I woke to the soft creak of wood and the faint rustle of canvas overhead.

  For a moment, I didn’t know where I was. The ceiling was too close, the air wrong, scented with oil and old timber instead of damp earth. Then the wagon shifted slightly with the breeze, and memory slid back into place. I was in my new bunk.

  Pale light filtered through the seams in the canvas, thin and slanted, telling me the sun was already climbing. Outside, the horses moved quietly, hooves scuffing the ground, the low sound of breathing and the occasional snort drifting in.

  Nadine’s bunk below me was empty.

  That made sense. She’d taken over the watch near dawn, which meant she’d be up now, probably seeing to breakfast while the horses grazed nearby. The routine we’d fallen into already carried over without needing to be spoken aloud.

  The space around me was small, enclosed, with everything close enough to touch. It was somehow more cozy than cramped, likely because we'd made it ours. The walls after sleeping in the open for so long were nice. It didn’t feel like hiding. It felt intentional, like choosing how much of the world to face at once.

  I swung my legs down carefully, mindful of the narrow space, and reached for my boots, ready to start the day.

  Our morning routine passed much like it normally did, except that packing things into the wagon was a little easier than organizing it on to the horses. It was a little extra work to hitch the horses to the wagon, but I knew once we were used to it, this too would become routine.

  Nadine took the reins on the wagon, and I rode beside her on Altivo. It was safer in case of monsters or bandits, and we had some time to travel before we'd reach a town.

  The wagon moved at a walking pace, slow enough that I kept Altivo reined in without effort. He didn’t seem to mind. The draft horses plodded along steadily, ears flicking back and forth as they learned the rhythm of pulling something that complained every time it hit a rut.

  Nadine had settled on the driver’s bench with my book open in her lap, the reins looped loosely over one wrist.

  “I still don’t understand how this is popular,” she muttered, eyes never leaving the page.

  “You’ve been staring at it for half an hour,” I said mildly. “If you’re going to judge it, at least let me read it properly.”

  She glanced at me, then down at the book, cheeks already faintly pink. “Fine,” she said. “But quietly.”

  I grinned, which she should have taken as a warning.

  Altivo walked on without needing guidance, and I read aloud, doing my best not to stumble over the more ridiculous turns of phrase, delivering them with all the restraint of a stage performer who had just discovered applause. Nadine tried very hard to look unimpressed, but she kept tightening her grip on the reins and never once asked me to stop.

  By the time we passed our first travelers of the day, her face had gone fully red. The pair stared openly as we went by. One of them made a quick warding gesture, almost convincing me they didn't approve of the scene.

  “I cannot believe you’re enjoying this,” Nadine hissed.

  “Only half as much as I’m enjoying your reactions,” I corrected.

  We stopped twice before midday. Once to tighten the bracing on the damaged wheel, and again to swap out the draft horses so neither pair bore too much of the strain. The wagon rode a little smoother after the second stop, though it still protested every incline.

  On one particularly stubborn hill, I dismounted and led Altivo to the front, rigging a temporary line so he could lend his strength. He leaned into the pull without complaint, muscles bunching as the wagon creaked its way to the top.

  Nadine let out a breath she’d been holding. “I’m definitely buying proper tack in the city.”

  “I’ll help,” I said. “I don’t want him thinking this is his new job.”

  We ate shortly after that, a simple meal by the roadside, the horses freely grazing and content. The road was quiet enough that we could take our time, watching clouds drift and listening to the wagon settle as the wood warmed in the sun.

  When we set off again, the land began to change. More traffic appeared and the roads were better kept. Signs of cultivation sprang up until we were suddenly passing between farmland on both sides.

  By midafternoon, Nadine squinted ahead. “There,” she said. “That has to be it.”

  I followed her gaze. A small city rose in the distance, stone walls catching the light, spires and rooftops clustered close together. Not like the capital, but large enough to matter.

  “All right,” I said, swinging down from Altivo. “Time for me to disappear.”

  She nodded, slowing the wagon as I climbed into the back, settling just behind the driver’s bench where I could still talk without being seen. The space felt familiar already.

  The wagon rolled on toward the gates, unremarkable, dusty, and exactly what we needed it to be. One of the guards called out to Nadine, prompting her to slow, but after only a cursory glance inside, he waved us through and turned his attention elsewhere.

  The city closed around us the moment we passed the gate. Stone buildings pressed closer to the road, and the noise rose around the wagon in layers: voices, hooves, wheels, hawkers calling from the sides. The smell changed too, less forest and dust and more smoke, animals, and too many people living too close together.

  I stayed low behind the driver’s bench, hood up, watching through the gap between canvas and wood.

  Nadine guided the wagon with steady hands, already looking as if she’d been born to it. “All right,” she said, not looking back. “First thing is the yard.”

  “The what?” I asked.

