Shadowguard

Her family's home dominated the second floor of the tavern's building. She wouldn't consider her family rich, as the money they had was but pocket change for the nobility, but her parents had more than enough to live comfortably compared to most of the town. Every so often, the change between the faded simplicity of the taproom and the moderate luxury of her home served as a pointed reminder of that.

Maybe she was simply glad to be home again.

The stairs led to a sitting room decked with polished mahogany furniture — a wide sofa and a pair of plush arm chairs adorned with embroidered throw pillows — which her mother arranged around the stone fireplace set into the north wall. Old texts and trinkets her parents collected throughout their adventures cluttered the two massive shelves pushed against the south wall, which separated the sitting room from the hallway leading to the bedrooms. On the west side of the room, an arched doorway led to the kitchen, from which came the mouthwatering aroma of baked pastries.

"You know the festival's still another month and a half off, right?" Everna asked as she passed through the archway. "Those pies won't keep that long. Especially if Dad gets his hands on them."

She found her mother standing in the middle of a messy kitchen, her hair speckled with clumps of flour and her apron stained with juices. Three empty pie crusts and several bowls containing an assortment of berries and fruits sat on the small worktable in the center. On top of the wood-burning stove sat two bowls covered with towels; dough left out to rise.

"This has been a rather stressful week," her mother said. "Until two days ago, I wondered whether my daughter faced the gallows."

She hummed. The Courts had spared themselves more trouble than they realized. Though they returned only two days before she had, word of her arrest had, somehow, reached them in Trenbrook. They were hysterical when she walked through the door, her father verging on tears and her mother shaking with fury.

Had her execution gone through, it would've been a disaster. Her parents accomplished far more daring feats than stopping a hanging. It wouldn't have been the first time they derailed one, either.

Everna plucked a blueberry from a bowl and popped it into her mouth. "I would've sent word as soon as I learned they'd spared me, but with the way the weather's been, we'd still be waiting for it to arrive."

"And yet, a letter from the capital arrived this morning," her mother said, nodding towards the small sideboard near the entrance. "It's for you."

The letter in question came in a thick, unmarked envelope. Everna turned it over in her hands and her fingers sank into the lukewarm wax. On the front, she found her name printed in nondescript letters.

"You said this arrived this morning?"

"It was with today's post," her mother said, waving her off. "Which your father collected and, of course, forgot about until just a few moments ago. As always."

Everna gave a doubtful hum as she pushed her thumbnail beneath the seal.

The envelope contained two folded pieces of paper, the first of which was a letter from the Inquisitor. She gave it a cursory read, picking through the legal jargon until she found the three sentences that actually mattered. It was but a vague dismissal of her case, one that served no purposed beyond personal record keeping. A false record, but a record.

The second letter, however, was much smaller, barely a scrap tucked inside the first. Unlike the letter, it wasn't written in the perfect, indiscriminate script customary of the Courts, but a scrawling, slanted handwriting she didn't recognize.

West gate. Midnight. Two days. Come alone.

"How did you know it came from the capital?" she asked as she tucked the scrap into the front of her shirt.

"Unless you've got yourself a sweetheart you're not telling us about—"

Everna bit back a groan. "I honestly have to wonder where you get these ideas from."

"It's called a joke, dear," her mother said. "Not that you ever could take one. Where else would an unmarked letter that arrived two days after you returned from the capital come from?"

"Jokes are supposed to be amusing," Everna pointed out. "Like Windmore's entire career. You're not joking. You've been nagging me since I turned sixteen to find a husband."

Her mother scoffed and wiped her flour-covered hands on her apron. "Fat lot of good it's done. Everyone else's daughters are married and off on their own and you, at twenty-three, are still living at home! Even Lyra's engaged!" She paused then and turned to look at her over her shoulder, and Everna bit back another groan. "Are you sure you're not interested in men? I've told you before that's not a problem. I have a couple of friends with daughters who—"

"And I've told you several times I'm not interested in women," Everna said.

"And yet, I can't think of any other reason you're unmarried. You're young, prettier than I was at your age—"

"And have a father who'd sooner axe a man than give him his blessing."

Everna wasn't against the idea of marriage, and she'd decided long ago she wanted children of her own someday, but her parents made it nearly impossible. Her father still treated her as if she were a child, and any talk of marriage or courting only led to a lengthy argument. Her mother would not settle for any man she didn't approve of. What Everna’s parents thought she needed was not at all what she wanted. Neither of them seemed to understand that.

She could only be thankful neither of them had known of the relationship she'd had during her studies.

