Chapter 121: A brief reprieve

“Zhadin?” Squirt asked quietly.

A tendril reached out from the shadow to caress her hand.

“If there are any fires that come up in the remains, can you put them out?”

The voice whispered by her ear. “Yes.”

Nodding once, she reached into her bag, breaking Zhadin’s hold over her wrist to pull out a thin blanket. Carefully shifting Pakos, she created a sling to hold her hound tightly to her chest like she had when he was an egg.

Is my smaller, cuter form making you nostalgic, mother?

Hush. She offered him a couple of feystones that he consumed eagerly. Once he finished, he shifted himself in the sling, finding a comfortable spot with his head tucked close to her heart. In moments, she felt him drift back off to sleep.

She stood there, in the middle of the forest, one hand on her hound through the sling she had made, allowing the emotions to wash over her. The fear of losing him. The fear of losing her magic. Memories of that traumatic night, the pain of then, the weeks of recovery.

When wings were injured badly enough, they could not be put away. It was something she learned the hard way when her own wings failed to be put back after the Siabitch’s torture. Their infection from the continuous exposure the wounds received after. The fact that she could put her wings away and feel no pain should have been reassuring.

And yet, the pain had dredged up fears over twenty years in the making.

Squirt trotted further into the forest, Pakos sleeping soundly against her chest as memories and thoughts swirled and mixed with no particular rhyme or reason.

After ten minutes of searching, she found an unburned bush similar to a holly, hundreds of leaves on a branch that had long, flexible spikes on them. Pulling out her blade, she sawed off one of the branches, taking her time, her movements equally mechanical and meditative.

Then she took a careful seat on the ground, pulling out a pair of specialized boots she’d made for wildfire aftermaths from feybeasts, slipping them over her handmade boots. It took a bit of wiggling for them to fit, her boots now thicker and higher quality than the boots she’d had before coming to Everwinter Keep, but she made it work.

The covers themselves were made of iron and shaped like snowshoes, allowing her to walk across the ash.

So long as the ash wasn’t hot enough for the metal to cook her feet, anyway.

The burned sections of the forest were giant gaping gaps in the landscape filled with soot, ash, and residual heat. The lord’s magic had done much to cool the remaining smoldering embers, but Squirt could see the waves in the air still. Testing the burnt earth, she waited until it was just cool enough that the boot covers would protect her feet before starting to trudge across the remains, using her branch to sweep over the ash.

Twice, she saw a flicker of movement of a shadow smothering the light of embers she suspected was Zhadin, but otherwise the forest was silent. Peaceful. The fears that haunted her remained as they always would, but with the time, silence, and task of sweeping the ground while searching for feystones, the fears eased back into the shadows of her heart where they always had been.

Leaving her to consider the question once more.

… am I… still allowed to court, or…?

It wasn’t just the pest she considered.

Qzi, the manic psychopath, who had been unable to stand, on the edge of collapsing from overuse of his magic, using the little he had to keep her from bleeding out. Everything from the first time he fell to his knees and begged her to mate him to that image of him snuggled up to the pillows in the infirmary.

Zhadin, her constant companion, silently obeying her every wish. Never offering, never pressing, even when they could offer more than she knew. The way they had taken lashings, intent on dying before fighting, determined to not risk her. The gifts they’d given.

Jezalin, the princess with a thing for scars, her eyes sultry and curious but never pressuring. The way she handled situations for Squirt and openly flirted without expectation.

And the pest. Him with his wings. The way he’d made her people smile and dance. The way even in the wake of her fears, he’d still managed to bring joy to her.

All of them were openly courting her. She knew it. They knew it. They had varying levels of open declarations regarding it. And nothing was like how it had been with the Sia-bitch.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Then, she’d been the dirty little secret. A side fling of a woman who thought her exotic, and Squirt had been too starstruck by such a beauty paying her any attention to realize the toxic games being played. Any attention at all was something to be treasured for someone as lowly as Squirt was. Never, at any point in any part of what they had—even when it was good—was Squirt valued for anything. Even the enchanting was considered a matter of course. Something that Squirt owed her for the privilege of the Sia-bitch deigning to speak with her in any capacity.

The Sia-bitch would never have given her silence as anything but a punishment.

Several times, Squirt uncovered larger feystones, having to dance around them to keep the bottoms of her boots from burning as she unearthed them. Whenever they were unearthed enough, they would be drawn into shadows by Zhadin.

The work was filthy and exhausting. She had to keep stepping quickly, her small, light frame combined with her specialized boots not heavy enough to sink further into the ashes where it would have burned more. Still, the surface was just on the edge of burning, and prolonged contact would heat the metal enough to melt her boots.