  “The yard,” she repeated patiently. “An inn with a proper one. Somewhere that can take a wagon without making us unload it in the street.”

  “Why not just find an inn first?” I asked.

  Nadine laughed under her breath. “That is finding an inn. A real inn. The sort merchants actually use.”

  I frowned, still trying to follow.

  She glanced back just enough to know I was listening. “If we leave the wagon on the street, it’ll be lighter within an hour. If we try to sell first, we’ll be standing around with coin and a broken wheel and no place to put anything. And if we stable the horses somewhere else, we’ll be walking back and forth through the city all day, which is… not ideal for you.”

  "You sure seem to know a lot about this for an enchanter."

  She shrugged. "Enchanters work with merchants often. We even hosted a few at our home while father worked out contracts from time to time. I loved listening to their stories when I was younger."

  “That makes sense," I said. "So, we find the yard."

  “Yes.” Nadine turned the wagon down a wider street where the traffic felt more purposeful. “We want a place with a gate, a wall, and stables. Somewhere used to caravans. If they look at us like we’re inconvenient, we leave.”

  “That’s your standard?” I asked.

  “It’s one of them,” she said, and I could hear the smile in her voice. “Also, if the stable smells like it isn't cleaned nearly often enough, we leave.”

  “That's practical, I guess,” I murmured.

  “Always,” she said. “We can’t afford to be sentimental about inns.”

  "Is it really sentimental to hope they have music?"

  We passed two places before she even considered slowing. The first had a yard, technically, but it was open to the street and full of shouting men playing dice on overturned crates. The second had a stable so cramped it looked like it had been built as an afterthought. Nadine didn’t stop for either.

  On the third, she finally pulled the wagon in toward a broad archway set into a stone wall. A painted sign hung above it, weathered but maintained. Beyond the arch was a gated courtyard with enough space to turn a wagon and a line of stalls along one side. There were other wagons inside. Not many, but enough to make us look like we belonged.

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

  A man in a stained apron stepped out from a doorway, wiping his hands on his trousers. His eyes went to the wheel first, then to the draft horses, then to Nadine.

  “You bringing that in,” he called, “or are you just blocking my gate?”

  Nadine lifted her chin politely. “If you can take us.”

  He grunted, stepping closer, and made a show of looking the wagon over as if we were an inconvenience he might be persuaded to tolerate. “Two draft, three riding… and that one,” he said, gaze flicking toward Altivo. “That’s not a merchant horse.”

  “No,” Nadine agreed easily. “He’s mine.”

  The man snorted. “Must be nice.”

  I waited for her to bristle.

  She didn’t. “We need stabling and a locked yard,” she said. “We’ll pay for space enough to keep the wagon loaded until we can arrange repairs.”

  That got his attention.

  “Loaded,” he repeated, eyes sharpening. “And you want it left alone.”

  “Yes,” Nadine said. “And we want a receipt. For the stall fees and the yard fee.”

  I blinked at that. A receipt?

  The man studied her for a moment longer, then jerked his chin toward the gate. “Bring it in,” he said. “Turn it along the wall. Don’t let your wheel catch the stones. I’ve had enough trouble this week.”

  Nadine guided the wagon through the archway at a slow crawl. Inside, the sounds of the city softened, replaced by the simpler noises of a working yard. Horses shifting. A bucket being set down. Someone laughing in a kitchen beyond the wall.

  I felt myself breathe easier.

  Nadine looked back at me once we’d cleared the gate. “See?” she said quietly. “First rule. Make the world smaller.”

  I huffed a soft laugh. “I thought that was my rule.”

  “It is,” she said, and her smile turned briefly amused. “I’m just borrowing it.”

  "Nadine! I'm really going to give his book back one day! …I'm serious!"

  Once the wagon was settled along the inner wall and the horses were being led into their stalls, Nadine didn’t linger. She paid the yard fee, waited for the receipt, then turned back to the man in the apron.

  “We’ll need repairs,” she said, gesturing back toward the wagon. “The wheel’s temporary, and the axle took a hit.”

  He grunted, unsurprised. “Cartwright,” he said immediately. “General one, not a wheel-only man. Axles are fiddly if you don’t know the frame.”

  “That’s what I thought,” Nadine said. “Can you recommend someone?”

  He scratched at his beard, already thinking it through. “Journeyman work,” he decided. “Nothing’s twisted. Parts’ll be replaceable. I can send word. He’ll come have a look this afternoon, if he’s free.”

  “That would be perfect,” she said. “We’d rather not move the wagon again until it’s sound.”

  “Smart,” he replied, and there was a note of approval in it. “I’ll see to it.”

  While they talked, I kept to Nadine’s side, hood low, hands busy helping guide the draft horses into their stalls. They followed willingly, calm in a way that made the stable hand pause and look twice.

  “Good animals,” he said.

  “They are,” I replied, and meant it.

