooden sign hanging over the entrance with a mug of beer and a bed on the shingle. The smell of hot food wafts out the open door, along with laughter. Gwenna points at it, raising her eyebrows, and I nod. The moment we’re over the threshold and out of the street, I leap off the cart, hand Squeaker to Gwenna, and then approach the bar.
“One room, please.” I beam my most winning smile at the woman barkeep, who wipes the wood down with a rag that could quite possibly be filthier than the bar itself.
She pauses, eyeing Gwenna with my luggage. “For a lady and her maid?”
“For two friends,” I say brightly. “We are bosom companions.”
She blinks at me, then at Gwenna, and shrugs. “Whatever. Price is the same. Costs extra for the animal, though.”
The innkeeper assures me that food will be sent up later, along with a basin of water for washing. She doesn’t ask our names, but I offer that mine is Sparrow, which earns another bark of laughter. I’m starting to grow offended at how many people think that it’s funny. Is Sparrow a common name for guild artificers? I should think “Raven” or “Peregrine” or even “Hawk” would be far more usual. But then we’re settled (on the first floor, thank the five gods), and we’ve eaten. There’s even some cooked chicken in a bowl for Squeaker, who makes greedy noises as she eats as if we’ve been starving her in a cruel and unjust manner.
We sit on the edge of the bed and, bowls in hand, eat our meal. I nibble on a small bite of stew, too exhausted to eat much. This is the first time I’ve traveled so far from home, and after days of anxiety and worry, we’re finally here. I feel like collapsing into a heap, but I know the real work has only just begun. Tomorrow I must introduce myself to the Royal Artifactual Guild as a student of the arts and see where they assign me for schooling. Imagine. Schooling, and me at the ripe old spinster age of thirty.
Briefly, I think of Barnabus and his perfect red hair and gorgeous smile and my heart hurts. But only briefly. It’s an improvement. He doesn’t deserve any of my thoughts.
“So,” Gwenna says at my side.
“Yes?”
“Am I sleeping on the floor?”
I put my spoon down in my bowl and give my head a shake, focusing on her. Gwenna has been at my side for three days now, traveling through the holder lands by night, taking coach after jostling coach through the mountains and back through the forests again, all without complaint.
Well, no more complaint than usual.
I’m grateful for her presence. She’s slightly younger than me, twenty-five years to my thirty, and I like that she’s bold about telling me what she thinks. She’s been my maid ever since she was twelve, and I think of her as a friend. Come to think of it, she might be my only friend.
It makes the fact that she’s here with me that much more meaningful. “You’ll sleep in the bed, of course. We’re in this together, and I’m determined that we consider ourselves equals, Gwenna. You’re the only one I can trust, and it means everything to me that you’re at my side. I know Vastwarren City isn’t a dream of yours—”
She snorts, then takes a heaping bite of her stew.
“—but I appreciate that you’re here, just the same.”
“I’m here because you needed someone at your side,” Gwenna grumbles. She stirs her food briskly with her utensil, staring at it and not at me. “And I can’t very well be a lady’s maid if there’s no lady to serve, right?”
“You know I’d write you a very effusive letter of recommendation,” I say gently. “Being in the Royal Artifactual Guild isn’t for everyone. I know it’s dirty, difficult work, and guild members spend much of their time in tunnels, digging through the dirt. I’m told that the training is difficult and long, and many don’t make it through to the two-part test. I’ll understand if you wish to leave. I’m sure I can sell something and you can take a coach back to Honori Hold. I bet we could find that nice man with the artifact coach, too. His wasn’t too bad.”
“I’m staying,” Gwenna says, a stubborn look on her round face. Gwenna might be the only person more obstinate than I am, and I adore her for it. “But don’t call me ‘Chickadee.’ It sounds ridiculous and…” She flaps a hand. “Too fussy. Too dainty.”
“Fussy” and “dainty” suit neither of us. I’m tall and broad, with thick legs and a waistline that shows my enduring love for nibbles. I bite my cuticles and read books and wear spectacles. I’m not pretty. I’m bland. Gwenna is pretty, though. She’s got a round, sweet face and thick black hair. She comes up to my shoulder, on the short side of things, but she’s stout and strong and busty and could never be mistaken for a delicate creature. I like the name “Sparrow” because it suits me to blend in. A sparrow is a creature that strikes me as unfussed by the need for flashy feathers or intricate birdsong. A sparrow just does its job. That appeals to me.
“Not ‘Chickadee,’ then,” I offer, though Gwenna really does look like a cute, plump chickadee to me. Even her no-nonsense bun of black hair looks like a chickadee’s cap. “You decide on a name. Did you like the idea of being called ‘Wren’?”
“Humph. Only wrens I know of nest in the hayloft and shit all over the barn.”
“Well, then, it’s the perfect name,” I say brightly. “I come up with plans and you shit all over them.”
We blink at each other, Gwenna staring at me in surprise. Then we both burst into laughter.
“ ‘Wren’ will do,” Gwenna tells me, chuckling. “I won’t remember it, just like I won’t remember to call you ‘Sparrow,’ but it’ll do.”
I grin at her and take another bite of my food, glad that, whatever route this journey of mine will take, I’ll have a friend at my side.