She knew that from experience.

Her thoughts turned back to courting. She’d had months to consider rejecting any one of the fey that had announced their interest in her. Months to consider her response to any of them.

She could have rejected them. She’d certainly tried dissuading them.

Kenna had said to let the pest grovel. The pest himself had no issue with it, even going so far as to offer her such a large feystone purely because she might have wanted it with zero expectation of reciprocation. She didn’t need to know how many suns the damn thing was worth to know that it was a rich gift.

As was his offer of magic.

I’d still want you to be happy.

What would make her happy?

She reached the point where she could not come up with any clean answers. As loathe as she was to admit it, she enjoyed the company of all four, each in their own slightly psychotic way. Her distaste in admitting it was rooted in fears.

If she reciprocated, if she allowed herself that chance to try, and they turned on her or broke her heart or…

Would it be worth the risk?

Ultimately, that was the part she was still uncertain about. There was little of her time with the Sia-bitch that had been happy beyond the delusion of thinking a bigger, better, stronger fey had any kind of interest in her. Even her relationship with Leaf had been more convenience than romance.

She had missed the pest this last summer.

She missed Zhadin when they weren’t by her side.

She missed Qzi when he’d gone missing.

She’d had yet to miss Jezalin, but really, she had the feeling that it was only a matter of time. The time would come soon when the fallen’s appearance inspired excitement rather than flustered panic.

She had never missed the Sia-bitch. Nor Leaf. Not in the same way.

She felt more for Zhadin than she ever did for Leaf.

This was true of the other three, but easier to admit about Zhadin.

Her thoughts swirled as the sun began to sink over the horizon when a whoop was heard, followed by the crashing through trees. Squirt glanced up to see—

“Mole,” she whispered, the darker worries banished by the steady presence of her steed, and she raced out of the edge of the ashes to greet the best boy in all the realms.

“Pricklebear!”

Also Qzi was there.

Mole trotted right up to her, shoving his nose in her chest and startling a small yet genuine smile from her. He was insistent enough despite the ash covering her head to toe that she was able to ignore the pest on his back.

“Okay boy, I’m here,” she murmured, her hands holding his head and keeping her from nibbling on her clothes.

The rustle of cloth was followed by the pest smoothly dismounting from Mole’s back. He walked around to his head, offering Squirt Mole’s reins with a smile. No words.

She accepted the reins, feeling oddly awkward in the wake of her lack of any decision.

Luckily, she was saved from any attempt at conversation when Qzi appeared by her side and fell to his knees, his expression eager and manic as usual.

She still caught the way Qzi’s eyes scanned over her for injuries. Though his expression was manic, there was calculation and assessment that she glimpsed in the way his eyes took her in.

… am I… still allowed to court, or…?

Her hand reached out slowly, hesitantly, before falling onto Qzi’s head. His hair was softer than she’d thought it be, the dark strands glinting a deeper red in the light of the sunset. His manic smile dropped, his eyes wide in surprise, the scattering of freckles over his nose hidden behind a flush that covered the entirety of his face.

Convinced that was more than enough emotions from her today, she cleared her throat, retracting her hand. “Come on. There’s a jewelbird clearing not too far from here.”

The subject of her statement was ambiguous. Qzi assumed, standing and whistling for his own steed.

The pest shoved his hands in his pockets and took a step back, his smile content, but his eyes wistful.

Squirt mounted Mole, but hesitated, tugging just slightly on Mole’s reins to bring him to a halt and keep him from racing off into the woods.

Qzi, on her other side, pulled up alongside her on his own steed, Prancer, his eyes cautiously eager, like he was still waiting for her to tell him to piss off. “What’s up, pricklebear?”

Pursing her lips in a mix of annoyance and a touch of nerves, Squirt said almost petulantly, “Come on, pest.”

At first, he didn’t react, still staring at her with that happy, slightly wistful smile. Then, slowly, the smile faded, inch by inch, into surprise. One hand lifted, the finger pointed at himself, the question written all over his stupid pretty face.

Dryly, she answered, “Do you see another pest around here?”

The hand slowly dropped as his features morphed once more. From surprise to bright, radiant joy.

Uncomfortable and nervous, Squirt turned, taking a moment to adjust the sleeping Pakos against her chest, making sure he was comfortable. One hand on the sling to keep him from bouncing, she leaned forward, giving Mole the command to run.

Peace settled in her soul as Mole raced into the woods in a way it hadn’t during her night off with the wolves.

Yes, but that was for them. This is for you.

As the autumn winds blew through her hair and Qzi let out a whoop to follow her, she had to admit to herself that as much fun as the strategy game with the lord had been, this was most definitely for her.