The smell of roasting meat must be noticeable for miles, yet I can’t bring myself to care. The rabbits sizzle as I turn them over the fire, the golden tint saying they’re nearly ready. My mouth waters at the thought of eating anything that is not hard cheese and dried fruit and meat so tough I can soak it through and still break my teeth.

  “Don’t burn them.” Tuuliki drops herself into a cross-legged seat beside me.

  “Don’t insult me.”

  She grins so hard her pointed ears twitch. Red hair flutters in the morning breeze, so long the ends brush the ground. Time has not marked her since I saw her last, drunk on harvest wine and dancing beneath the moon, but something exists between us now that didn’t always. A silence, like she’s waiting for me to speak, and I wonder how much my moms divulged to her about what the last two years have made of me.

  She settles her wooden staff across her thighs and leans her hands on the soft carpet of leaves where we sit. “Has the ranger returned?”

  I shake my head. “Should be back any moment now. Sun is nearly past the treetops.”

  Tuuliki tips her head back to see for herself, squinting as she calculates the hour. Then she peers into the trees, muttering in a language that might be elvish and might be something that exists only between her and green, growing things.

  After a long moment, she lies all the way back, settling against the forest floor like it’s her own bed.

  In a way, I suppose, it is.

  She does not speak again. The only sound in the tiny clearing is the fire and the rabbits, the juices which crack and pop as they drip from the spit.

  I glance to the trees, my chest tight. Two weeks we’ve been on the road, and two weeks I have spent with sore feet and a stomach angry with travel food. Though the summer laps at my skin and the sun reminds me how I used to like the prickle of grass beneath my toes, I can’t escape the worry that I won’t be able to run fast enough to fix myself the way Mom wants me to.

  After several minutes, Tuuliki holds up a hand, five fingers splayed. She crosses her thumb over her palm, then places her smallest finger over it, counting down. Three. Two. One.

  Movement through the trees draws my eye. An elven woman materializes on the treeline as if she came from the leaves themselves, a stark reminder of how far I’ve strayed from home.

  Esmira walks on silent feet towards Tuuliki and I. Her long braid swings down her back, her shoulders steady to provide a perch for the raven digging its talons into her leather armor. Her longbow rests in her hand, though as she approaches she slings it over the opposite shoulder as the bird.

  I lift my head as she nears, letting my expression ask the question.

  She answers with a dip of her chin. “Everything looks as it should. We’ll reach Whirris before the sun climbs to its high point.”

  I nod, though I can’t manage a smile at the news.

  “Think your aunt will be there?” Tuuliki asks without moving from where she lies.

  New worry has my teeth finding my lip. My tail lashes, and I do nothing to stop it. “I hope so. If she’s not, I don’t know what else could have become of her.”

  Esmira lowers herself beside us, holding her bow with one hand to keep it from scraping on the ground. “What will you do once you reach the city?”

  “No idea.” My words are clipped, my tone unfriendly.

  Guilt rises as soon as I say it. It’s not Esmira’s fault she was hired to play tour guide to a surly hellspawn and an elf who talks to the wind more often than she does people. I should ask her about herself, should smile and make her feel welcome. A few well-timed jokes and I can have her laughing, a story here and a question there and she’ll consider me a friend. Or, if not that, at least something other than one of the more insufferable people she’s ever met in her long lifetime.

  But I can’t bring myself to make the effort, so I turn the rabbits over the fire and say nothing.

  We sit in silence until Tuuliki rises, her head tilted as she considers the rabbits. “Those things look ready.”

  My nose agrees with her. With her help I lift the wooden spit from the fire and set it between two nearby branches. Esmira rises, reaching to her belt for a knife. I turn to our packs for the plates, and in minutes we’re back around the flames with the first good meal I’ve had in days.

  Unfortunately, we’re back on our feet within the hour. Esmira leads us through the trees, the going easy behind her sure feet. We find the road, a wide dirt path cutting through the trees like a knife wound. Esmira walks onto it and angles north, her head turning left and right.

  Nervous.

  Why, I don’t know, but I feel it too. A spider-walk that races along my spine and says there should be more than the empty expanse of dirt before us. Carts should rumble along the rut lines, and travelers should sing songs loudly enough we can hear them over the treetops. Not this too-still nothing, baking beneath the heat of the summer morning.

