Chương 60: Apologies, Squirt

It would take another three days for the refugees to make it all the way to Everwinter Keep alongside the Lord Prince, Lord Prince Commander, and, supposedly, Squirt's effects. She sincerely hoped so. Twenty years of savings in feystones was a hefty loss. In the meantime, she spent the mornings working out in the yard and training with Instructor Hawke on new bows as he gave her exercises to increase her draw strength before then schooling her in short swords.

In the afternoons, she did a combination of minor enchanting work—for things like finally making a new handkerchief for herself—while reading through as many books as she could. At night, she returned to the "den" with all three wolves. She'd tried to argue against it as best as she could, but Tobias and Kenna practically dragged her back with them before tossing her in a pile of furs, transforming themselves into wolves, and curling up around her. She was always asleep within minutes.

She would never admit to them that she slept better with trusted people in the room, because that would mean telling them she trusted them, and that was just a step too far. They knew it. She knew it. They didn't waste further words on it. That was just that.

Bartos, meanwhile, worked day in, day out on the problems Everwinter now faced. He had to fortify defenses across the southern border against a ravenous Wylds that may very well head north. Until a new Titled Riverlands was named, the people didn't have the faith they'd be protected. Crops were ruined and lost, the people evacuating and leaving what wasn't already ripe for picking behind. Without the woodcutters in the villages, the Wylds would overtake much of the territory.

Much like it had north of the keep here, only much, much worse. Even just housing the refugees was going to be difficult. Spreading them out across the villages required armed escorts, and it would put the strain on the current residents, which would breed animosity and resentment unless there was adequate compensation for the unexpected requirement of additional resources. On the other hand, keeping them here would be an entirely different type of strain.

Even filling every available room in the castle and town itself, there just weren't enough homes for that many people in Everwinter. Spilling out of the town wasn't an option unless he extended the walls, which would severely drain his reserves even with the ritual.

Only, then the keep would be bearing the brunt of the burden, and he knew they wouldn't have enough food to support a sudden swell in their population like this through the winter, which would bring him back to the same problem as trying to spread the burden out. He'd had Telos set up greenhouses in every village when she fortified the defenses in the spring, but based on these calculations, even optimistic outputs were tight margins.

He continued to struggle to find solutions when hope ended up coming from the most unexpected of places. On the second day, a package and letter was brought in by his confused Seneschal as it was addressed simply to My Goddess of Everwinter. Taking the items, he dismissed the woman and headed to the library. There was Athereon, reading quickly through a book open on the floor while she used some kind of thin twine to fletch breezebird feathers onto arrow shafts.

She glanced up at his entrance, a daydream softness to the slight frown.

"Yes?" He held out the long package and letter.

"I believe his highness has sent you these." Standing, the little canine yipped as it was dropped from her lap, dancing around nimbly on its feet while she took the package in both hands and lowered it to the ground. Then she accepted the letter, a slight furrow to her brow as she scanned over it. At the address, her brow twitched. Grumbling to herself about it, she clearly debated tossing it before she opened the letter to read, frowning at the contents. Bartos knew he should leave.

But his curiosity had been raised. Instead, he took a seat on the ground nearby, her eyes flickering over to him and narrowing just slightly before returning with a scowl to the page. She blushed. Glared at some of the words. Blushed harder. Then blinked and seemingly reread the same sentence several times with a furrow of disbelief. Then curiosity.

There were multiple thick pages of the letter, but the first two were a complete letter on their own, and when she got to the rest, she groaned, dropping her head and running her hand through her hair as she scanned over the other pages. Bartos, amused and curious, asked, "Should I be worried?" She scowled down at the page before muttering, "The dumb pest wrote me sonnets and drew me." Bartos laughed once, a loud burst of surprised humor, before he then shook his head with a soft smile.

She paused, her hand running absentmindedly over the long, thin package. Studying him. He studied her back.

"Yes?" She huffed.

"You look more tired than usual." He sighed, running his hand through his hair.

"… I don't know what to do. With all the refugees, I don't know if we'll have enough food for the winter."

"… do you still have Telos around?"

"Yes. She's out updating the wards on the villages again—why?" Her eyes dropped to the package in front of her in consideration, and he noted her blush returned as she scowled harder.

