“It’s nice that she’s back here.” Lollie’s dark voice spread slowly over her like spilt ink. Her knife moved against the wood, loosing ribbon after ribbon. Thwack, scrape. Thwack, scrape. Thwack, scrape.  “She didn’t tell you about us, did she?”

“Funny enough, you hadn’t come up.”

“Funny. Indeed.” She didn’t laugh. “I do wonder what other things haven’t come up. Brella has such stories to tell.”

And with that, the queen of the bandits strolled away, melting into the chaos of her domain.

Chapter Nine

Chapter Nine

Lollie was, without a doubt, a threat of incalculable danger. That said, the woman was a rather good host.

On her orders, two strong boys presented a goat, skinned and stuffed with herbs and vegetables from the bandits’ surprisingly well-stocked garden. The band must have robbed a spice merchant at some point, because they managed to liberally season the beast on the instruction of a discerning adolescent, who appeared to be in charge of the culinary proceedings. Scratch, James, and the Shaes were plied with mugs of ale while the Tree Snatchers, Lollie included, took turns turning the spit. Scratch offered to help; her palms itched for something to do—but was shouted down by little voices, proclaiming her a “guest” who therefore “shan’t lift a finger.” She did as she was bid, planting herself on a split log and setting to the task of convincing herself that she enjoyed being served by feral children.

Brella was breezy here, guard down and smile wide. Her cheeks were lightly flushed from the ale, and she had at least three children clinging to her person at all times. To see Brella like this gave Scratch an inexplicable warm feeling, somewhere down in the parts of her she generally chose to ignore. A favorite poet of James’s had written of “dark cellars of the soul, covered in cobwebs,” or some such rot. Flowery nonsense, but Scratch couldn’t help but relate in this particular moment. She felt as though she were unraveling spider’s silk in corners of her being that had long gone to seed, ignored in favor of “Being A Good Soldier.”

Scratch didn’t date. Not because she didn’t want to, but because she couldn’t. One slip up, one deviation from the path she had been on since her first day at the Academy, and all was lost. Now, at twenty-five years of age and without a future to fret over, there was no excuse not to pursue Brella, were either party interested. Well, no excuse other than the fact that the brewer was more than probably a liar. Really, James had been reading too many silly love stories. Not everyone was looking for a centaur to get their hands around.