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Chapter 21 ~ Tírdorcha

Rígan

We’d packed enough supplies for our journey so we didn’t need to stop at an inn. Our first night, we’d found an abandoned barn along the road and stayed there, and the night before we were set to arrive in Tírdorcha, we slept under the stars.

Or what few stars there had been.

Mostly, we just got wet.

My clothes still clung to me the next morning, the lingering dampness entirely unwelcome. Luckily the sun was out, doing its best to dry what it could despite the early morning coolness. Our horses’ hooves kicked up muddy puddle water every few steps, the smell of rich soil permeating everything.

I squinted against the sunlight, watching Lou and Brí chat up the road while I kept Bryn company. She worried at her lip so much I thought it might bleed. She’d been at it since we’d left.

“You’ll be fine,” I whispered to her. Dove whinnied her agreement beneath me. “And we’ll have your back no matter what.”

“I know.” Bryn offered me her best consoling smile, and I shot her a dirty look.

“Don’t put on a front, Bryn. Not for this.” Not for her first assignment, her first mission , her first potential encounter with violence at her own hand.

Her smile slipped, but she didn’t say anything else or let me reassure her any further. Whether it was because the others were around or because she didn’t want me to worry about her, I couldn’t say.

About two miles from the city gates, we pulled to the side of the road and into a cluster of trees. Should anyone pass by—unlikely, given the less-traveled route we’d selected—they wouldn’t see us through the foliage.

I dismounted, tied Dove to a tree, and set about sorting through my pack. Two changes of clothes—both for my alias, while what I currently wore would be for any fighting we’d have to do—small essentials, and food. I reached for one of the wrapped hand pies to munch on, but grabbed my simple vegetable sandwich instead. Dàibhid had requested the kitchen make the pies specifically for us.

My stomach rumbled, and I sighed. The sandwich wouldn’t fill me. Relenting, I grabbed a pie and shoved a bite into my mouth, thyme and onion erupting in a welcome barrage. I cursed how good it was through a disgruntled moan.

The private goodbye I’d shared with Dàibhid had been impulsive, but I would have regretted not doing it more. He’d been so obviously nervous for us, sneaking glances at everyone like it might be the last time he saw us. I doubted my friends or sister had noticed, but I had. I knew him, better than I wanted to, and in the moments before leaving for this mission, I’d been so focused on how anxious Dàibhid had been during the official goodbye that I’d had to do something about it.

The kiss had sprung up naturally. I wasn’t sure how to feel about it.

Nor did I particularly care to remember how soft his cheek was, like he’d just shaved. Or how good he smelled, all ink and paper and tea.

I downed the last bite of pie, wiping my hands on my trousers. I could put all that behind me now. Get distance from Dàibhid so I could refocus and return prepared to be absolutely nothing more than friendly and professional.

I dragged one of the dresses out of my pack and held it up to myself. It was simple, the sort you’d find on a farmer or a launderer. Sturdy, but light enough to move about in and not die of heat exhaustion, and not so rough that it would irritate sweaty skin. I meandered behind a tree to change.

The plan was simple: use our aliases to get inside Tírdorcha. Once inside, use the aliases to our advantage. Scope out the city, learn what we could from the locals, listen to the rumors and see what leads were worth following. Once we got a lead, we’d act on it, gathering information from rebels or, preferably, Exiles. Then we’d bring the information back to Dàibhid. We were under strict orders not to stay any longer than necessary.

While with most cities we could wander in no problem—the guards only tended to check anyone suspicious—Tírdorcha was going to be harder. Lady Umber, Tírdorcha’s resident noble-in-charge, had banned the presence of weapons except in the hands of the city guards, the sellswords she personally hired, and anyone she deemed an exception, of which there were, according to Onyx Watch, notoriously few.

Once ready, we separated into pairs. Brí and I would go into the city first, carrying some of the most obvious weapons and a number of smaller ones, before kicking off our search for leads. Lou and áine would go next, with more easily concealed weapons and a goal of locating accommodations. Bryn and Maya would go last, scouting the gate for a few extra hours for anyone suspicious, and bringing in the last of our weaponry. We’d all meet at the central shrine before sunset.

