mentioned a family earlier, so he wasn’t an orphan. He kept presenting a growing puzzle to her, though, the more she discovered. Most people who were wealthy enough to be scholars traveled by path often. Why had he only done it once? And despite his very sensible, logical reasons in joining her guild, she couldn’t help but feel that he could have found an easier way to do his studies, especially if he was funded as he claimed to be.
Rain and drought, but she really wished they’d had a day or two more in Goldschmidt so she could have done some discreet inquiries about Hammon before traveling with him.
“Then basic rules.” Sylvie ticked off points on her fingers. “First, don’t fall off the cart. If you land on anything other than a stepping stone, you’ll leave the path completely and we have no way of knowing where you ended up. Ask Denney sometime about that.”
Denney stuck her tongue out and looked away with a humph, refusing to be baited.
Hammon took in this interaction with arched eyebrows. “I take it something happened.”
“It’s a long trip,” Sylvie assured him with sadistic cheer. “I’ll tell you the story sometime. Anyway, rule two: only Grae can end the path so don’t climb down until he says so. Rule three: if you do fall off, no moving. We can find you a lot easier if you’re not wandering around in circles. Isn’t that right, Denney?”
“You’re forgetting something, Sylvie,” the woman told her with a dark glower.
“Oh?” Sylvie looked innocent. Or tried to, although her lips kept quivering as if she suppressed a smile.
“Yes.” Denney growled out, “I know where you sleep at night and you’re a deep sleeper. I’d be concerned if I were you.”
“Why should I?” Sylvie snuggled in closer to Hammon, making the man blush a little. “Hammon will protect me.”
“Ah…” Proving he could play along with their teasing, he gave Sylvie an apologetic smile, “I’m actually a very deep sleeper as well. My house was struck by lightning once and I slept right through it.”
Sylvie pursed her lips as she studied his expression. “I’d best find a different protector.”
“I certainly would,” he responded with a distinct twinkle in his eyes.
“We’re almost through!” Grae called back to them.
Siobhan let out a subtle breath of relief. She couldn’t really tell Wolf this, but that steel hand of his rested right against her ribs and pinched a little. Normally, when he touched someone else, he took great care with that hand so as to not accidentally cause any injuries. After all, he couldn’t feel anything through it except distant pressure. He’d broken more things accidentally than she could recall. But she didn’t dare say anything to him about it—the last time she had, he’d been so regretful of leaving a mark on her he hadn’t touched her for nearly two months. She could put up with a bruise on her ribs rather than reliving that awkwardness.
The stepping stones faded, returning to their normal color of brown and grey. The distorted and humid pressure of the air also dissipated and Siobhan knew they were through before Grae could get out the words, “We’re here! You can get down!”
Wolf gave her a hand down—with his natural left hand—which she used gratefully to clamber off the cart. A slight breeze washed over her, causing an errant shiver to dance over her skin, and she grimaced. Sitting on Wolf might have given her a bruise, but at least he’d kept her warm. “No one fell off, right?” she teased as her boots touched the ground.
“Ha ha ha,” Denney shot back sarcastically.
Wolf put a hand on the side of the cart, levering himself up. “I think we’d know—”
Tran, an evil smirk on his face, reached out a hand and grasped Wolf’s ankle before yanking hard. Wolf had just enough time to gasp, eyes wide in panic, before he face-planted into the grass, sprawled out like an abandoned ragdoll.
Dead silence.
When Wolf didn’t do more than twitch, Siobhan dared to ask, “So, ah, how you doing down there?”
Without lifting his face, Wolf growled, “Me? I’m dandy. I’m so happy I’m eating grass.”
Tran threw back his head and roared.
With an outrageous twinkle in his eye, Hammon turned to Conli and asked mock-seriously, “Doesn’t grass have several medicinal properties?”
“Actually, it does,” Conli agreed in the same tone. “It’s quite good for the digestive system.”
Beirly twisted about in his seat to add, “Animals eat grass, so makes sense to me.”