Part 2

The sun came up the next morning, the same as it always did. Rows of tiny square houses and buildings were drenched in the pale yellow glow of the new morning, voices shouting greetings at one another up and down the street as merchants and shopkeepers began their day. Zara could smell the fresh baked bread from the bakery below, wheedling its way in through the crack beneath her door. It made her stomach grumble, but her mind was far away from the tiny little attic room where she slept.

The seed of hope the Huntsman had planted the night before had grown and blossomed overnight. Now she found it impossible to think about anything else other than the quest he'd propositioned her with. The foolish, dangerous quest that would most likely end up getting both of them killed. She'd been so sure her mind had been made up when she'd trudged up the creaking stairs the night before and collapsed onto her bed. Clearly, she'd been wrong. Her thoughts were like pesky weeds, a new reasoning for going with him sprouting up each time an old one died. Muttering to herself, she sat on the edge of the bed and pulled on her boots. Before she decided anything, she had questions that needed answering and there was only one person in the village she trusted enough to know anything at all.

Her room was small and sparse with sloping ceilings that sometimes leaked when it rained. There was almost always a constant draft. At first, the wind whistling through the cracks had kept her awake at night, but now it was almost comforting. There was one tiny square window on the far side of the room, a desk shoved underneath it. An old rust-colored trunk was wedged beneath it, holding most of the belongings she had left. The only other piece of furniture in the room was the single bed, a lumpy straw filled mattress that made sleeping on the ground seem like a luxury. It was a place she had lived for over an entire year, ever since she had left the guard. Yet never once had it felt like home. So thinking about leaving it didn't make her feel much at all.

Downstairs was a neat, orderly little bakery run by a woman who never said a word to Zara until she needed the monthly rent. The relationship actually worked out quite well, as Zara didn't like most people these days anyways. As she slunk down the steps from the attic space to the shop, she was met with a wave of heat from the stone oven. Darina was busy bustling about, already covered in flour. She slipped past her and out the door before she could be spotted. Darina didn't speak much to Zara, but she knew for a fact she gossiped all over the village. Of course, the curiosity and stares had died some over the course of a year, but the aversion hadn't. It was why Zara mostly kept to herself unless she needed something. And right now, she needed those answers.

Outside, the day was already warm. She kept her head bowed as she walked down the busy street, catching snippets of conversation here and there as she passed, but nothing of interest. The real gossip happened under the cover of darkness, or in the shadowy corners of one of the pubs. Or, if you had no reputation to uphold, gossip came from the south side of the village where the houses were more rundown, and the people tired and worn looking.

Here, in the center of the business district, everything was well-manicured and well kept. As if the king of Whitehaven himself might pop out from his castle at anytime for a visit. Which was highly unlikely, considering he hardly ever left the castle and when he did it certainly wasn't to take a leisurely stroll through one of his villages to see his people. No, what did he care. They were nothing more than a colony of ants to him, there to do the necessary work but expendable all the same.

Zara walked until the cobbled street turned to dirt and the sweet smell of flowers and baked goods gave way to something sour and less enticing. There were less people on the south side as well, most already off to work in the fields or at the mill. Others chose to stay shut inside their homes, either too tired or too broken to face the new day. Zara remembered having been surprised to learn that most of the veterans from the second war and the third rising lived in this part of the village. Dismembered, broken, beaten down both in mind and body. It was a shame, really. Men and women who had fought to protect them from the growing power of the wolves shoved away in the worst part of town. She supposed it was everyone's way of trying to forget that the danger still existed and what it had been capable of, and could be again. Out of sight, out of mind.

There were a few shops on the south side, though, places few visited or even knew of unless they had a very specific want or need. White magic healers who practiced in secret, an apothecary, a black market weapons dealer, and a man who dealt mostly in secrets and information.

Zara stopped short as a trio of giggling, dirt covered children scampered across her path, paying her no mind as if she were invisible. She watched them go, for a moment wistfully remembered what it had been like to have been that worry free. To be oblivious of the circumstances you were born into. Although instead of growing up in a dilapidated, poor side of a kingdom village, she'd been raised parentless by a grandmother in the wood, before the danger of the wolves had made itself present once again.

Her feet stopped outside a stout building with a sagging roof and two huge windows that framed either side of the front door. Red paint peeled off in flakes androgen littered the ground, three of the window panes cracked in a spiderweb pattern. A weathered sign groaned in the wind over her head, labeling the store as Toby Tobacco Co. A name that might've sounded full of promise, and maybe once a time had been back before Toby Wilhelm had buried all three of his sons after they were each killed in the third rising.

The door squeaked open on rusted hinges as Zara let herself inside. The old bell in the corner no longer rang, silenced for as long as she could remember. Inside, frayed, threadbare curtains that once must've been the color of a deep plum were drawn over the windows leaving the cramped room dimly lit by a few candle stubs. Zara's eyes adjusted quickly, though, and she supposed it was her time spent in the forest that made it so easy for her.

The walls were covered with shelves and faded photographs in cheap frames, all of them dusty and in desperate need of a good wash. The air had the faintly sweat smell of tobacco, though she knew tobacco was no longer the only thing sold by Toby though perhaps one of the only legal substances he carried. He catered to a much more specific crowd these days, those who were desperate for anything to help them escape reality even just for a little while.