“You ready?” Brí asked, throwing her cloak around her shoulders. She’d rubbed brown dye into her hair, turning it from rich honey to dusty chocolate. Combined with the mucky night we’d gone through and a lack of bathing, it should be enough to spare her from being recognized. Her dress was similar to mine, muted red instead of murky blue.

“As I’ll ever be.” I grabbed Bryn for a hug, also giving one to Maya and Lou and a parting nod to áine, before swinging onto Dove.

“Is it strange that I’m excited to portray a grieving widow?” I asked once we were on our way. Jittery anticipation coursed through me.

“I’d say you’re no different than an eager actor. You practically glowed when Dàibhid suggested it.”

“What can I say, I enjoy the occasional dramatics.”

“I can see why Lou likes you. But I’m not certain how well you’ll do being a quiet mourner,” she teased. “Dramatics usually call for bewailing, not sullen silence.”

I frowned. “What do you mean?”

“What do you mean, what do I mean?”

We needed information, and we needed it sooner rather than later, even if that meant cutting my much-needed distance from Dàibhid short. He needed to use whatever we could find to protect the people, again, sooner rather than later. Which meant we needed to act to find leads, and that couldn’t be achieved through silence, not if we wanted to stick to a reasonable timeline. We’d need to steer conversations in our favor. Instigate them as necessary. And not all mourners were silent or constantly craving solitude, anyway. Some wanted as much human interaction as possible. To feel less alone. We could lean into that.

“We’re going to need to talk to people if we want to achieve our goal,” I said. “We’re looking to hold funeral rites for my dead fake husband, who’s your dead fake brother. That gives us an opening to talk to people. Which, coincidentally, gives me leeway to be a dramatic wailer when called for.”

Her forehead puckered, eyes darting like she was playing out my scenario.

“That’s too risky. At least right away,” she said.

“What’s your definition of right away?”

“As long as it takes to gather information worthy enough of moving in on potential leads.”

That clarified nothing. “As long as it takes” could be weeks depending on who you asked, and we didn’t have weeks to scout on the sidelines. Not if she wanted to help her people before the next attack, whenever and wherever that may be.

“Do you mean we keep to the shadows as long as it takes to know our way around the city and the general atmosphere”—a few days, tops—“or do you mean lurk without interaction for as long as it takes until we pick up a nugget we can act on, even if that takes a long time?”

“The latter. It’s the smart move.”

I watched a cloud lazily drift by, considering. If her suggestion only took a few days, I could support it. But if it took weeks . . . Given how difficult it would be in the first place to find anything worth moving in on from listening alone, in a city almost as large as the capital itself, surely she could see the merit of speeding the process up through guiding conversations where we needed them to go, especially when the opportunity presented itself?

“I get that it’s a smart move, but I don’t know if it’s the smart move,” I said.

“Meaning?”

“Do you really think the odds are high that we’d find the right place to eavesdrop to pick up the right bit of information? Without saying a word? Sure, we could luck out, but it could take weeks. We need to talk to people as soon as possible.” And Dàibhid told us not to be here longer than necessary. Her way could lead to that.

She went silent again. I turned forward, watching the walls of Tírdorcha grow larger. We would be there in half an hour at this pace.

“No.”

I twisted in my saddle. Her back was straight, focus resolute. She gave the impression of strength. Of a commander.

All the training sessions we’d had where she’d tried to assume command flit through my mind. I had hoped the behavior would be temporary while she got used to her new situation.

I pushed my tongue into my teeth. Perhaps her demeanor was simply instinct that I needed to ignore. “What do you mean, no?”

“I mean your plan is reckless. Once we get a good lay of the city and the people, hear what they have to say without interference from us, then we can determine where to focus our energy to find the best lead, but only once we have a better sense of everything. We need to do this properly if we’re going to succeed on the first try.”

I overlooked what might have been a jab at our first mission. “You don’t see how that could take forever? The sooner we start to get a feel for things through interacting with the people, the better. It could still take weeks of talking to the locals, and the visitors, and whoever will give us the time of day, to find a lead worth following. Starting with silence could double that time.”