  Once everything was settled and the gate closed behind us, Nadine let out a quiet breath. “All right,” she said. “That’s the hard part done.”

  I raised a brow. “Are you sure that wasn't the easy part?”

  She smiled. “It’s only easy if you do it first.”

  With everything in motion there and the cart safely behind the gate, we moved on to our next task.

  The Adventurers’ Guild was harder to miss than the inn. Its hall sat near the center of the city, broad-fronted and solid, with notices posted along the outer wall and a steady flow of people going in and out. Not all of them looked dangerous, but all of them looked capable. I kept my hood up as we stepped inside and was relieved to notice I wasn't the only one.

  The air smelled faintly of oil, parchment, and old stone. A clerk sat behind a long desk near the entrance, eyes already flicking up as we approached.

  “Looking to hire or register?” he asked.

  “Hire,” Nadine said. “Merchant escort.”

  That earned her his full attention.

  “How far?” he asked, already reaching for a ledger.

  “Angelshade,” she replied. “Across the border.”

  The clerk paused, pen hovering. “That narrows it,” he said. “But not as much as it used to.”

  He flipped through a few pages, murmuring to himself as he scanned entries. “You’re doing the right thing coming here,” he added without looking up. “Guild contracts carry expectations. Guards don’t walk away when things get unpleasant.”

  “That’s why we’re here,” Nadine said. “We’re not looking for swords-for-hire. We want people who understand roads, monsters, and responsibility.”

  “Budget?” he asked.

  She gave him a number. Not a small one, but not extravagant either.

  He considered it, then nodded. “That’s workable. You’ll want a group, not individuals. Two, maybe three parties fit that range. Experienced, with mixed skills. One of them’s been talking about heading west anyway.”

  He made a note beside each entry, then looked up. “Here’s how this works. I’ll take the contracts to the party leaders. If any of them are interested, they’ll come to your inn to speak with you directly. If none of them bite, you’ll get a message by evening.”

  “That’s fine,” Nadine said. “We’re staying nearby, over at Wayfarer’s Rest.”

  “Good,” he said. “Be available.”

  We stepped back out into the street a moment later, the noise rushing back in around us.

  Nadine rolled her shoulders, easing the tension out of them. “Now, we eat.”

  I smiled faintly. “That part I understand.”

  “And while we do,” she added, glancing at me, “Maybe you can finally tell me why our horses just made the rest of that yard look half-feral.”

  I tugged my hood a little lower. “Why? There isn't much of a mystery. I’m charming.”

  She snorted. “You’re something.”

  Together, we turned back toward the inn, the city carrying on around us as if we were exactly what we appeared to be.

  The common room at the Wayfarer’s Rest was quieter than I’d expected. A few merchants lingered over late meals, and someone near the hearth was arguing softly with a clerk over weights and measures. It smelled like bread, onions, and smoke, and for the first time since we'd arrived in the city, I felt like I could relax.

  We claimed a small table near the wall. Nadine spread a scrap of parchment between us and weighed it down with her mug.

  “All right,” she said, lowering her voice. “If we’re doing this properly, we need to be selective.”

  “Selective how?” I asked.

  She tapped the parchment. “We don’t want to haul weight for the sake of it. The wagon gives us room, but not enough to waste. Heavy mundane goods are easy to sell, but the margin’s terrible. And, more importantly, they slow us down.”

  I nodded. “So we replace bulk with value. Stay legitimate but focused on our goal.”

  “Exactly.” She glanced at me. “You said you can do basic enchantments without tools?”

  “Etching, yes,” I said. "I'm well practiced with simple reinforcement and minor enhancements or effects. I do not have much practice creating anything advanced enough to use filament."

  “Which we don’t have,” she said, already writing. "Anything delicate needs filament, a steady frame, and proper tools. So we buy those. Portable, but real. Enough to work on the road.”

  “And alchemy,” I added. “I can manage without a full lab, but I’ll need bases, glassware, and a proper burner. I had a portable kit on my way to Valoria. Maybe we can find something similar that is affordable. And herbs that won’t spoil too quickly. I can supplement them with fresh ingredients we find along the way."

  Nadine hummed, thoughtful. “Potions sell well. Especially utility ones. Healing might be a good focus. They can help you hide your abilities if you need to use them. Maybe resistance or stamina to have a small selection."

  “Agreed. That way anything unsold is still useful,” I said. “Same with enchantments. Light items, but durable and easy to trade.”

  She smiled faintly. “You really are thinking like a merchant.”

  “I’m just getting into the spirit of things. You know, thinking like someone who doesn’t want you to die because we ran out of space for food,” I replied.

  That earned a quiet laugh. “Fair.”

  She leaned back, studying the list. “We strip out the low-value cargo. Keep things that can be consumed, enchanted, or traded up. Less weight, better speed, and more flexibility.”