  We walk for a long time. Our silence retreats only in the wake of buzzing insects and the occasional call of birds in the brush. After an hour the road curves hard and we follow it, stopping at the far end. Because there, rising from the earth as if it was planted, is Whirris.

  All at once the silence of the woods evaporates. Shouts rise into the morning, dozens of footsteps form a ceaseless hum, and far off, a donkey brays. Squat buildings hunker on either side of the wide street, with more sprawled at lazy angles further into the city. People appear, hurrying down the roads and standing in front of doors and talking over cups of coffee. Signs wave in the breeze and banners flap, and everywhere the reality of my flight holds itself ready to slap me across the face.

  Esmira veers to one side of the road, stopping between two of the last trees before the city claims the landscape. She settles her hands on her hips and gives us a smile. “Whirris, as promised.”

  Tuuliki doesn’t seem to hear her, eyes wide as they dart from one unfamiliar thing to the next.

  I take it upon myself to offer my hand towards the ranger. “Thank you for seeing us this far. Your skills were not exaggerated.”

  A blush rises to Esmira’s cheeks. She takes my hand as her raven clacks its beak. “I can leave you here if you know where you’re going, or I’m happy to help you find accommodation. I can’t say cities are home to me, but I’ve been here once or twice.”

  I’ve been rude enough that I can’t rebuke her. Let this end on a good note before I turn myself to the impossible task of figuring out what in the seven realms I’m supposed to do now. “Help would be much appreciated.”

  She releases my hand and turns for the road once more. I follow, tugging on Tuuliki’s sleeve so she doesn’t fall behind.

  Though Whirris is by no means a large city by definition, it’s bigger than anything I’ve seen. My home is—was, now—creeks and treetops, little houses so small they fit between clustered trunks and a sparse enough population to know every face by its name. Whirris could not be more different, full of a hustle I feel in my teeth and enough noise to make my ears buzz.

  I try not to crane my head. My tail curls, and I resist the urge to reach for it. I don’t need the comfort, and I certainly don’t want strangers thinking I do. So I settle my hands on the straps of Mama’s traveling pack and try to look like a woman who knows what she’s doing.

  There’s no sign of Grogg.

  I shake my head, telling myself that I can’t expect her to be standing at the entrance to the town, simply waiting for me. Mama said she would meet us here, so I put one foot after another and follow the elves, my head swiveling as we go.

  Everywhere, eyes find us. The weight of so many at once makes me itch, but I do all I can to ignore it. At least Esmira and Tuulikki look as though they belong together, both so of the forest they could be its representatives within the town. I don’t, my tight clothes meant less for trekking through foliage than for sweating beneath the stern hand of Mama’s sword drills or the sweeping rhythm of a pounding drum. The fact that what skin does show is bright purple can’t be helping.

  Nervous energy gathers in my chest, and I hum to let it out. The note twists in the air, flaring green, then blue, and finally settling somewhere between the two. Wings sweep outwards from a tiny, sleek body, and six legs hug close to a bulbous abdomen. The dragonfly flits around my head before settling on top of one of the twin, fluffy braids hanging over my shoulders.

  Esmira guides us farther down the road, towards a centralized clearing. Buildings even larger than those on the town outskirts rise to form a border around the space. On a glance I see hanging signs declaring such things as Town Hall and Merchant’s Guild. A large wooden posting board marks a central meeting spot for the city’s residents.

  Standing in front of it is a woman who looks as out of place as I feel.

  Her metal armor itself marks her as something other. It’s well-fitted, clearly made for her and her alone, shiny in the light of the sun. And dyed as crimson as she is.

  Something in my chest swells to see her. Though my skin is purple to her red, and only short horns curve up from the top of my head where hers spear from her brow bone a foot into the sky, it cannot be a coincidence to see another of my kind in a place like this.

  Perhaps my moms were right, after all.

  I hurry past Esmira and Tuuliki, aiming towards the woman. She must sense me coming, because she turns as I approach. Shiny black hair sweeps past her shoulders before she pins me with dark eyes, black from corner to corner.

  I falter a step.

  The woman does not speak, her face a mask of stone. Her red tail lashes over her shoulder.

  Tuuliki appears at my side. “Well-met.”