Brí huffed, and I waited. This wasn’t unfamiliar territory for me. Lou, Maya, and I had argued about the right course of action many times in the past. We’d discuss our positions until arriving at a plan we all agreed on, generally through compromise.

But the way Brí pulled her shoulders back, an air of pure authority settling over her, had me convinced that wasn’t what was about to happen.

“Rígan, think this through. If you jump in without scoping things out, you run the risk of increased danger. Your last mission, for instance.”

I bristled, hackles rising. So it had been a jab. “Excuse me?”

“Did you scope out the tavern beforehand? Observe the stables to see if they were safe? Perhaps if you had, you wouldn’t have been attacked, and perhaps you would have managed to actually accomplish your mission.”

My neck tensed so violently I thought it might snap with Dove’s shifting weight. This had quickly gone from a conversation to a lesson in being a sellsword, and I did not appreciate it.

“It’s about being prepared,” she continued, even when I opened my mouth. “About maximizing your chances for success. Rushing into things is never the way to go. Scouting takes time, and effort, and patience. It’s a tool used to mitigate risk. We use it in the army for a reason.”

I bit my tongue, drawing hot, sharp blood. She was so condescending. Like she knew better. Like I was a na?ve soldier under her command.

What would she have had us do, monitor a fucking crossroads tavern for days before moving in? On the way to our actual mission, the mission her brother ordered us on? The mission that, without the unforeseen circumstances and stops, might have proven deadly? Yes, perhaps I should have been more vigilant with the rebel woman, kept a closer eye on her in the tavern. Warned the others that someone potentially hostile was present. But we hadn’t had the luxury of scoping things out, and everything turned out exactly as we needed in the end. The only thing I regretted was Maya’s injury. But this line of work required risks. Maya knew that. Brí knew that.

Still, scouting out the tavern, even for an hour, could have helped. Maybe the rebels would have slipped up or moved on before anyone could have gotten hurt. Before Maya received that wicked scar from the injury that almost killed her.

I hated that Brí was right. “Fine, I concede that scouting at the tavern could have done something as far as the attack went. Not for the mission itself.” Visiting the farmers basically had been our scouting. “But for this mission, we can’t take forever. If the Exiles are planning another attack, Dàibhid needs to know.”

She softened a touch. “He does. And he will. But we can’t risk the team, either. I promised I’d protect all of you. You’re not just soldiers to him. You’re his friends.”

Well, if that wasn’t a twist to the gut.

I squeezed my eyes shut, keeping out images of Dàibhid pacing while waiting for us to return, wondering if he made the right decision sending us out. Wondering if he should have found a way to come with us. But the images refused to leave. I hated the thought of him stressed; I always would, whether I was his friend or not.

“You know, I promised him I’d look out for everyone, too,” I said. Brí blinked rapidly against what might have been surprise. “But he knows the risks we’re taking. The risks we need to take, the risks you’ve told him are worth it. I’m not suggesting we rush in and risk blowing our cover or start talking up everyone who crosses our path. But I am suggesting we move faster than you’d have us go. We have aliases. We have disguises. We’ve taken precautions.”

“Yes, there are risks we’ll have to take, but that doesn’t mean we have to take the big ones up front. Your way could lead to mistakes.”

“So could yours.”

She hesitated like I may have swayed her. Like she finally understood that Dàibhid might want caution above all, but that he needed speed.

“No, Rígan. We’re not doing it your way.”

I leaned back in my saddle, aghast. I almost laughed at her tone of finality. “Oh?”

“You heard me.” It brooked no room for argument.

My jaw dropped. Un-fucking-believable. Was she really still trying to be the unequivocal leader of this team?

“Talking to people, carefully, tactfully, is what I do,” I said. “It’s what Maya, Lou, and I do all the damn time. We’re good at this approach.” She shook her head, perhaps about to bring up the one mistake she knew to the contrary, and I saw red. “My suggestion is more than doable. We watch the people for a little while, but then we start interacting. We find someone willing to talk to mourners about the climate of the city, or someone nervous who might know something. We find a lead on questionable visitors, and we move in.”

