Page 31 of The Flame and the Forsaken

Erran and Samuelfollowed the group for nearly an hour before arriving at the crossroads that split travelers between the small port of Devon and the larger Leecaster Bay.

Mariel and her cohorts dismounted and tethered their horses to a post outside of a two-story building, which appeared to be both residence and business. The flagging sign, hanging from an archway that served as the entrance to the path leading to the door, readBanner Threads and Weaves.

His blood chilled.

Banner.

I’m going to meet with Banner, the broker, to inspect the gold, which will arrive just ahead of me, if the weather holds.

He builds flags or some such.

“I’m beginning to understand your suspicions, mate,” Samuel said. “If she’s traveling with a seamstress, why would she need to come all the way out here for one? Perhaps the woman is purchasing materials? Though it’s a long way to come when you have plenty of your own shops in Whitecliffe.”

But Erran couldn’t speak with the clog so thoroughly occupying his throat.

He prayed his father was meeting the man anywhere but there.

The short,portly woman who answered the door toBanner Threads and Weaveswore a beaming smile as she invited her guests in, a gesture that flagged slightly when they explained they were actually there to see Mr. Banner about managing the sale of their family estate, not to commission gowns.

When they’d seen her approaching through the window, Remy and Augustine had quickly pocketed their masks. She’d never let them in looking like bandits, and they needed to at least get a location on her husband.

“Ah. He so rarely receives visitors outside of his village office,” Mrs. Banner said with a distant, thoughtful look.

“We asked in the village, and they sent us this way,” Mariel explained. “But if we’ve been misinformed, we’re happy to ride back.”

“Nonsense. Nonsense. We’ll... Come, come.” She ushered them in. “Who made your cloak, dear?” she asked Augustine with a favorable appraisal.

“I did.” Augustine cleared her throat with a glance at Mariel. “That is... I picked out the, ah, fabric and showed it to my seamstress.”

“Compliments to whoever she is, for she should be sewing for royalty.”

Augustine beamed until Remy flicked his eyes her way.

“Thread and yarn work is an art, no matter what anyone says about it,” the woman said, continuing as she led them down a short hall, toward a light-filled room at the back of the house. “Men, of course, just think their vests and trousers magically appear in their bureaus, like little elves delivered them.”

Augustine laughed along with her. She stumbled a bit when her mask slipped from her pocket, and she had to bend in a rush to grab it.

Mariel felt like throwing up. For the first time in a long time, a tingle of regret made itself known in her thoughts.

“I could not agree more, Madam Banner,” Augustine said. “A quite underappreciated art, even by the women.”

“My mother was a madam. I prefer Nora,” the woman said, leading them into a broad solarium. “And how right you are, Miss...”

“Evelyn,” Augustine replied without missing a beat. “And these are my siblings, Delia and Marcus.”

“Hmm. My own sister and I haven’t spoken in years.” She dusted her hands against her apron with another broad grin. “Right. You’ll be wanting tea.”

“That’s not necessary. We can just wait for Mr. Banner,” Mariel said quickly.

“Nonsense. You’re here for my husband, and he’ll nay be chiding me for not affording proper care to his guests.” Her lips peeled back, revealing teeth that were half gold, half rotted. “Willnae be but a moment.”

“Is he here?” Mariel prodded.

“Oh, aye, donnae you fuss yourselves. Sit tight.”

“I don’t like this,” Remy murmured through a tight gap in his pressed lips. “Something is off.”

Mariel sensed it too, but they were so close... one conversation away from what they’d waited months and months—years—for, and she refused to let fear be what stood in their way. “Patience,” she whispered. “We’ve come this far.”

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