Page 10 of This Midsummer Heart (Seasons of Legend #4)

Chapter ten

Bandits on the Road

Titaine

M

ircose

is

a

charming

border town, full of white plaster and timber homes with clay roof tiles, hinting at the prosperity even this trade road brings.

I catch bits of several languages on the streets, and though this isn’t the most popular trade route, it was well-used enough to have visitors and residents from all over.

Still, there isn’t much to see in a little resting spot for travelers like this, and the humidity is growing intolerable as the sun bakes the little town.

Now I am stuck here, waiting for Auberon.

At this rate, we won’t make it to our next planned stop.

Auberon insisted we split our stops evenly between settlements of elves and fae, so we’re meant to be with the dark elves of Trident Wood tonight, home to some of Auberon’s own kin. Not that I’m looking forward to it.

I make a point of never dealing with elves since the day I revoked the bond and treaty between Auberon and I—and especially to stay far from the dark elves who call him king.

I can wait no longer for Auberon, and settle on having a hot meal while I can.

I end up with a hearty stew at one of the town’s homey little traveler’s kitchens, the points of my ears glamoured away and hidden beneath my hair, too, just to be safe.

I won’t take any chances. Especially here, where travelers converge.

The new age of Duskhold and the loss of magic is a common topic.

I return to the sheltered hitching post where I left Giselda, right next to the stables for guests staying longer than a couple hours.

It’s a place to water the horses and have them curried and checked for any wear on the road, run by a multi-generational family of humans, and it offers a broad view of Mircose’s wide main street.

Still no Auberon.

Unease settles in properly as the street fills up with new arrivals. There are travelers coming into town from the same direction I did, complete with a cart. Even if Auberon’s horse came up lame, he could’ve ridden with them. He could have walked

here by now.

Either Auberon has abandoned me and gone around Mircose completely (the most likely explanation), or something awful has happened.

With Auberon’s dusk blue skin and elven build, it isn’t as though he can pretend to be human.

What if he’s run afoul of someone angry about losing their magic, or who meant to steal his natural elven magic for themselves?

I’ve heard tales that the humans have such mages—tales that leave a fete chilled even on the hottest midsummer day.

I stroke the bristly hair of Giselda’s nose until her head bucks, the gray end of her muzzle almost clipping me. “Sorry, girl,” I murmur, soothing her. Aulden Steeds are perceptive, and extremely sensitive to human emotions; Giselda is particularly attuned to mine.

With a reluctant sigh, I take her reins and lead her away from the trough, offering the girl who curried Giselda a coin from my palm.

“Neat trick!” the girl exclaims, drawing the attention of her brother and younger sister. She gestures at them. “If I give you the coin back, will you do it again for them?”

I freeze. I wasn’t thinking about how

I produced the coin. With my real coin purse hidden by magic, I used a little more magic to draw one out. It’s a habit—and now I’m in trouble because of it.

My glamour hides widened eyes as I glance up at the children’s grandmother and grandfather, both looking away. Their mother begins to stride towards me.

“A magician never reveals her secrets,” I whisper to the child, as if I am including her in that secret.

Her eyes round, the girl nods. The misdirection worked—on her, anyway. The mother is still coming this way.

With the flutter of my wings hidden, I hop into Giselda’s saddle, not sparing the time to hide my fete’s grace. The tips of my ears are burning.

Mircose isn’t safe. What if Auberon did

arrive and something happened to him here?

I need to find him, fast. But I also need to leave before word gets out about my casual use of magic. I guide Giselda down the main thoroughfares, hoping to catch word of an elf.

What am I even doing? Am I worried

about Auberon? Impossible. It really is more likely that he’s gone on without me—a shame, since I was counting on his strength, should my magic fail before we reach Nox, and his connections with the elves, should the humans prove as dangerous as I imagine.

At least now I know why he wanted to hold on to the money I’d left in plain sight on my bed.

The moment he took that coin, he failed my test, just like every other I’ve ever given him.

Some would think that scheming, but I needed to know exactly who I was traveling with.

After all these years, Auberon still resents my power—no, not that, exactly. I think he was attracted to my magical strength, once. But he resents the prosperity of the House of Fetes. He resents me

for daring to reject him.

But I already know that, don’t I? He bought up every last berth on the runeships, including spaces he hadn’t even needed, just so I’d have to ask him nicely. Why did I even bother to test him with the money? Did I actually think he’d do the right thing?

I point Giselda southward, ready to resume my journey alone, when a bell rings out. The town crier has just emerged from one of the buildings, clanging a handbell as he proclaims, “ Guardai, guardai! Banditai venerant qui! Caminai vederant a nord, andarant al sud, al Mirchoise,”

before switching to another language.

I don’t need magic to understand. Bandits have been spotted on the north road, heading south toward Mircose. And like that, I know exactly what happened to Auberon—and exactly how little magic he has left.

The Auberon I was bonded to would have known any bandits were coming well in advance, or heard their breathing further up on the road. He’d have time to form a plan, and have his dagger at the ready.

I turn Giselda, then urge her back onto the northbound Lis Byway, gradually bringing her to her top speed. Soon, the farmland and trees are a blur. Then the woods swallow us, dark and misty despite the afternoon heat. Where are you, Auberon?

What if the bandits have seen us together, and are waiting to see if I’ll return? I could be guiding Giselda right into a trap.

This would be a terrible time for my magic to fail me. Which makes me anxious that it will.

With Giselda’s unnatural speed, it isn’t long before the trees begin to thin.

I’m getting nearer to where I left Auberon.

Surely he made it a little farther than that?

I must’ve gone by him already. The bandits could’ve dragged him into the trees before leaving, or else the travelers arriving in Mircose would’ve spotted him, too.

I need to slow down. There are travelers further down the road, heading toward the forest. I can hear but not yet see them—but I do not want to meet them alone in this wood any more than I want to run into the bandits.

I guide Giselda back to a trot, pacing the same stretch of road over and over while I search for some sign—any sign—of a struggle. I am ready to give up when something

tugs at my senses.

Magic.

The boughs are too low for me to stay on Giselda’s back. Her reins in hand, I flutter across the understory beside the road, hoping to catch a pulse of that magic again. Auberon has never had much, but he carries a royal dagger of the dark elves. I must be sensing that.

Or that of a bandit. Do bandits even have that much magic?

After a few minutes of searching, I finally catch sight of one of Auberon’s bare arms, deep blue in the shade of the Evermore Forest. I hurry to his side as quickly as I can while staying wary, holding Giselda’s reins tight. She would be a prize for any bandit, greater than jewels or gold.

At last, I stand before Auberon, slumped forward against his bonds. And my traitorous heart beats wildly at the sight of him.