Aside from the tangible objects he dealt with, Toby also had a reputation for knowing things before anyone else. Things that sometimes made her wonder just how he got his information, though rumor had it he had customers who ranked in the high noble courts from all over the place. Perhaps sometimes he traded for information, although nobles had a habit of speaking freely, especially in front of people like Toby, who clearly didn't register as much more than a speck of dirt on their radar. Except for when they needed what he was selling of course.

"What the 'ell could you, of all people, possibly want this early."

A gruff voice came from behind her and she turned to see a gray haired man leaning up against the counter. Toby was a sallow, sickly looking man who might've been handsome in his youth. There were laugh lines around his eyes, though she had never seen the man so much as smile before. Not genuinely anyways.

Zara rolled her eyes and sidled toward him, crossing her arms across the tall counter top. "Do you know anything about a missing princess in Valsthar?" she asked curiously.

Toby snorted before giving her an incredulous look. "Are you daft? How the hell would I know anything about a missing princess? Do I look like someone who cares about those royal arseholes?"

Had he spoken these words in front of anyone else, there would've been gasps and wide-eyed stares. No one dare spoke ill about the kingdom rulers, at least not out loud. Luckily, Zara could've cared less what he said about anyone. "I'm not asking if you care. I'm asking if you've heard anything," she answered, drumming her fingernails against the wooden counter before laying her palm flat.

He stared at her for a long moment before letting out a sniff. "No, but doubt anybody would know 'bout something like that if it were true."

Zara tilted her head curiously. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, girl, that if a princess were to go missing, it wouldn't be shouted from the roof tops. It'd be kept a secret. Otherwise the whole damn place would be in a uproar...if a princess ain't safe, than who is?" He explained to her, a note of impatient in his voice.

She pondered his words for a moment, his explanation making more sense than she thought it would. She could picture exactly what were to happen if one of the Whitehaven's king's sons disappeared, dragged off by wolves. Half the kingdom would have their bags packed and be off to find a safety elsewhere.

"Why you asking anyway? Didn't know search and rescue was in your job description," Toby grinned mirthlessly at her and she shook her head.

"It's not. A Huntsman came to see me last night. Claims he needs help finding a princess who was taken by the wolves," she explained, dragging a finger through the dust on the counter top. She raised her eyes to see the old man's response.

He raised his gray eyebrows, but otherwise looked unimpressed. "So, you gotta death wish now too? S'pose there are worse ways to croak. You talking 'bout that green-eyed fella? Tall? Built like a blacksmith?"

She wasn't surprised Toby knew exactly who she was talking about. He always knew the comings and goings of the village. Besides, Ronan had been her next question. "Do you know anything about him?"

Toby was fiddling with a pipe, filling it with shredded tobacco using practiced hands. He grunted under his breath and didn't answer for a long moment, going through the steps of sticking the pipe in-between his lips, searching for a pack of matches in the dim lighting with his wrinkled hands, Zara shifted from one leg to the other impatiently, but kept her expression neutral. She'd gathered early on that the more she poked and prodded him for information, the more unwillingly he gave it.

Finally, the pipe was lit and he was exhaling a puff of smoke into the air. "Orphaned, like you. He was from a village outside Valsthar but it was destroyed by wolves during the end of the third rising. He and his sister were the only survivors, and taken in by King Keirnan," He scoffed at this. "Although maybe enslaved by the king is better considering they had no choice in the matter. Doing the king's dirty work and tracking down those poor fools trying to get away. Heard he was the one who hunted down the Shadow Coven."

Her eyes went wide. "The dark witches?"

Toby gave her a rare, toothless grin, pleased at the effect his information had on her. "That's right, girlie. He and his men hunted 'em all down and killed 'em. One by one. Good riddance, I say. Witches ain't nothin' but nasty, no good enchantresses."

She ignored him, letting this seep into her. The Shadow Coven had been one of the last witch clans still practicing old, dark magic. Magic that had been outlawed centuries ago for good reason. Nothing good ever resulted from a deal with a dark witch. Zara had heard stories of people making terrible sacrifices, trading family members and body parts, in exchange for extra years of life, or unmatched strength. The idea that the man she had met yesterday had been a part of the coven's demise threw her a little. Maybe she had judged him too quickly. There was a tinge of interest to know more. Her unbridled curiosity had gotten her into enough trouble in her lifetime, though. She wrinkled her nose as Toby sent another puff of smoke in her direction.

"That good enough or do you insist on bothering me more?" he asked, running a hand over the grab stubble that peppered his jaw. "By the way, pay up. Talking ain't free."

She let out a sigh, but didn't protest, digging in her pocket for a few coins before pushing them across the counter. Toby eyed them disapprovingly. "That's it. Nothing you told me was worth more than that," she said before he could ask for more.

He grumbled as he swiped the coins into his hands. "Maybe not, but I've been getting you jobs for the last year. You think that'd be worth something."

One side of her mouth quirked upwards. "While I appreciate the clientele, I never asked you to do that and you know it." With that, she pushed herself away from the counter and headed toward the door. Her hand was on the knob and she was halfway outside when he called out to her.

"Even the good ones aren't always what they seem, girl. You and I both know that," he warned, and she knew he was talking about Ronan.

She didn't acknowledge him but silently agreed. Nobody was what they seemed. Not in this world.