“That will be beneficial later in the process, not right away. First, we wait from a distance. We consider. Approaching anyone too quickly is too much of a risk. We act only when we have actual information we can go off from listening .”

I refrained from grabbing a fistful of my hair and yanking. “‘Not right away’ could take weeks by your logic! I’ve done this plenty of times when I guarded the gates to your brother’s capital, going undercover to learn who might be a problem entering the city.” Not to mention I was undercover every damn day of my life.

“We aren’t doing it your way.”

I barely contained a muffled scream. “You are aware scouting comes in more than one form, right? I’m not saying we can’t be cautious, take our time before—”

“I’m not just the people’s princess,” she snapped, interrupting what was going to be a perfectly logical argument. “I know military strategy better than you give me credit for, and I know these people in a way you can’t. Mine is the smarter move, and it’s the one we’re taking.”

My temper flared, ears burning with anger and some secondary emotion I couldn’t place. Why did she have to act like she was in charge of me? Why wouldn’t she consider my point like an equal rather than a damn commander?

The next words came out of my mouth before I could think them through. “You two really are alike. Time-wasting caution and maybe action later if the mood suits you.”

I regretted the words the moment they took shape, and not because Brí wheeled on me, glaring daggers. No part of me resented Dàibhid his choice to be cautious, to wait before acting, and would never have dreamed of insulting him for it. But I didn’t take the words back. I knew what I was talking about. I could see the merit in her approach—truly, I could—but if we saw a valid, and yes, safe, opportunity to learn information, we needed to take it. We couldn’t wait around until we had enough to go off only to find the opportunity had slipped through our fingers. Not when Dàibhid needed this.

And I wasn’t about to take unilateral orders from someone who wasn’t the head of this team.

Her hands tightened on her reins as mine did the same, the leather biting into my palms. When she spoke again, the words were tight, like she was forcing herself to sound calm. “Let’s at least agree to only scope things out for the next few hours, and then we can broach the subject with the rest of the team.”

How much of her suggestion—which still came across as an order—was from the belief that the others would fall in line and do as she said? Did she honestly think this team of equals her brother created wouldn’t want to reach decisions together every chance we could?

I couldn’t speak for áine, but Brí clearly didn’t understand how the rest of us operated. I’d thought she would have gathered at Bailanín what sort of team we were. I guess, in the field, she wasn’t as capable of putting her commander hat aside as I’d hoped.

Though part of me wanted to rebel, throw myself into the first tavern I saw and use my character to gather what I could—despite knowing that most certainly would be reckless—I had enough sense to nod.

“Good.” She kicked her horse into a trot, nosing past me.

By the Faith, this might be harder than I’d thought.

Tírdorcha, the Dark Country, was only slightly as drab as the name would imply.

Gray stone buildings were separated by cobblestone roads, wood beams and frames a similar gray. But, as Brí and I stood before the main gates, the people themselves seemed livelier than the atmosphere, dressed as colorfully as they pleased, smiling despite the encroaching cloud cover, bringing with it even more gray. So much for the sunshine.

I was happy for the people’s joy, but did they not know what was going on? Was Tírdorcha as much an Exile hotbed as we believed?

Or was this joy in spite of the threats? Now that made me want to smile.

But I had a role to play.

I dabbed under my eyes with a ragged cloth, a simple brass band wrapped around my left ring finger. The tears were real enough—I only had to picture something terrible happening to Dove, who we’d left with Brí’s horse in the care of a family not far from the gates, and the tears flowed freely. Dark, perhaps, but effective. I sniffled for extra effect.

“Please, sir, you must let me bring it inside,” I said to the guard inspecting my sword. Unlike the citizens around him, his armor was a dull gray to match the bricks, like he’d been formed from them and simply stepped out of a wall one day. The metal drained the color from his pale face. Unfortunate, really.

We stood under the high, ornate archway into the city, its shadow making the guard’s coloring that much drabber. The line behind us moved steadily as other guards permitted entry, no weapons to be found on any of those entering. Given funeral rites were so elaborate here, we were only two of many mourners, though I assumed we were the only fakes.

