Page 54 of A Crown of Lies

Rixxis shrugged. “Considering the reports I read on Greymark’s past attempts at clearing out Dagh Cairn, it seems more likely. Greymark marched a small army out there a few weeks ago, Ieduin, and couldn’t take it. I doubt a handful of vigilantes could.”

Ieduin took a big gulp of his coffee before shaking his head. “Gods and ghosts don’t just suddenly decide to be helpful like that.” He folded the papers and tucked them into an inside pocket in his tunic.

Rowan sighed and put down the dirk, sliding his arm out of the straps on the targe. “Perhaps our encounter with the necromancer brought their attention to the issue.”

The elf gave him a doubtful glance. “You don’t actually believe in all this, do you?”

“Do you believe in your gods?” Rowan passed his weapons and the targe off to the youngest McGovern boy, Billy, to put away.

Ieduin crossed his arms and shrugged. “Well, yeah, but sort of abstractly. They don’t manifest among the living and kill people. That’s why they’re gods. They live in their realm and do their thing, mostly ignoring the likes of us.”

Rowan shook his head. “Not here. Here, gods and ghosts are as much a part of our lives as the stone and sky. Appeasing the spirits, great and small, is a large part of Greymark culture. You’ll see pieces of it in just about everything we do, especially as we approachFais Maru.”

“Famawu?” Ieduin said, grossly mispronouncing it. “What’s that?”

“Fais Maru,” Rowan repeated, demonstrating the correct pronunciation again. “It’s a high holiday here where we celebrate the end of the harvest, remember those we’ve lost, and pay tribute to the Thief.”

“A festival of death? Sounds interesting. As long as no actual death happens.” Rixxis swung her hammer up onto her shoulder.

Rowan smirked. “Oh, not the kind you’re thinking of.” He sighed. “But we may have to scale things back this year, considering all the shortages.”

“About that.” Ieduin pushed away from the fence and came over, pulling out the papers again. He unfolded them and held them out in front of Rowan. “I did my own inventory. Accounting for what’s coming in, I think we may be a little better off than you think. I just need you to look at my numbers and see if you agree.”

Rowan squinted at the page, frowning, and then rubbed his eyes. “I’m too tired to read that without my glasses. You can put it on my desk in my workroom.”

“You’re kidding?” Ieduin yanked the papers back. “I’ve seen your desk. It’ll be ten years before you ever find this report again in that mess. No, you and I are going over these tonight. Together.”

“Really? What makes you think I’ll clear my schedule for you?” All Rowan had to do was lift an eyebrow and give Ieduin a scolding look and the elf’s face flushed.

He started taking back the order he’d tried to give immediately, stumbling over his words as if he were shy. It was adorable. “I mean… I didn’t mean… If you’re free, of course. If you’re not, then I’m sure we can schedule something for later in the week. If you want.”

“Ask me nicely,” Rowan said with a smile.

Ieduin glanced over at Rixxis before turning another half shade redder. “Are you free tonight to go over the scout’s reports?”

Rowan rolled his fingers in a circle, indicating Ieduin should go on.

Ieduin sighed and added, “Are you free,sir?”

“That’s a good boy.” He hooked a finger under Ieduin’s chin and lifted it, smiling down at him. “For you, I am free every night.”

Rixxis cleared her throat.

Rowan released Ieduin and turned to her. “You’re invited too, my dear. At your pleasure.”

It might be the highlight of his day, watching her face shift through a series of emotions from uncertainty to shock, to embarrassment, and finally, curiosity. He was about to see if he could get her to react further when a loud horn blew from the watchtower. The training in the yard ground to a halt, all eyes turning nervously toward the watchers on the wall.

“Nobody told you to stop,” Ieduin growled. “Get back to sparring!”

“I’d better go deal with this,” Rowan said with a frustrated sigh. He turned and jogged up the steps to the watchtower, where the watchman stood with his spyglass, staring out over the winding road leading up to the castle. “What is it?”

“Lone traveler approaching, Your Grace.” The watchman handed him the spyglass. “He doesn’t look so good. Thought maybe he was one of ours at first, that the bandits might’ve roughed him up, but I don’t recognize him.”

Rowan’s eyes were too strained to make out much, but the man approaching was indeed alone, and making the journey in torn clothes without shoes. Long strands of silver hair hung in a mess from his head.

Rowan lowered the spyglass. “Nor I, but you’re right. He doesn’t look to be in good shape. Send out a small party of armed guards. Have him brought into the keep under guard. Put him somewhere warm. Give him a blanket and something to eat.”

“What if he’s a bandit, Your Grace? Or a Trintan spy?”

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