Page 41 of Lady Knight and the Thief

Cypress’s sharp, mismatched green and brown eyes checked the edge of the blade for deformities. She looked so… perfectly in tune with her environment, the side of her face illuminated by the sun’s rays, sitting in his tent, sharpening a blade. It was as if this camp was where she belonged, not underneath the thick armor of the Keep’s expectations.

“Why are we going there? Are you intentionally delaying our journey?” Cypress asked, drawing him out of his musing.

“Unless you wish to attempt to cross the Wylds without using the roads—as fickle as they may be– be my guest, Lass. But you won’t be among the living for very long,” Torren said before he walked to the small basin to splash some water on his face.

Cypress heaved a great sigh, then stood from her chair. “Fine. Where are my clothes?”

Torren huffed a laugh, then pressed a cloth to his face. “Did you not think to whistle for one of the Small Folk?”

“I assumed only the Fair Folk would be able to call them,” she said.

The furrowed line between delicately arched brows made Torren ashamed that he’d poked fun at her–even if the feeling was fleeting.

“It’s not a magical summons, Lass. Think of it as one of the little bells I’m sure Cade took great pleasure in ringing at every opportunity. Small Folk just have exceptionally good hearing.” He said with a shrug.

Torren had to suppress another peal of laughter at Cypress’s dumfounded face.

“Go on, Lass. Just whistle.” He said. “Unless,canyou whistle?”

“I can whistle just fine, thank you,” Cypress snarled, and demonstrated that fact with a distinct air of superiority.

Torren smirked, then stepped outside the tent and toward the small outhouse to relieve himself.

When Torren returned to the tent, he first washed his hands, then ran a clean, damp cloth across his body. Even having gone to sleep freshly bathed, the humidity of the Southern Wylds made Torren feel as if he were covered in sweat again.

After dressing in a fresh pair of linen trousers and a deep burgundy shirt rolled to the elbow, Torren left the tent once more.

Cypress and one of the Small Folk were behind a separate curtained partition of the tent, murmuring quietly to one another.

Torren left them to it, satisfied that Cypress was being taken care of.

Outside, Ellisar stood at attention under one of the Willows of the inner protection ring of the circle.

“I presume you have news for me?” Torren asked when he was under the branches of the Willow.

“Three more villages have been attacked.”

“In the boundary?”

Ellisar shook his head. “Not by Crown Raiders. Reports state Hounds were seen.”

Torren sighed, running a hand over his jaw. “How many dead?”

“A merciful twenty. Dozens more have injuries, though not fatal.”

Torren nodded, the weight of time that he did not have pressing in on him, threatening to bow his back.

“Send any aid they require.”

“Already done.”

Again, Torren nodded. “And the Giants? Have any of the rings suffered?”

“The Giants are all heading to the Bad Lands. There hasn’t been any report of their activity to suggest violence. They’re just… Leaving.” Ellisar shrugged.

“Hmm. Rings haven’t been moved? Mountains shifted? Nothing?”

“No. Nothing other than the disturbances they create justwalking. But that’s all they’re doing. Walking.”