The swords Brí and I carried were anything but inconspicuous, even the laziest of guards able to catch sight of them at our hips. The daggers concealed under our skirts had yet to be found. If everything went smoothly, it should stay that way.

Given why we were in Tírdorcha in the first place, I couldn’t imagine the guards and sellswords were perfect at stopping every weapon from getting in. Perhaps the port officials were slacking.

Or accepting bribes.

“We don’t generally permit such weapons inside, miss,” the guard said, and I wailed.

“No, not miss.” I choked on a sob. Brí placed a hand on my shoulder, and I forced myself not to shove it off. “Never miss.” I twisted the ring around my finger.

“Apologies, it’s just that there’s a weapons ban in effect,” he said. I cried harder, and he grimaced. “There are some exceptions, of course. Why, exactly, do you need permission to bring this in?” He eyed us in our disheveled states, likely recalling how I’d clumsily handed over my weapon as though I didn’t know how to handle it.

“It was my husband’s, you see.” I twisted my letters, making them guttural in all the right places to sound more from the south, simultaneously bringing my voice an octave higher than usual. The singing lessons I’d had as a child were really paying off in control. “We came here, my sister-in-law and I, that is, because he . . .” I devolved into spluttering.

Brí, my undercover sister-in-law, was less good at crying on command, but her grief-stricken features were pretty good. “My brother passed away two short months ago,” she said in an accent that matched mine. “The two of them, their union was ordained by the gods. You never did see two people more perfect for each other. This sword was his prized possession. It’s all she has left of him. This visit, it’s to pay final respects to his spirit, and the sword is part of that. She wishes to gift it to him for Afterlife.”

The guard softened. He retrieved a note from his cloak and read it over. Permissible reasons to bring in weaponry, perhaps?

“Of course. Make sure to keep it sheathed outside of rituals.” He handed back my sword, and I gave him a grateful yet awkward smile, tears welling. He didn’t even bother examining Brí’s sword. I was half disappointed; we had a cover story for that, too. But apparently the guard was a sucker for grieving women, because he ushered us in without any further questions or searches. No wonder Exiles could get in. Provide a sob story and anything was possible.

I breathed in deep, the air fresher than Ardanna given the proximity to the sea, though the undertones of waste and fish still lingered. Voices rose around us, calling to one another, getting hushed as we approached the first of the city’s six shrines. While I was curious to take a look, there would be little to glean around any of them with our current plan of listening . They were too quiet, too full of mourning. I thought that was a perfect reason to visit—we could talk one mourner to another. A shrine could be a gem mine of information.

Later. We were scoping things out first. Truly, that would have been part of my own suggestion, had our conversation gone smoother. Scope areas worthy of inspection for a couple of days, then move in on people. Unless, of course, a perfect opportunity presented itself.

Instead, our scoping was filled with tension, neither of us moving past our argument. Every street we turned down, every alley we spotted and storefront we inspected, we moved like touching each other would lead to some sort of contagion. Brí had even started assessing me out of the corner of her eye like I was a new recruit who needed to come to heel. Like that was about to happen.

It was a relief to arrive at the appointed meeting spot at sundown, knowing my friends were around the corner and some of this tension could be dispelled.

Outside the entrance to the central shrine, the chirping of birds died low, as though even they knew where sacred ground lay. While most of the shrines in the city were artificial caves, more like Fenwaldan mausoleums, the central and largest shrine was a true cave. An earthy, dank breeze flowed from it, cool air drifting outward to kiss my face upon arrival. Like Dérra was trying to soothe me after the afternoon I’d had.

Lou and áine sat on a bench outside the shrine, away from visitors, with áine much less defensive than I’d ever seen. She’d donned a dress for her alias, another first for me, and she’d artfully tucked the skirts around her where she sat.

Maya and Bryn chatted quietly on the bench opposite. Bryn smiled, tucking hair behind her ears, her cheeks rosy. Maya’s fingers danced unrhythmically over a walking stick in her lap as she spoke. Packs lingered at their feet, and a roll of “art supplies” lay under the bench. Inside, our remaining swords, two quivers full of arrows, and two bows were safely hidden. Good to see their goal—get the weapons through a known-to-Onyx crack in one of the city’s walls undetected—panned out.

