Locksley seemed to find that amusing. “I don’t know that I’d call it important,” he made a mockery of the word, “but it has its moments.”

Aside from herself and John, the others walked—making a long day’s journey to Locksley Castle. Will had joked that John’s weight would be too much for the horses, but Elena saw that his age was catching up to him. He was known to complain about his knees, and his back too. His massive quarterstaff was carried more often as a cane than a weapon. Living off the land had trimmed John’s body of much of the fat he’d worn a year ago, but underneath he was thick as a log. Moving that amount of muscle couldn’t be easy.

As the daylight hours rolled by, she made a game of counting the times Robin mentioned how close he was to the King and the times he’d counseled the King or when he’d ridden with the King into battle or thought the word ring, which rhymes with King, and fuck all. She lost count at thirty, but only because she’d gone from thirty to fourteen and not realized her mistake until she hit thirty again.

She reached down and touched Locksley’s longsword at her feet. The longbow, too, finely made, a deep purple stain at its tips and a smooth notched grip entwined into the first. Not a fighting bow, this was a dandy’s collector piece. It could buy them a parlie chest of food for the winter. Will, having wandered close again, sensed what she was thinking and pulled the bow from the cart to inspect it. He gave a self-satisfied shrug to dismiss it, then gave its string a test pull. He snapped out a little yelp and grabbed at his arm, hopping around in pain.

Elena could only laugh, but Locksley apparently saw an opportunity to dazzle them with his expertise. “You’re holding the bow incorrectly, you know. You have to turn your elbow out to the side.”

“I know how to shoot a bow,” Will snapped back, but the large pink welt blooming on his forearm undermined his point.

“You know how to throw arrows at trees, it’s not the same. I’ll show you. Pick it up.”

Will did, exchanging an uncomfortable pout with Elena first.

“Pull it back. There, see how your elbow is pointed down at the ground? It puts the fat part of your arm in line with the bowstring. But if you rotate your elbow around to the outside—” he slowly twisted Will’s arm, “then look at the inside of your arm. See how flat it is? The bowstring can’t hit you that way.”

Will didn’t seem impressed, but he tried again without hurting himself and humphed.

“And don’t ever shoot at faeries,” Locksley said with some agitation.

“Shoot at faeries?” Tuck, quiet until now, was curious.