"She made me a greenhouse in a day. Without any fey living in them, you might be able to get away with building them around the fields. The pest will be back in Autumn, so make him dump magic to grow plants as payment for being a pest. His tithe. The refugees can manage it. It won't be enough on its own, but it'd definitely help." His eyes, that had been dull and red with exhaustion, slowly lit up.

"… have I ever told you that you're a genius?" Dryly, she said, "It's hardly a novel idea to have a fey grow their own tithe." He shook his head, standing and leaving with an eager glint in his eye and a plan to summon Telos back for a brief interlude. This was why, the morning the refugees were to arrive, Squirt was in the process of doing her draw strength exercises when a wave of intense magic was felt by them all and the ground began to shake. It wasn't a surge. It didn't feel like one.

But after the Bone Whale, she couldn't just dismiss it, not when all the hair on the back of her neck stood on end. Squirt darted across the training yard up to the ramparts of the inner wall to look over and down, falling twice from the rumbling of the ground. Steadying herself on the stone walls, she finally reached a spot low enough for her to look over it— And her jaw dropped. Before her very eyes, the outer wall was expanding out.

A new section of the town was being added, one that had a massive honeycomb structure of wood and glass at the center. Glass, forming as the structure rose into being, houses not unlike simpler versions of her cabin with trees forming the base structure. Fruit trees. By that point, others had made it up and were crowding around to watch, leaning into each other as the ground rocked and rolled under her feet. It was… terrifying, honestly.

Seeing proof of someone's power to manipulate the environment on this scale— And all she could conjure was a squirt of water. Life was so unfair. Eventually, the ground stopped shaking, and with an annoyed huff Squirt turned and returned to her exercises. Finished, she returned to Lord Everwinter's office to grab the gift she had been sent by the pest. She paused inside at the gray, ashen faces of his lordship, Telos, and Lady Kenna, but they waved her on.

Tobias, who was acting as her shadow guard, clapped his hand on her shoulder and murmured, "Don't worry. Big magic took a lot of out them." She scowled, glad they at least showed signs of weariness after a display like that. Without another word, she grabbed the gift and exited the office. Tobias and her beast followed along as she carried it back down to the training yard, where Instructor Hawke waited with one of the unoccupied targets.

Her steps slowed with a dash of nerves as she carried the bow over, but a brief flicker of her eyes up was all she needed, and the tension from her shoulders melted at the appreciative gleam in his eyes as they took in the bow. She offered it up for his inspection, and he ran his fingers down the crisscross lacings.

"Skyian recurve… smaller than standard, but finely crafted. Not a full longbow like their warriors use—not big enough. Can you string it?" Squirt nodded. The middle part of the pest's letter had been instructions related to the weapon and descriptions of what it was. Rather than a single piece of bent wood that had both the hard heartwood and supple outer wood of a tree, it was several pieces slowly treated with different conditions and then glued together to get the same effect.

Unstrung, it wasn't curved like any bow she'd seen, but a straight, abet flat, stick that curved slightly against the strung direction. Uncoiling one of the strings it had come with, she hooked one end and ended up needing to press it against the stone of the wall to get the force needed to bend it back and hook the string.

Once she did, one slight curve became three—the largest middle section was curved towards the string like normal, while each end bent against the string on either end as if fighting against the string itself.

"Good. Now. This one, I'm no expert in, but I know the basics. The grip is different. See this here? You don't hold the center, but the bottom third." He held his hand out, accepting it from her and showing her the differences between the bows. This one required not just the strength to pull it, but an entirely different way of loading the arrows from the outside of her grip instead of the inside. Meaning the arrow rested on her thumb instead of her forefinger.

The differences were awkward to get used to, and the draw strength required was insane, but once she did… The arrow didn't just hit the target—it sailed straight through. The edge instead of any of the rings, sure, but the power — Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author. Instructor Hawke sighed.

"You'll need to work up to it. It's a fine gift, lass—I just wish he'd had an enchanter ease the difficulty for you." Her shoulders twitched. Ease the difficulty? Ease the difficulty? Now determined to get it right, she set to work, arrow after arrow, draw after draw. Some shots were better than others, but often the pull strength required was so intense that her fingers slipped before she'd aimed, or worse, before she finished drawing back. It didn't matter.

