Zave rubbed his temples viewing the disarray belongings left in the wake of his frenzied search. Frenzied and unfruitful. He hadn’t found his garb and the festival began soon.

After a lifetime spent watching, dodging, or joining in Marieri’s adventures, I knew better equipped than most how to handle her spirits. Still, on that rainy night, the evil glint in her eye was disconcerting.

The old crone Eanswid scowled as she surveyed the wreck I’d left of her kitchen as bisque dripped from my hair. I couldn’t explain the soup exploding and clutched the wooden spoon as if it were a shield defending me against her displeasure. Or most likely, some new hex she’d cast to vex my existence further.

The door abruptly swung open, crashing into the wall once. Myral glanced up. Fathen held the door in place with one hand. The other he’d pressed over his heart as he stared at her with wide-eyed shock.

Divari hated being ordered about and had as long as she could recall. even insisted this went back further still. And since her mother was the source, she supposed it was a reliable tale.

Arles aspired to die in Maldune one day. Admittedly he hoped that day to be very, very distant with much to achieve before that even became a possibility. First, join the Heroes Guild. Second, become a legend. Joining had proven challenging enough, but he’d made it within Maldune’s walls. Surely the retired heroes here could teach him.

Maisy cringed at how under-prepared she’d been. The instructions to go and serve as nurse maid for warriors hadn’t taken several factors into account. Including that the infant she’d been charged with was a self-aware and extremely articulate griffin.

“Mav,” I repeated weary from repeated attempts to gain her attention. She stood with her back to me. Gray hair dangled chaotically from her bun. “Mav.”