  “You too.” The woman gives each of us a thorough examination. “Are you townsfolk?”

  She must see the sword and knife hanging from my belt, Tuuliki’s heavy staff. The bow slung over Esmira’s shoulder, the quiver of arrows at her hip.

  “No,” Esmira says honestly. “We’ve just come into town.”

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  The woman nods slowly. “As have I. Haven’t been here two minutes and already I can see why my house has decided I’m needed here.”

  She gestures towards the posting board. I let my eyes follow, gaze roaming over the papers nailed into the wood. Missing posters, dozens of them, crowd over each other. Some have rough sketches, some are nothing more than a name and a description. I count quickly, glancing at the dates as I do.

  Ten in three months. No wonder the roads were empty.

  I drift closer to the board, glancing over lines scrawled with love and hope and fear of the worst.

  “Have you seen any of them?” the woman continues.

  I shake my head.

  “It’s worth looking into,” Esmira says, the words strange. Hiding something.

  I turn, but her face remains blank. Her eyes move from poster to poster, searching.

  As if she has her own someone missing.

  I think of my moms. What they’d do if they came home and discovered the worst. What I’d do. “We could ask around town for more information, since there’s not even a contact name on most of these.”

  Esmira offers me a watery smile.

  The hellspawn woman watches our little exchange with interest. She settles a hand on her sword and turns to us fully, lifting herself that much taller. “I am Lady Zaeshala of House Ashgaze. My name and my sword might be of use to you in this quest.”

  My mouth goes dry. I tell myself it’s not the same house, that this woman has nothing to do with the people who ripped my life apart and didn’t so much as pause to sweep the pieces aside. She doesn’t deserve the whole-body surge of magic that rushes to meet me, the urge to fly and hurt and do whatever I must to keep myself together.

  Tuuliki scrunches her nose at the woman. “That’s a lot of metal.”

  The comment lands like a brick thrown from a second-story window. Each of us turns to her with our own questioning expression, but Tuuliki has eyes for none of it. She only regards the hellspawn woman like her clothes are made of soiled rags rather than worked by skilled men.

  It’s enough to jar me from my thoughts, though, and hold out my hand. “Vitani Strongarm.”

  Zaeshala shakes, albeit slowly. I don’t blame her; if I hadn’t known Tuuliki all my life, I’d be thrown off by her, too.

  I gesture to the two elven women beside me. “Tuuliki and Esmira.”

  She nods, her eyes assessing. Surely finding the scars along Esmira’s arms, the muscle in her shoulders from drawing a war bow again and again. Noticing that though Tuuliki can all but disappear when she turns sideways, she carries her staff with familiarity and has the unmistakable sheen of magic in her eyes.

  “We should inquire inside,” Zaeshala says with a glance at the town hall behind us. “There may not be much information on the posters, but anything we want to learn will likely be found in there.”

  I nod, using the short walk to reign my thoughts back in. I force a deep breath through my nose and try to calm the sudden kickstart my pounding heart just received.

  One of the doors to the town hall already hangs open, welcoming any who might seek business inside. Stone walls render the big entryway cooler than the morning. Thick rugs dampen the sound of the wooden floors, and several long tables line the walls. A few doors set in the far wall must lead to offices, and a steep staircase rises off to our right bearing a sign that reads authorized personnel only.

  Still no indication that a half-orc warrior lies in wait for me.

  A guard looks up as we approach. He drifts closer, his armor noisy in the quiet of the hall. “Well-met. What can I do for you?”

  Zaeshala gestures vaguely towards the door. “We’re here to ask about the posters outside.”

  His shoulders tighten, but he gives a curt nod. “It’s Felix you’ll be wanting to speak to. Wait here.”

  He hurries away, towards the offices. Stops at the third one down and knocks a quick beat.

  The door opens almost immediately. I can’t see who answers, only that the guard’s head tilts down to speak with them. After a moment, he steps aside.

  A halfling hurries along one of the rugs towards us. Fine linen robes ward off the summer morning, his shoes a supple leather useful only for walking on soft carpets and maintained roads. A quill has been shoved in the crook of his pointed ear, and spots of ink mark his cheek and jaw. He hurries over to us, stopping far enough away he does not have to crane his head to speak.