I avoided eye contact with Lou as I plunked down beside Bryn. He didn’t need to see my tension and discover two of his friends weren’t getting along.

Brí, for her part, seemed totally at ease where she leaned against a wall. Confident.

Like she’d get her way.

I bit my tongue, grounding myself with the sting. I’d been doing that a lot with Brí. At this rate, it was turning into a veritable relief map of frustration.

“Anything?” Lou asked.

“Some,” Brí said. “The in-between streets and thoroughfares had more life to them than those around the shrines.”

“More potential for gossip to be passed around and covert meetings to take place in those streets,” I said. “A good number of small, discreet offshoots, too.”

“Did you speak to anyone helpful?” Maya asked.

“We didn’t speak to anyone, actually.” Some of my tension crept back in, tightening my voice.

“Didn’t find anyone to approach?” Lou asked.

We had. A man with a Dérra crow—the primary symbol of the goddess, depicted as anything from vengeful to loving—tattooed on his neck, likely marking him as a local. We could have at least asked where a safe place to stay was, gleaning from his answer where the Exiles, and thus the danger, might be congregating. Brí had dragged me away before I could make a case to her.

“We don’t have enough information to act on yet,” Brí said. “Once we have more, we can pick who we want to speak to, and from there, who we want to interrogate. We don’t know the locals from the visitors, or the willing locals from the ones who’d report us.”

“Finding locals who’ll talk shouldn’t be hard,” Maya said. “Especially with the mourner angle you two have.”

I raised my brows even though no one was watching me. Told you so .

“We don’t know the rebels among them,” Brí said. “We can’t give ourselves away prematurely, and jumping in to questioning locals could do that.”

“It’s not like we’d be asking obvious questions,” I said, trying my point again. “We’d still be careful, especially this early on.”

Brí’s eyes narrowed, like she was wondering why I hadn’t clarified that sooner. I’d tried; she hadn’t listened.

“And we have our aliases,” Bryn said. She clamped her mouth shut; she wasn’t one to shy away from sharing opinions when she was in her element, but strategy wasn’t her domain. She sat back, encouraging someone else to take her idea and run with it, but I waved her on. Maya and Lou gave reassuring nods.

Bryn slowly leaned forward again. “If we have these aliases and these disguises, then we’re protected from discovery.”

“Relatively,” Brí said. “It’s not foolproof. Someone recognized Thomas at the tavern; someone could recognize any of us from the capital. Don’t you agree that being cautious is the right way to go?”

Bryn hesitated, and I almost swore at Brí. How dare she play off my sister like that?

“Bryn has a point,” áine said before I could lash out. It was one of the rare moments I didn’t see áine with a dagger in hand; like ours, they were all hidden under layers of clothing. I always have two easily accessible at all times , she’d said on the journey over. I wondered where those two were hidden now.

“How so?” Brí asked, sighing. Good. Let her feel exasperated.

“Realistically, you’re the only one who has a chance of being recognized. The rest of us have never been here before. A sellsword could recognize one of them”—áine pointed to me, Lou, and Maya—“but we’ve taken precautions. Your hair is colored, our features are muted from less washing. We’re acting as people other than ourselves, dressed in ways we usually aren’t.” áine, Lou, and Maya were even speaking with Cunlaran accents.

“And if someone recognized us on the road and sent word ahead?” Brí lowered her voice even further, as if said person was lurking about. “What then? We could be walking into a trap. If we walk into a trap, we can’t get the information my brother needs. This country needs.”

I frowned. I understood her angle. I had this whole time. She wanted to have the best chance at getting information for Dàibhid, as I did. Wanted us to return safely for him, as I did. But.