"I also haven't had the time for that," Everna added, hoping her mother would drop the subject.

"Well, you have time now," her mother countered, and she barely resisted the urge to tell her he absolutely did not have time. "Someone has to give me grandchildren? Gods know your brother's a lost cause. He inherited your father's thick skull, that's for sure."

"I think Corden and I are living proof that Dad's not that dense."

"Seven years!" her mother cried, throwing her hands up. "It took your father seven years to realize I loved him!"

"And it took three months after before he realized you were serious," Everna snorted. "I mean, you punched him in the face and screamed it at him. That'd confuse just about anyone."

Her mother fell silent as she wrapped a thick rag around her hands and removed two steaming loaves of bread from the oven. After setting them aside to cool, she sighed. "Look, honey, you're twenty-three. You need to think about the future."

"Can we please talk about something else?" Everna asked. "Let's go back to why you're baking enough pies to feed the town."

Her pleas fell on deaf ears.

"It's not that your father and I don't want you here. We appreciate the help with the tavern, but you've far too much intelligence and potential to tend a bar for the rest of your life. I think you should go back to the academy. Your father and I have enough to afford one more year."

Everna pinched the bridge of her nose. "I'm still thinking about it."

Her mother shook her head. "Thinking about it? Ever, you couldn't wait to get into the academy and, from your letters it seemed like you enjoyed it."

There were some aspects she enjoyed, but many she hadn't. She loved solving hypothetical cases and the debates, but she hated the hours of leafing through law books and writing essays until her hand could no longer hold her quill properly. She didn't miss days upon days of lost sleep and the splitting headaches from studying policy.

Towards the end, she wondered whether it was worth the effort. Did she truly want to spend the rest of her life in anonymity, jumping from one crime to the next until she gained enough prominence to sit in a courtroom and dispute laws? Had she pursued that path because she wanted to? Or was it because it was what people expected of her?

"I did, it's just... With recent events, I think I've had enough of the Courts for now."

Her mother shook her head and sighed once more. "I suppose you have a point. I can't imagine your trip to the capital was a pleasant experience."

Gods, why couldn't she tell her? Her mother knew to keep a secret, at least one that mattered. She'd done her fair share of snooping when she was younger; surely she had some useful insight or advice.

"I cannot believe it reached that point," her mother continued. "Leave it to Windmore, that gods be damned bastard. How he's not in a cell right now is beyond me. Swiftbrook's gone soft in his years."

"He can't supersede the Courts," Everna reminded her. "I don't know why, but they allowed it and there's no arguing with them. They're going to handle the case as they see fit."

"It begs the question of why," her mother said. She snatched the bowl of blueberries from the table and dumped a generous portion into one of the empty pie crusts. "Unless they considered it treason, as absurd of an idea as that is, there was no reason to send you all the way to the captial."

"I don't know, Mom. Based on my records and the reports, the Inquisitor decided it was a framing. There wasn't enough evidence to justify detaining me further."

Her mother made a sound at the back of her throat. "I'd say there was no evidence. What I want to know is how your sword ended up down there. Unsheathed at that. I've never seen you use it."

That was a question worth considering. Had she forgotten to lock the doors? Or had they entered her room through other means? No one went up the stairs as far as she knew, but with magic involved, there was no way to be sure. Someone may have slipped past her under the effects of an invisibility spell. There could be someone who wasn't in the tavern at all who went in through her window; she never closed it.

It had to be someone who knew she had it, but that could be half the town. Banor considered it his greatest masterpiece and bragged for months after he forged it — he still mentioned it when the odd adventurer wanted their weapons mended or replaced.

But there was one question more important than how.

"No, when did Windmore get ahold of it; that's the question we should be asking," she muttered.

It had to be after she'd returned to the taproom, but before Windmore returned with it. But how could someone have gotten into her room, found the sword, and passed it off to him without being seen? Half the town was present during that time. Even with the use of magic, someone would've noticed something amiss. Someone would've seen it through the window.

Unless he had it before he arrived at the tavern. Landen had left during that time, but he returned with the Guard, not before, and remained outside with Arlen and Manvel. He'd also gone back to his room at the same time as Mayor Ashburn, if she remembered correctly. He would've had to go up the stairs, which meant she'd have seen him, or he'd have to have scaled the walls and climbed through her window and someone else would've seen him. The old lady on the upper floor across the street was always looking out her window.

"Well, you won't figure it out in one night," her mother said. "Now, stop staring holes into my table and help me with these pies."