  “Well-met, travelers. Do you have information about one of the missing?” Hope lifts every word.

  “No,” Tuuliki says.

  I wait for her to continue, but she doesn’t, instead turning and letting her eyes roam the western wall.

  Felix’s face falls.

  I step into the awkward space left behind. “We’re here to offer what help we can. I’m sure you already have men out looking, but perhaps we can be of more assistance.”

  Felix looks our small party over, lingering on the weapons and the armor and the glimmer of magic. “I can’t say we’re used to such travelers taking an interest in our little town. But times have turned for the worse, I’m afraid, and we could use all the help we can get.”

  “Do you know what is happening?” Zaeshala asks. “Why the people are missing?”

  Felix shakes his head slowly. “No. Most of them have been taken from the roads, but other than that, there is little sign. People simply leave and do not return, even if they have children or families waiting for them.”

  “There seemed to be nothing linking them together,” I say, thinking of what few descriptions the posters gave. “But could they have anything in common? Working at the same place, or living in the same area?”

  Felix ponders it, then again shakes his head. “Men and women have been taken, human and elf and halfling. Tailors and stonesmiths, even representatives of the Merchant’s Guild. I don’t see a line between them.”

  Zaeshala perks up, a look in her eyes that reminds me of circling hawks. “The Merchant’s Guild?”

  “Yes, they’ve lost several caravans, one very recently. Terribly tragic, that.”

  The raven on Esmira’s shoulder squawks. She lifts a finger to run over its silky feathers. “Perhaps we could start there. There might still be tracks we can follow, if it’s recent enough.”

  Felix nods so quickly the quill perched on his ear wobbles. “Yes, yes, I’d be happy to introduce you. Come with me, please.”

  Without waiting for another question, he hurries towards the open door. Nothing remains but to follow, so I do.

  Felix trots down the steps and into the square, aiming for a massive building on the other side. Plate-glass windows border a door too ornate for a place so close to the wild. Ribboned trim hangs from the rafters of a slanted porch, and swirling paint covers one of the windows, green and gold and forming a big, easy-to-read-from-the-street sign that reads Merchant Guild: Whirris Office.

  Felix does not pause, simply rushes up the steps and stands on tiptoe to reach the handle of the closed door.

  Esmira hurries to help him, but he has it swinging open before she gets there. Clearly used to navigating a world unafraid to leave him behind.

  Felix walks in with a familiarity that says he’s no stranger to the stuffy, crowded office. Tables have been crammed into every available inch, each housing an equally harrowed, squint-eyed elven man staring at a too-large stack of papers. Quills and tiny, squat vials litter every tabletop, and the smell of wet ink hangs so heavy I wonder if it would be impolite to ask for someone to open a window.

  No Grogg here, either, and I hope I won’t have to declare her missing, too. The Gods know Mama doesn’t need another thing to worry about, not when I’m enough to take up all her time and then some.

  “Felix, welcome.” One of the clerks sees us and rises. “Are you looking for Garant, then?”

  Felix nods.

  The elf hurries past the crowded tables, aiming towards a half-open door in the back of the room. He knocks softly, leaning only his head inside, then quickly retreats.

  I know my upbringing is humble. I know worlds exist beyond the trees and dappled shadows of the village, but I’ve never seen the likes of the man who walks towards us.

  Silken yellow hair sweeps down his back, shiny in a way that doesn’t feel natural. Gold glints around his neck and on his hands, a color complimented by the fine yellow thread embroidering the hem and neck of his robe. The fabric moves like a dream, finding wind where there is none and falling as if told where to go. Even his shoes scream money, a soft velvet useful for doing nothing but keeping the chill off his feet.

  Garant tips his head at Felix as he nears, though he does not smile. “It’s a busy day, Felix. What does the town hall need?”

  Felix shakes his head. “Not official business. It’s the missing posters—these folks think they can be of some assistance. Since the guild offered a reward and all, I thought I’d see them over here.”

  Garant’s mouth tightens. “Yes, well, seeing as no one else has claimed it, I suppose we welcome the help.”

  “I’ll leave you to it.” Felix takes a step back and offers us a bow at the waist. “Welcome to Whirris. If you need anything else, please come by the town hall.”

  We bid him farewell. He hurries back out the door, the quill perched on his ear quivering the whole way.