“What about the farmers? The Leancormacs?” I said, and Brí pursed her lips. “The more time we spend here, the more we risk returning to find another group like them struggling and grieving. Which risk is more worth it? Our lives, or theirs?” Lou closed their eyes, and Bryn sniffled. “You don’t want to let Dàibhid down. I don’t either. You know that. But with your method, we could be here for weeks. What if we don’t have weeks? What if the Exiles move or change course before then? We’d be back to where we started. We did that once already. We can’t do it again. And Dàibhid gave the order not to be here longer than necessary.”

Brí rubbed her face, more resigned.

Lou frowned. “I get where you’re coming from Brí, I do. But Rígan also has a point.”

“There’s the middle ground,” Bryn said. She waited for people to turn their attention to her. “We can scout until the end of the week, see what we learn in that time. Maya and I saw some people entering the city who looked . . .”

“Fishy,” Maya finished. “To say the least. And that’s only from the main gate, not the port.”

Bryn nodded. “We can try and locate them, or others like them, search through the streets you think are worth it at the same time, and by the end of the week, determine what to act on.”

Warmth swelled in me. Bryn had delivered that as though she felt she belonged here. She even pulled herself taller when áine said, “I agree with Bryn’s plan.”

It might have been more than the couple of days I’d been inclined toward, but it was perhaps worth the few added days if they afforded us advantage and protection. Bryn’s plan satisfied my need to act, but also quelled Brí’s worries over not getting a lay of the land first. It was a solid course of action. And hadn’t I thought Brí’s plan would be a good one if the timing allowed for it?

“I agree, too,” I said.

Brí’s chin lowered as though she finally realized she wasn’t in charge of us. “If a shorter scouting period is what you want to risk, I suppose I’m on board.”

I pulled my lips in, feeling sympathetic. We did want the same thing, after all. She just wasn’t used to this dynamic, where the rest of us—even Bryn, in a way, and seemingly áine—were. Brí kept her gaze off us, focusing on a carving on the side of the shrine.

“Good, then it’s settled,” Lou said.

I turned to them. “Did you find a place to stay?”

“We did. It’s down the way from here. Two rooms, breakfast included.”

“And dinner?” Maya asked.

“Less included,” Lou said. “ But we might be able to earn it.”

“How so?” Maya asked.

From the gleam in Lou’s eye, I had an idea where this was going.

“I smelled what the cook was making. Steamed dumplings. I told him I was looking forward to them, that I’d learned how to make them years ago and was interested in seeing how he makes his.”

“You know how to make steamed dumplings?” I asked.

“Mhm. The pork ones are my specialty,” Lou said. I could have sworn áine’s feet tapped a little dance. I must have imagined it. She didn’t seem like the dancing type. “I just never had the means to make them for you before.”

“Where did you . . . ?”

“A chef in a coastal town on the continent, visiting from Qianhú.” I laughed, unsurprised.

“What did the cook say?” Maya asked.

“That he was looking forward to me eating them,” Lou said.

“So how might we get free dinner?”

“Well, I sort of gave him a suggestion on how to close the dumplings after watching him for a minute. You know, so they wouldn’t break open. He wasn’t impressed.”

“ Lou ,” I said. I swear, sometimes Lou couldn’t help but teach what they knew, even if no one asked for it.

“Hold on. He asked if I thought I could do better, as a challenge, and I said I could try. Then he said if I make the better dumplings, we don’t have to pay for dinner. If he makes the better dumplings, we, uh, pay for more than just us.”

Maya waved her hands. “Wait, hold on. What does that mean?”

“The tavern. We pay for everyone in the tavern. He’s serious about it, too. Even proposed a payment plan.”

My shoulders shook from holding in laughter. Maya’s voice pitched higher. “How big is the tavern?”

“Not . . . small.”

“I tried to stop it,” áine said. “But things moved so quickly.”

“Please,” Lou said. “You were trying not to laugh.”

To my astonishment, áine flashed a small smile. Maybe she had done a happy dance. “Maybe.”

“Alright, Lou,” I said. “Lead the way to either the cheapest or the most expensive meal we’ve ever shared.”

We all made to leave, Brí walking apart from the rest of us, shoulders sagging. I almost approached her before remembering the hard glares and condescension.

I nodded when she looked at me, the most I could give her with the tension still looming, and followed Lou to the inn.