She was proving that dumbass wrong even if it killed her. Squirt continued forcing herself through those exercises until one very excited call of, "Pricklebear!" made her flinch. Her shoulders hunched as she reluctantly turned to face the redcap. Qzi skidded to a halt on his knees, a bright grin to his eager face and holding out her dimensional pouch.

"I have gifts for you, my love, mate gifts and—" Keeping her voice to a low whisper, Squirt snapped, "I don't need gifts—""—missed you so much, my pricklebear—" The archery range was in the back corner of the training yard, and the walls between each lane allowed her some privacy, but he was almost as loud and ostentatious as the pest, and they were quickly gaining an audience. Growling at him, she swiped the pouch back, reaching in to pull out some feystones just to see if the assholes had emptied it.

It was possible, after all, to expel a dimensional pouch or bag's entire contents without knowing what was in it—turning it inside out. To her relief, she pulled out a handful of small feystones, and said, "Good—they didn't empty it."

"They did, but we got it aaalllll back for you." Giving him an odd stare, she opened her mouth to ask when two tiny paws touched her leg, and along the bond she could sense eager excitement and hunger. Blinking down at the little fluffy canine, it yipped, its eyes darting between her own and her hand with feystones. Relieved and intrigued, since he'd been hungry but refusing every food she'd tried, she squatted down and offered him her hand.

With another joyful yip, he munched on the feystones, his tiny teeth crushing some while he swallowed the rest whole.

"Who is this?" Qzi asked eagerly. Absentmindedly Squirt answered, "Pakos." Then stiffened. She hadn't named him. That name had just… been there.

"Huh. Never realized a dog could hatch from an egg." Somewhat dazed by the name still, she responded, "Me, either." Pakos finished the snack from her hand, and she pulled back a bit, tilting her head and asking, "More?" No, he was very satisfied.

"Is it just me, or is he bigger?" Squirt didn't answer the redcap. He was, indeed, a little bit bigger now, having quite literally grown before her eyes. A divine beast that glowed like the moon, had flowing silky fur that seemed to move independently, shaped like a canine and named Pakos? It couldn't be… Dizzy from the revelation and exhausted from the practice, she sat in the dirt and sighed. A shadow fell over her as dozens of thin tendrils came out, gently touching and stroking her skin and hair.

She batted them away, snapping, "Knock it off." Zhadin's face appeared amidst the writhing strands, their too-big dark eyes fixed on her.

"You are unharmed?" Squirt scowled.

"I'm healed." Reaching into her pack, she started itemizing the contents in her head, checking what of all was there. The redcap started humming and squatting beside her, but she ignored him, focused on her task. Her bow and swords were there, though her armor and clothing were lost, including her winter clothes.

"Lass!" She winced at Brock's—the lord prince's —voice, her eyes lifting warily to the group of soldiers appearing in the yard. The big shifter turned and said something to one of the soldiers who ran off at a trot, then shot her a relieved smile as he approached. She scowled, her body tight with tension as she kept her hood low and the headband in place no matter how badly it itched in the summer sun. Damnit, couldn't he just ignore her? See she was better and then leave her alone? Alas, he did not. He did worse.

He scooped her up and pulled her in for a tight hug.

"Gods, I'm glad you're alright. I almost went shifter crazed when I smelled the blood." She was a frozen board in his arms as he chuffed—something the feline shifters did to their family, something airier than a purr done on the out breaths—his eyes that of his lion as he then held her out at arm's length, looking her up and down like she was an errant child. She struggled against his hold, but he was far too strong. He only grinned at the bright red blush of indignant fury on her face as she kicked and sputtered.

Then he pulled her back in for another damn hug with a sigh. She kept her protests to a panicked whisper.

"Gods, fuck—damn lion—let me go —" Those soldiers she could see over his shoulder paled and took a step back, while others looked on with grim determination, their eyes all set lower to the ground. The lion set her down and mussed her hair, before blinking stupidly.

"Oh? What's this?" Her face turned an even brighter red as he flicked the headband down, revealing the glowing symbol on her forehead. His face softened.