  Garant sniffs. “Have you located any of the missing, then?”

  I bristle at the tone, and I’m not the only one. Zaeshala’s hand drops to her sword and the raven on Esmira’s shoulder squawks loudly.

  Garant glances at the bird like Mama looks at the spiders that sneak into our house during winter.

  “We’re here to offer our assistance,” Zaeshala says. “I am Zaeshala Ashgaze of the Crimson Raven, and these are my companions.”

  I don’t know where she got the idea that we know each other well enough to make our introductions like that, but she doesn’t so much as flinch. Perhaps it’s a noble thing. They step where they want and don’t pay attention to what toes might be there already.

  Garant looks at the four of us one by one. Something about the way he lingers on Zaeshala and I makes my tail twitch.

  After a long moment, he sighs, seeming to lose some internal struggle with himself. “Unfortunately, we are in the position of needing help. A shipment arriving from Kripmont should have reached the city two days ago, but we haven’t heard any word. Not only are there several pieces of cargo the Guild deems valuable, but two persons promised safety were on the cart as well. With what’s been happening on the roads, I’m concerned they may be worse for wear, plus the driver and two guards we sent with them. For their safe return, I am prepared to offer you a reward—as well as 10 percent of the value of all cargo returned to the Guild.”

  Zaeshala nods slowly. “What was the cargo?”

  Garant’s lip curls. “That is none of the concern of a half-breed such as yourself.”

  The room deadens. Clerks look up from their desks, workers stop in their tracks, and even Esmira and Tuuliki stiffen. My neck flushes hot, and all at once I am eight years old, fending off the other village children with words and fists and anything I have to make them believe I belong there every bit as much as they do.

  Zaeshala’s hand tightens on the pommel of her sword. Her black eyes bore into Garant, and in their shiny depths I see pain and suffering and all the things that would only affirm the way this man feels about our kind.

  I drag a smile onto my face kicking and screaming. It’s a pretty one, the kind of expression that makes women blush and men melt. “We’re only asking so we can help the Guild. If something has happened to the shipment, it will be hard to recover any of it without knowing what we’re looking for.”

  Garant stares at me for a long moment. I watch him wage war, thoughts swirling around and around until he sighs. He lifts a hand to push his hair from his face, and in the motion I see victory. “Very well. Let me get you a copy of the manifest, as well as a contract of employment. Wait here, please.”

  He spins on his heel and stalks back towards his office. Silence follows him, the clerks seeming unsure whether to return to their work or wait until we take our leave.

  Garant reappears before any of them decide, a paper with still-wet ink shivering in his hand. He stops at the desk nearest us and slams it down, taking a quill straight from the hand of the clerk standing beside him. “If you’ll all sign, we can resume our days as quickly as possible.”

  I balk at the naked disdain in his voice, but Zaeshala takes no such rebuke. She saunters forward, chin high and chest out like she’s been crowned queen of the negotiation. Her eyes move over the contract, but she doesn’t pause long enough to actually read it. Simply makes the pretense and scrawls her name at the bottom, consequences be damned.

  I imagine the heavy blade at her side will have something to say if Garant decides to hold her to a deal she’s no longer interested in keeping.

  Tuuliki goes next, practically skipping towards the paper. She doesn’t even pretend to read it, just takes the quill and signs. Esmira follows, then it’s only me, standing in the entrance all by myself.

  It’s not that I don’t want to help.

  It’s that I didn’t think I’d be thrown into something this fast.

  It’s that Grogg still isn’t here, which means she could be anywhere. Missing, or hurt, or simply gone, the way she was for years. She might not even show up, pulled aside by grief or whimsy or whatever it was that kept Mama glancing out the kitchen window every time summer rolled by.

  It’s that I know I’m not the woman who left the village, but I don’t know if contract-for-hire is who I want to be, either.

  Mom’s face appears in my head, her eyes soft. No matter what came out of her mouth on that couch, she’d take me back with open arms if I appeared on her doorstep. Between her and Mama, she’s always been softer, less able to turn away from her own feelings. It’s what made her pick up a pathetic, screaming child in the first place and take her home.

  I can’t disappoint her, not again. So I stumble forward and reach for the quill, not bothering to read a single word on the page before I scrawl my name beside the others.