Wicked is the Curse.

15 | Whisper

Chapter 15 | Whisper

They slept for a while as night fell.

Together they nestled in the hollow between the roots of a great, towering oak tree – a giant so large and ancient that Aire was convinced that it would have been planted during the ages of the Danann, in the age of gods and goddesses. Before the birth of magic mortals. Aire slept well, comforted by that thought.

They woke and walked before the great sun rose. Siseal guided them through the cold darkness, confident in a world where no one could see only himself. They broke through the line of trees, keeping the river to their side. Nyeth had argued that water would bring them somewhere. A town, a house where they would be something for them to use.

Aire didn't know what to think. She had escaped the fall of Cearna and found her way through Kaelara to the dismal city of Irial, but that had been luck and the pity of poor souls who hadn't been hardened by the Empire yet. Her father had trained her to fight, and she remembered most of his lessons, but her skill had not been truly honed. She had trained, built traps with her father's hands guiding her but she couldn't remember how to make one. There was no need for traps in Irial.

Not the kind that caught rabbits anyway.

The maze of trees ended as the dawn broke over the horizon, bleeding hues of orange and yellow over the distant, rolling fields. The river continued to snake out of the forest, looping around an outcrop of rock.

"We escaped the forest." Anluan took a deep breath.

Nyeth, who had been kneeling by the water's edge to scoop water into the hollow bowl of her joined palms. She drank greedily, before brushing her wet palms over her face. Soot and grime were crusted into her skin and Aire didn't dare think about what she looked like. The rest of them, in the light of dawn, and away from the dark of the forest, looked dirty and ragged.

"And now we're exposed." Aire touched her stomach for a moment, grimacing. "We need to get out of Kaelara. We need to look like we are not escapees."

"And how do we do that?" Siseal asked.

"We rob some clothes." Brice looked at them, hitching her chin. "We cannot draw attention to ourselves."

Nyeth looked back, brushing her wet hands on her briste. The cloth was cut open at the knees, torn from branches and darkened by the road. "Back in the tent, you spoke of going to Sibran. Did you not, Brice?"

"I think it would be best. The land is difficult to traverse, even for the Crimsons. I have lived there for long enough to know where to hide, where to hunt. We could be safe there."

Hunt. Hope fluttered inside Aire's chest. Brice would hunt. Perhaps she would teach her, if Aire could find something to teach her.

"Could?" Nyeth arched a dark brow.

"Safety is not a certainty. Not for us." Brice told her.

"Then, if we are going to steal clothes, we will need warm ones." Aire said, her mind whirring. "And we will need some weapons. I do not have the luxury of an aggressive Wield and I think we should not rely on magic either. We will meet vagabonds on the roads, and we should be able to defend ourselves without leaving traces of magic."

"I am not trained well with physical weapons." Brice admitted.

Ah. There it was. A trade.

"I will teach you what I can, but even the sight of a blade and a person willing to fight is enough to deter some thieves." Aire lay a hand on Brice's shoulder, squeezing.