Page 42 of Lady Knight and the Thief

“Any other tombs breached?”

“Not yet. The songs are getting weaker, though.”

“Fuck,” Torren sighed, and rubbed the back of his neck.

“Did you find what you were looking for?” Ellisar asked.

“No. I was discovered before I could locate the Scepter. But our new friend is helping me get it.”

At Ellisar’s confused expression, Torren said, “She is to witness the tombs to be able to confirm the rising of the hunt in order for Caelith toconsider givingme the scepter.”

Ellisar shook his head. “So many lives will be lost because of his pride.”

“We do what we must. Save who we can,” Torren said, clapping the man on the shoulder.

“Speaking of, I have coordinated with the villages for safe haven for our friends who have come from the boundary.”

“Is everyone settling okay?” Torren asked, feeling a sort of kinship with those forced into the Wylds by Caelith’s cruelty. Hopefully, there wouldn’t be a need for refugees much longer.

“As well as can be hoped, given the circumstances.”

“Ask the Druids if any of them wish to grow a Seedling for the refugees. It will take some time, but I’m sure there will be some Fair Folk who do not wish to return to the boundary lands.”

Ellisar nodded, then said, “I wish you safe travels, Prince,” and clasped his fist over his heart with a short bow.

Torren returned the gesture, then left the cover of the Willow tree.

Hopefully, Cypress would be ready by now. She didn’t seem to be the type to fuss endlessly over her attire, but who knew. Cypress was surprising in a number of other ways, this could be another tally.

He lifted the canvas flap of the tent and walked in with a quick, “Hello, the Prince is entering the tent.”

“Yes, yes, you’re fine,” was Cypress’s response from around the corner of his partitioned sleep quarters.

Torren took a few measured steps further into the tent.

Cypress was strapping the leather corset he was familiar with around her waist, though she wasn’t wearing the rest of the outfit she had been wearing on the journey this far.

Cypress was now wearing the more traditional garb of the Fair Folk. A long shirt that covered her hips but split on either side for movement and breathability, and a pair of thick leather pants with laces up the sides for easy adjustments. Her shoulders were covered in leather pauldrons embossed with small leaves and ferns, forearms bearing similar bracers made of deep red-black leather.

As usual, Cypress’s long hair was braided back, though it wasn’t nearly as tightly bound as usual. Torren couldn’t help but notice there were far fewer lines of tension around her mouth and ones that pressed her brows together than there had been while they were much closer to Caelith’s castle.

“What’s all this?” Torren asked, giving Cypress another once over.

The more traditional garb of his people suited Cypress, somehow. Though Torren had to admit that seeing her in full armor suited for a Lady’s form would be devastating.

The black armor of Captain Cy was formidable, and she wore it well, but now that he knew her, the armor was lacking… somehow.

“My clothes were mended and washed, but the Small Folk gave me a few more options she said would suit me in the Wylds. Is that okay?” Cypress asked, question poised like a dagger ready to strike.

Torren raised his hands to stave off her anger. “Was just a question, Lass.”

She narrowed her eyes, but was apparently content to let the subject drop. “Are you ready to go now?”

“If you are.”

“I was the one awake at dawn, not you,” Cypress said.

“And you decided to wake me by sharpening a blade. Not at all comforting, Cypress,” Torren remarked. Then, he held the flap of the tent open for her to exit first. Their horses would be saddled and restocked by now.