Page 82 of Somewhere down the Ley Line
A tendril of terror caressed the back of his mind. He ignored it.
“It won’t. We’ll just have to face it. Whatever it is.”
29
Lowlife sellsword
Isolde awoke alone, though the lingering warmth at her back told her Felix had not been gone for long. She sat up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. Luella and Garren were nowhere to be seen, but Mia and Leif were still curled up in their blankets. Waking up dry and warm was luxurious, never mind waking up dry and warm after… that. There was a lingering, languid feeling of deep satisfaction in her body that had nothing to do with dry bedding. She leaned her chin on her knees and stared dreamily into the fire.
“Nice shirt. You seemveryrelaxed,” Mia said a few minutes later from right beside her, her face split into a wide grin. It startled Isolde; she hadn’t even noticed the other woman’s approach.
“Mhm,” was the only answer she could manage. She did feel very relaxed and content. Like something had fallen into place.
Mia laughed. “That good, huh?”
“Mm.”
“Here, thought you might want some of this.” Mia handed her a small pouch as she sat down. “Put it in hot water and let it sit for a few minutes, drink it before it cools down. Fair warning, it tastes like rat shit.”
Mia was offering her witch lace, a herb used to prevent pregnancy, she realised. Isolde smiled. “Thank you, Mia, but I have some.”
Mia’s eyes went round. “Do you? Good for you. I appreciate a woman who takes care of herself.”
Isolde giggled and got up to tuck a pot of water in the smouldering embers of the fire. When it was hot enough, she poured some into a cup and returned to her sleeping spot. It took a bit of rummaging through her pack to find the little packet, but it was still there, and thankfully untouched by the rain. She submerged a few of the leaves in the water and sat back down next to Mia.
“You’ve made that before,” the bard observed.
Isolde nodded.
“You keep surprising me.”
“I was engaged before, you know.”
“Yes, I do, I just didn’t think… well.” Mia shrugged. “I always imagined the, ah, female nobility as very… proper. Sex only after marriage, in the dark, to make babies. Not for pleasure.”
Isolde blinked.“Femalenobility?”
“Let’s just say I’ve met many noblemen,” Mia said with a catlike grin, “but few noblewomen. Fine ladies do not tend to frequent East Quarter taverns very often.”
Isolde huffed a small laugh as understanding dawned on her. “Do you think they should?”
“Oh, yes. A woman learns a lot about men in a tavern.”
“Such as?”
“Mostly that they talk too much when they get drunk. And that the ones who don’t have the most interesting things to say.”
Isolde snorted. “Most men I know back home talk too much whether they’re drunk or not. And theyneverhave anything interesting to say.” She paused.Back homefelt like a hundred years ago. Like another person’s life, not hers. “Sometimes I wonder if I miss any of it.”
“Well,” Mia said, “do you?”
Isoldewas quiet for a long moment. She wrapped her hands around the cup, the warmth seeping into her fingers. “I miss my books,” she admitted. “And my feather bed, and hot baths — Triad above, I miss hot baths. And I suppose sometimes I miss taking safety for granted, before I knew how fragile it was.” She fell silent.
“Not a great early morning topic,” Mia said sympathetically. “Anyway, are you going to tell me why you were so interested in my stories last night?”
Isolde swirled the leaves in her mug and took a sip, struggling not to gag. “I think… there might be something there,” she said without looking at Mia. “Some truth. Some hint. A missing piece of the puzzle. It probably sounds silly.”
“Not to me,” Mia said with a shrug. “Silly stories are how I make a living.”