  “And a workspace,” I said. “Even a small one.”

  “Yes,” she agreed. “Especially that.”

  We were still adjusting the list when the sound of boots stopped beside our table.

  A man stood there, only a few years older than us from the look of him, travel-worn but clean, a sword at his hip and a guild pin worked into the leather of his collar. He looked between us once, then nodded politely.

  “Excuse me,” he said. “I’m here about the escort contract.”

  Nadine folded the parchment neatly and looked up with a professional smile. “Of course,” she said. “Please. Sit.”

  I leaned back slightly, letting my hood fall just a bit lower as the chair scraped against the floor. Planning could wait.

  We ordered food and ate while we talked. In the end, the negotiations didn’t take long. The party leader proved practical, the sort who asked the right questions and didn’t pretend the road was safer than it was. Two warriors and a ranger, experienced enough to know when to hold ground and when to move. More than enough for most threats we were likely to face.

  They didn’t have horses of their own, which simplified things. That meant fewer animals to manage, and fewer costs to pass along. We agreed to half the pay up front and the rest upon arrival, with a few carefully worded clauses covering bonuses if we faced significant danger, and deductions for unwarranted detours or delays. There was also a brief, polite discussion about healing. What we could offer—and what counted as ordinary assistance, and what didn’t.

  By the end of it, everyone seemed satisfied, and they agreed to meet us at sunrise.

  With that settled, the rest of the evening passed in a blur of transactions. The wagon’s cargo was made up of safe, common goods, exactly the sort that moved easily in a city like this. Nadine handled the negotiations, calm and efficient, haggling just enough to avoid looking careless without wasting time pretending we weren’t eager to be done.

  Some items were sold outright. Others were traded for things we actually needed, like tools and materials suited to our plans. She even managed some supplies that would keep their value without weighing us down. The wagon grew lighter faster than I’d expected, but the coin we gained made up for it, and then some.

  By the time we were finished, dusk had settled fully over the city. We returned to our room at the inn tired but satisfied, plans in place and the next day already taking shape. Tomorrow, we would leave as merchants with guards, a repaired wagon, and a purpose that no longer felt improvised. For now, that was enough.

  Later that night, when we finally finished packing everything away, we returned to our room. I sprawled out across my bed, and Nadine did the same across her own.

  “What are we going to do with the horses?” she asked, practical as ever. “If the Dark Forest is as dangerous as everyone says, can we really take them through it? And once we’re at Ebonhold… where do they go?”

  I rolled to my side to face her. “We won’t take them into the forest itself. Angelshade isn't a small place. They'll have stables. I know someone there who might be able to help. They can wait for us there.”

  “That’s reassuring,” she said, then hesitated. “But is it really safe to go back at all?”

  I didn’t answer right away.

  “What if Dragomir was working with the heretics back then?” she asked carefully. “We know Cardinal Malvran warned him your parents were coming. That doesn’t feel like coincidence.”

  I leaned back against the bed and stared at the ceiling, considering it. “If he were working with them,” I said slowly, “he would have killed me too.”

  Nadine frowned. “Because—?”

  “Because there would have been no reason not to,” I said. “If the goal was to remove the Saint’s bloodline, leaving me alive wouldn’t have just been a mistake. It would have defeated the purpose entirely.”

  She thought about that, then nodded. “So you’re sure he wasn’t involved.”

  “I’m sure he isn’t now,” I said. “And I don’t think he was then, either. He barely tolerated the Church even before all of this.”

  “Then why?” she asked.

  I exhaled quietly. “The only reason I can imagine is that he saw an opportunity. He's been interested in expanding the coven for some time, though I'm not entirely sure why. My parents were both strong in magic. If that was already his goal back then, they would have been ideal candidates.”

  “But they weren’t turned,” Nadine said.

  “No,” I agreed, then hesitated. “At least, not as far as I know. But, that’s the part that doesn’t fit.”

  We sat with that for a while.

  “It does make you wonder,” she said eventually. “How long the Church has been doing things like this. Whether it was just the heretics… or if they learned it from someone else.”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “And I don’t know how long the heretics have existed, either. Long enough to do all of this. It doesn't seem possible that they formed a faction like that in just a few years."

  She was quiet again, then glanced at me sidelong. “If Dragomir wanted powerful mages… would he ever look at me that way?”

  “No,” I answered immediately. “You’re safe.”

  She studied my face, as if searching for doubt.

  “You’re with me,” I added. “And he doesn’t take what’s mine.”

  That earned a small, crooked smile. “You’re very certain about that.”

  “I am,” I said simply.

  By morning, the city was already awake. We stepped out into the yard to find our guards waiting, packs ready, the wagon repaired and standing straight again.

  It was time to leave.

  If you enjoy watching someone break the system in ways it absolutely did not plan for, Skye has you covered with Prime Time Hunter.