The Goblets Immortal by Beth Overmyer (highly recommended books txt) 📗

she given the information to him? “She mustn’t have any idea,” Aidan said to himself.

What was he missing? The mage had mentioned freeing him herself. That did not bode well. He and Slaíne would have to be on the move again, and soon…right after they finished filling their bellies and had hidden any traces of their presence.

And that was another problem: Slaíne. She would resist his plan to find the grave and the Goblets if it meant helping Meraude in any way, shape, or form. Not to mention, it would put her in danger as well. But what could he do? Aidan had no family he could leave her with to watch after her, and even if he had, would the curse take her when he left on his quest?

Staring into the dying embers had a hypnotic effect on Aidan, and he found his eyelids drooping. “No,” he said, shaking himself awake. He needed to remain alert. There was too much at stake, too much danger out there for him to take a rest even in broad daylight.

Slaíne began singing again, this time about vilest murder at midnight, and Aidan definitely did not want to hear her thoughts on that matter. Again he tried to shut out her voice, leaning back against a rock.

Maybe Cedric’s grave was a trap. Maybe the answer lay with the elves he had tried to cheat. Perhaps he could convince them to give the Warring Goblet back to him, or trick them again somehow.

Aidan closed his eyes, just to rest them. He would remain alert and awake.

The smell of the goose’s flesh burning assailed his nostrils and jolted him back to wakefulness. The bird had nearly caught fire, but Slaíne was rushing up just then, her face scratched and dirty.

“You let it burn?”

He opened his mouth to snap a retort, but thought the better of it. He hadn’t the energy to argue, and he knew it would get him nowhere anyway. “It’s still edible.”

She gave him a look but went about saving their dinner. By the time she got to the patera, the organs had grown too tough and dry to eat, so she tossed them into the fire, causing an even greater stink.

* * *

After waiting for the meat to cool on a stone, they both ripped into the flesh with their hands, stuffing as much of the succulent bird into their mouths as they could. It felt like he hadn’t eaten in days, which very well could have been true. It had been hard for Aidan to judge the passing of days and nights with the nymphs keeping the land lit up the whole time.

Slaíne finished first, grease splattered all over her torn and weathered shirt and slacks.

Before thinking it through, Aidan opened his mouth and asked, “Why those clothes?”

The girl looked down at them like she’d never considered her attire before. “Huh,” was the first thing she said. “Them’s what was given me.” Her cheeks grew rosy and she wouldn’t make eye contact. “Haven’t really thought ’bout it, honest.”

Aidan Dismissed the remainder of their meal, along with their still-cooling supplies. “When we reach the town,” he said, “we’ll find something more suitable for you to wear.” For a moment he thought she might take offense at this gesture.

Slaíne did make a face, as if she were not quite certain about the offer or the intentions behind it.

He let the matter drop and got to his feet. “We should probably get moving soon. The day is aging, and we should cover up the remains of camp.”

She shrugged and got to her feet as well. They both would not quite look at the other, and Aidan knew she felt as he did: this awkwardness could not be over with quickly enough.

* * *

It took them half an hour to hide what traces of their presence that they could, neither speaking more than monosyllabic words. After a swig of water each, they followed the human Pulls southwest, stopping twice to rest. The longer they stumbled through the woods, the more convinced Aidan was they were headed for a small town called Abbington, miles away from where he thought Meraude would guess them to be. Hundreds of years ago, the provincial town had started out as a small collection of buildings that made up a monastery. Shortly after, more of the wood surrounding had been cleared to make room for an abbey. Aidan had traveled once to the resulting strange sprawl of ancient stone giants, patched up after weathering many cold, damp seasons. He’d been a youth at the time. Hopefully now he would be unrecognizable, as he had stirred up quite a scandal when he wouldn’t give alms to a nun.

Yes, this must be the way to Abbington. Most woods looked like the other, but this one had a familiar feel to it. They were certain to have a decent place to rest that night.

But something made Aidan uneasy. It went beyond Slaíne, who was quieter than usual as they tramped out of the woods and onto a byway. There was a Pull out there, strong as any regular human’s, at a distance behind them. He couldn’t be certain, but when they stopped the second time, the Pull stayed where it was as well, as if its owner were trying to be covert. Aidan said nothing to Slaíne; he did not wish to alarm her.

It could be a nomad. It could also be a highway robber or worse. There were strange rumors going around about Abbington, wraiths that came out at night, plaguing the woods beyond with noise and banditry. Nonsense, probably, Aidan thought. Still, the sooner they reached the small town, the better.

The person kept their pace, sometimes slipping a ways behind, but always within a mile, now walking parallel with them. If only they would come out onto the open road; then he could put his mind at ease and see who it was and what they wanted. But the fact that