Warmoon [ONC 2020]•[Shortlisted]•[Honorable Mention List, Stunning Worlds]

5. The Stray

"See that Lethan gets this," Rhoa's father murmured, handing her mother a small curl of parchment. "It's the route we're taking."

Her mother smiled, grey eyes somber in her pixie face.

Strongcastle brought his hands up to her shoulders, drawing her close and pressing a lingering kiss to her forehead. "Rhoa," he said, his voice gruff.

"Yes, Father?"

"I'm leaving you in charge of the prisoner till I get back." He gave her a long, even look over the top of her mother's head. "I want you to try to get him talking, however you can. Find out what he's doing here, and how many more there might be... Just, whatever you do, don't let him get inside your head. And keep the salt line unbroken to neutralize the charge in the air. I don't want him trying to pull any Mage tricks."

"Yes, Father."

"I'm counting on you."

Rhoa swallowed, nodding. She had brought the stray home. She would take care of it.

At the other end of the Great Hall, Isander was kneeling in front of his children, telling them to behave, while Tettony kept a brave smile pasted on her face.

Kennon and Sedir were talking quietly in the corner, telling jokes and making each other laugh.

There were no goodbyes before a hunt, no tears, only talk of returning or tasks that needed to be done. Goodbyes were bad luck.

Gran sidled over to stand next to her, then, and patted Rhoa's arm with bony fingers. "Your time will come soon enough, my girl, don't you worry," she murmured.

Distracted, Rhoa glanced down at her.

Gran's bead-bright eyes disappeared into her crow's-feet as she gave Rhoa a gap-toothed, wrinkly smile.

Rhoa grinned, although she wasn't quite sure if Gran meant her time would come to hunt again, or to have someone special to laugh with before leaving. Knowing Gran, it was probably both.

But Gran didn't know about Rokstag. Rhoa's grin drained away.

A moment later, Kennon, Isander, and their father gathered their saddlebags and strode out of the kitchen. Their horses were already saddled and waiting in the tunnel that led from the back end of the stables. From there, they would wind down through the caves beneath the fortress and out into the woods on the western side of Strongcastle Ridge.

"Well, that's that," Rhoa's mother announced, breaking the sudden quiet the men had left behind. "Who wants a cream tart?"

Rhoa hung back as the children trailed her mother into the kitchen, followed more slowly by Tettony and Sedir.

Gran patted Rhoa's arm again and hobbled after the others, never one to miss a chance at sweets.

Closing her eyes, Rhoa stood in the silence. 

Of the adults at the Keep, she and her mother were the only two trained in combat. Gran had been a fierce fighter in her day, but her bones had grown frail. Tettony could handle herself if she had to, but in a crisis she had the children to worry about. Orla was well-meaning, but next to useless. Sedir would be leaving shortly to go back to his forge; he was strong, but not a warrior. Beyond lighting a candle in Kennon's bedchamber, and doing extra patrols in her father's spare armor and cape, Rhoa and her mother were the only real defense the fortress had. Two women against a band of war trained and battle-tested Vanguards. 

Rhoa ground her teeth. The hum rippled around her, a wave lapping at a stone on the shore. It was becoming impossible to ignore it, anymore, or to pretend she wasn't the only one who could feel it. No one else had mentioned it, or even suggested they had a headache. She was the only one who felt the ominous grinding in the ground, or had nightmares about the Warmoon burning the world to cinders, and she was certainly the only one imagining there was a tide of weird energy washing around everything.