Page 5 of Bull Moon Rising

“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’mgratefulfor 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 myonlyfriend.

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.

It isn’t until much, much later, as I’m lying in bed and staring up at the ceiling as Gwenna snores next to me, that I think of my father. Has he returned from court yet? Or is he still in his mistress’s bed? When he returns, will he even notice that I’m gone? That I haven’t come down to dinner for many nights in a row? Will he inquire with the staff about my absence?

No, probably not.

The thought’s a depressing one. I told everyone that I was visiting Grandmama at her Celen Hills manor, which will work until Grandmama sends one of her letters wanting to know why I haven’t married yet and enumerating all the ways I’ve grown up into an unmarriageable spinster instead of the in-demand heiress I should be. She sends those sorts of letters about once a fortnight (Grandmama is nothing if not determined), and once one arrives, they’ll realize I’m gone, but I figure it’ll take a while, and by the time my disappearance is noted, I’ll be enrolled as a guild fledgling and safe in Vastwarren City.

I picture the scene. Father will return home from court after being away for months. He’ll brush past the staff like he always does, ignore the scrolls and letters full of notices from debt collectors. Instead, he’ll retreat to his study for a drink and to relax. He’ll go out riding for a few days, visit his tailor, get new clothes, and at some point, decide that he should check in on his heir. He’ll invite me to dinner in the main hall—and it’s always more of a demand than an invitation—and then sit as far away from me as possible at the long trestle table that spans the length of the enormous hall. At some point, he’ll realize I’m not sitting opposite him.

Then, and only then, he’ll realize I’m not in the hold. That I’m not waiting around for him to notice that I exist.

It would have been nice for someone to care that I’m gone, I think wistfully. After all, I’m the heir to Honori Hold. No one knows thatwe’re broke and artifact-less except myself and Father and a few of our most trusted servants. A holder’s daughter should be important.

Shouldn’t someone care?

Anyone atall?

Squeaker makes a loud mrowr near my ear and paws at the blanket. Obediently, I lift it up, and she shoves her way under, curling up against my side. At least my cat loves me.

TWO

ASPETH

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