Page 6 of Ties of Legacy

It might have been different if she had taken the southeast road toward the capital, as he had expected. But instead she had returned the way she’d come, taking the northwest road back toward the river that marked the border between Sovar and Oakden.

There weren’t enough regular travelers to require a vast network of well-maintained roads in the kingdoms, so he knew all the major routes by heart. Her current path would take her to the riverside city of Marleston, a much larger settlement than Henton. It didn’t matter what her final destination was, though. Once he’d retrieved his candelabra, they’d be parting ways. As soon as he had it in his hands, he only needed to know which direction she was traveling so he could go the opposite way.

Since they were moving through grazing lands, there wasn’t a lot of concealment along the road. But thankfully someone had planted a screening row of trees to provide shade and mark the location of the road. Their shelter provided just enough cover for Elliot to stay close to the cart throughout the day.

It wasn’t a comfortable journey, but there was satisfaction in the movement after so many days spent in stillness, watching the smithy. He finally felt like he was moving forward.

The merchant girl stopped earlier than he expected, veering off the road when she spotted a familiar marker. There might not have been many roving merchants, but the skeletal network of main roads were also used by the traditional merchant caravans who did business within the borders of their own kingdom. And all travelers made use of the public rest stops placed strategically along the more frequented routes.

The marker stood at a crossroads where a larger stand of trees provided shelter beneath the cover of the leaves. Elliot lingered beside the road, giving the merchant time to set up her camp. If she was going to be moving around among the trees, he didn’t want her blundering into him by accident. Not that she looked like the type to blunder anywhere.

He shook his head. He had to shake his strange fascination with her. The moment he became a thief, he would need to avoid ever running into her again.

Finally he couldn’t wait anymore and crept into the trees. He moved slowly and soundlessly, having spent years practicing the skill. As expected, she had set up camp beneath the simple, three-sided wooden shed. She had already fed and watered her horse, and from the soft one-sided conversation she was having with the creature, the mare was the reason for her early stop. The girl seemed to feel bad about having started so early that morning after a long day of travel the day before.

“But how could I delay after the smith turned me away yesterday?” she asked the mare, her lilting voice making the complaint sound pleasant. “You would think after waiting six months, it would have been easy to wait another night—but I think last night was the hardest one.”

Elliot shifted slightly. So she hadn’t just waltzed in after all. She’d waited to reach the top of the smith’s list of commissions. And, as promised, when that day came, he had permitted her to browse the discarded items piled at the back of the smithy—the items that had come out faulty in some way or been rejected by the prospective purchaser. According to the smith, he only did business with customers collecting an order.

“And now, finally, we can go back to Bolivere,” the girl continued, making Elliot freeze.

Bolivere? She was not only going north toward the kingdom of Glandore but actually heading all the way to Bolivere?

Ice trickled from his scalp down his spine. But there was no reason for that news to hit him so hard. He was already planning to head in the opposite direction to the girl. That made it a good thing she was heading to the last place he wanted to visit.

Smelling her cooking fire—or more accurately the meal she cooked over it—was torturous, but Elliot reminded himself that the whole ordeal would soon be behind him. He would head toward the Sovaran capital and stop at the first decent inn he found on the way. He was still dreaming of a hot meal and soft bed when dark finally fell, and the girl settled into her bedroll for the night.

He waited even longer, letting her breath become slow and even as she slipped into deeper sleep. Finally, it seemed safe enough to creep into the light of the banked campfire.

Despite the season, she had lashed a waterproof canvas over the cart’s contents, and it took him some time to quietly work several of the knots loose. Thankfully, the crate containing her recent purchases was near the back of the tray and relatively easy to access. He had only uncovered the first section of cart when he caught sight of it.

His heart beat so fast, he worried it might beat out of his chest as he pried open the lid. Any minute now he would havethe candelabra in his hand again, and the whole nightmare would be over.

Inside the crate, he found a number of items made with different kinds of metal. He nestled a small pouch of coin among them, the action assuaging the guilt he already felt over his theft—even though he was only taking his own property.

The smith had left his discarded wares piled carelessly on top of each other, but the merchant girl had packed her purchases carefully in straw, and apparently she’d put the object he was seeking at the bottom. Consequently, it took Elliot some time to dig through and find the candelabra. He worked carefully, but as his hand closed around one of its three branches, a shot of excitement made him momentarily careless. He jerked it upward, causing several of the items to knock against each other with the clear ringing sound of metal striking metal.

Elliot fell backward, his fingers still clamped around his quarry. He had originally intended to put everything back in place, hoping the girl wouldn’t notice the robbery until she was many days down the road. But he could already hear movement from beside the fire, and the sharp whinny of the mare. Panicked, he jumped down from the back of the cart and fled into the surrounding trees.

It wasn’t the multi-day head start he’d been hoping for, but the girl was wrapped in her bedroll, which gave him an advantage. And he was significantly taller than her as well. With the candelabra in his hand again, he was back to full strength. He could outrun her.

Except that he wasn’t growing stronger. Each step took more effort than the last. He spotted the edge of the trees and tried to put on a burst of speed. Instead, one of his legs buckled completely, and he stumbled, nearly falling.

He flailed, trying to restore his balance, and halted all forward progress. He had only just managed to prevent a fallwhen something grabbed at him from behind, tugging and then releasing and sending him stumbling in the process.

This time he couldn’t save himself, and he landed on his back. Partially winded, he stared upward into the snapping teeth of a horse. The merchant might have been slowed by her bedroll, but apparently she didn’t secure her mare overnight.

Gasping for breath, he shook his head, trying to clear it and make sense of what was happening. He had even bigger worries than nearly being bitten by a horse. Why hadn’t his sickness eased now that he had the candelabra back?

He rolled into a sitting position, wheezing and coughing. The horse whinnied a protest, but when he didn’t move further, she refrained from seizing his vest in her teeth again.

Ignoring her, he peered at the candelabra. Had it been damaged? Was that the problem? But as he stared at it—getting a good look at what he held for the first time—horror spread through him. He was holding a candelabra, but it wasn’t his candelabra. He had grabbed the wrong object.

He was still staring at it when the merchant girl burst through the trees behind him and slid to a stop. She patted her mare on the neck, looking down at him with an expression that slowly changed from smug satisfaction to surprise and finally disappointment.

It shouldn’t have mattered to him, given the far more important disaster of the candelabra, but her disappointment still hit him directly in the chest.

“It’s you,” she said slowly, her mouth twisting. “You’re a thief.”

---