"It's good you were claimed, little one." She debated stabbing the prince when the smell of blood made her stiffen. She scowled and nimbly dodged the lion's hold to look around his ridiculous bulk at the squatting redcap happily humming away. Like he was attuned to her eyes, he twisted, his blood-red eyes wide with excited happiness, and he shifted out of the way so she could see what he'd been doing. He had created several rows curved like a macabre rainbow of severed heads.

Right in the center were the horror filled, eyeball-less, tongueless heads of the Seneschal and attendant daughter. She swallowed, her eyes slowly scanning and identifying the rest. The guards in the dungeon. The other attendants who had stolen from her. The two who gut punched her. And then, with a final flourish, the head of Lady Riverlands was added to the very front. He stepped back and held his hands out to the arrangement.

"Tada!" She stared down at the redcap's gift. He rocked back and forth on his feet, his hands behind his back, the image of a bashful boy in front of his crush.

"I gathered them all myself. Though we didn't kill the Lady Riverlands—that was her people. But I got the head back from the angry mob just for you." The sheer amount of information that gave her almost made her stagger back in shock. The Lady Riverlands—killed by her own people? He excitedly hopped over and pointed at the daughter.

"I got to torture this one. Zhadin got this one," he pointed to the Seneschal.

"It's the only kill of theirs that I kept the head for, so they could have their own gifts to give you." Zhadin's raspy voice came from behind her as they said, "Not that I would use them as gifts for you." The sheer amount of malice dripping from their voice, the anger and rage on her behalf, spitting out the word them like the word itself was distasteful, was enough to pull her eyes away from the display to study the shadowfell in shock. They inclined their head, lowering their eyes to her.

"Better suited gifts, I think. New armor, perhaps, as the other was trashed. It smelled awful. We left it." The redcap was one thing. When the fuck did the fell decide— Nope, nevermind. She didn't want to know. They hadn't said anything officially, and so for now, she was going to live in ignorant bliss.

Brock chuckled warmly down at the redcap and shadowfell, squatting down to her level as he explained, "As part of the punishment for their offenses to the Hunt, Ranin released them on Riverlands Keep to enact judgement on the guilty. It did not assuage Her anger, but it did help the mob from going ballistic." In a small voice, she asked, "Mob?" He pulled back enough to study her face and nodded solemnly.

"… mob. After hearing that the disaster of the night that had taken so many innocent fey was caused for a slight against a goddess, the Riverlands folk took matters into their own hands. Several of the ones you see there were captured and presented to the hunters by the mob itself." Dully, she stared at the display of severed heads.

"I… they did?"

"They did, Athereon," came the regal, exhausted voice of the Lord Prince Commander. The crowd that had started to gather parted to let him through, and he was followed by a still somewhat ashen faced Lord Everwinter. Unlike the regal prince he'd played so easily before, there was a hunch to Lord Prince Ranin's shoulders, his lips drawn tightly across his face in guilt, his hair no longer luscious but gray, dull, and limp.

Brock took a step back as the rest of the battalion that had just come in marched up behind Lord Prince Ranin. Fearful, Squirt almost ran. Pakos took offense, jumping in front of her and growling at the ashen faced commander. He gave the divine beast a weary look as he stopped. Then, in the slow motions of a deliberate move, he kneeled and bowed his head to her. The blood drained from her face, but it didn't stop there.

Behind him, every one of those from his battalion, those she had traveled with down to Riverlands, kneeled as well, their heads bowed. His voice rasped with emotion and exhaustion.

"My mistakes were many, Athereon. I made too many assumptions, thinking you shy of me, not maltreated. For the part I played and the wrongs I have wrought about on you, you have my deepest apologies." He lowered his head, and his voice echoed with a bit of power as he said, "I offer you three boons of your choosing in recompense for my mistakes." He lifted his head, his lips pulled into a tight, wry smile, his face back to normal.

"I have been advised that my first choices of either a life-debt or title would be poorly received." Squirt had never wanted to disappear or stab a fey more than that moment. She was mortified. Stupid fucking titled fey with their stupid fucking grand gestures for the sake of honor — Pakos trotted up to the kneeling lord, placing one paw on his knee and sitting in a regal floof. Forgiving him for his transgressions. The tired lord blinked down at him before a small, heavy smile eased the tension from his body.

That traitorous little beast — Lord Prince Ranin rasped out, "I suppose this is your divine beast, then?" Murmurs broke out in the crowd that had now gathered, including fey leaning out of windows to see Lord Prince Commander Ranin and his battalion of soldiers and magi kneeling to a gods damned greenling in the training yard. While a redcap presented the same greenling a display of severed heads in an obvious mate gift. Qzi, completely at ease with the situation, grinned and said, "That's right!

Little guy is Pakos." Lord Prince Ranin's eyes lifted to the redcap to study the sincerity of those words, then nodded in acceptance.

"One of the Hunt's own moon hounds, then." He inclined his head respectfully to the beast.

"I am at your service until my debts are paid, Lord Pakos." Her gods damn dog was a lord — Zhadin murmured a little too close to her ear, "This is a different bow." She scowled. Brock squatted down by it, rubbing his chin and looking over the bow.

"Gods. It's even bigger than you are." By four inches. She'd measured.

"How do you keep it from dragging on the ground? Or is that how you use it? There are massive bows used in Perpet'sk'py by some of the tribes there where they actually use the ground or trees to help draw it—is this the same?" She scowled.

Gods damnit, now she had to answer, and the entire battalion was still on its knees — Swiping the thing up with a scowl, she stomped over to the table with a selection of arrows for her new bow, and despite her aching muscles, she pursed her lips, notched the arrow, before loosing it at the target. She barely managed to draw it back all the way, but the power as it punched most of the way through the target was undeniable. Brock let out a low, impressed whistle.

"Gods. I can't wait to see you take down beasts with that." She shifted from foot to foot, dropping her eyes, blushing, and scowling before muttering, "Instructor Hawke is… there are more arrowheads I can… it can take heavier arrows."

"Naturally." He strode over, leaving his brother-by-mating kneeling in the dirt to her utter horror. Holding out his hand, he said, "If you'll allow it, I would like to see it and try a shot." She scowled. Technically, she could refuse since it wasn't a command or a question. But things were weird enough and her nerves were at their absolute limit, so dutifully, she held the thing out. He inspected it.

"Hm… Incredible. Bet it shoots like a dream. It's smaller than the ones I've seen before—custom?"

"Yes, my lord prince." She hesitated, shifting and gazing uncomfortably around the crowd. Lord Everwinter apparently decided to have mercy, stepping up and clapping a hand on Lord Prince Ranin's shoulder and murmuring in his ear. The prince nodded tightly, then stood to face his soldiers.

"Those beholden to me, you'll find your accommodations in the barracks. Take the rest of today to rest. Tomorrow, be ready for our next task." They stood and saluted him as one, and Squirt took the opportunity of their distraction to mutter just loud enough for Brock to hear, "It was a gift from the pest." Brock grinned.

"Feldan sent you this gift, hm?" Ranin, listening in despite having his back turned, twitched. Squirt scowled.

"Still calling him pest? I had a little birdie tell me there was some romance—" In pure, blind panic, utilizing the chaos of the dispersing crowd, she punched the lion shifter. Right between the legs. Snatching the bow back as he bent over, holding his aching family jewels, she hissed out, "Shut up," before deciding this was more than enough attention for one day, and running before she'd even unstrung the bow. Followed, of course, by Tobias, Pakos, and, more secretly, Zhadin.

Qzi called out in a rush, "Wait, pricklebear, what about my gift?" She didn't wait, leaving him to hurriedly scoop all the severed heads back into his dimensional bag before he grinned, chasing off after her. Ranin turned and strode over to his brother-by-mating, assessing the damage. Since the man started chuckling, he assumed his mate was in no danger of losing her favorite part of his anatomy. Too bad, he thought. Brock grinned with a wince over his shoulder at Ranin.

"Bet you're not liking your chances now, huh?" Ranin glared.

"So he sent a gift, so what? That doesn't mean he'll return for her."

"Oh? How about we raise the bet then. Ten suns." Stubbornly rooting for Bartos in this imagined race, he said, "You're on."