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"It is an honor to make your acquaintance, Sir Robert," Matthew said. He’d already helped Liv up into Boulder’s saddle, but he hadn’t joined her yet. Instead, she noticed that he kept one eye on the five drunks who had been tied to the saddles of the three horses. He’d also placed his hand on the hilt of his arming sword.

"We should’ve met years ago," Talbot said, putting on foot in his stirrup and swinging easily up into the saddle. "But your father hasn’t left Whitehill in years."

"Baron Henry was crippled in the last eruption," Liv protested. "It would be too difficult for him to travel."

"A crippled lord, then?" Athearn, the seaman, awkwardly struggled to get ahorse. It was clear the man was not used to riding, even to Liv’s eye. "That’s the best you can do for me, Bobby?"

"Baron Henry’s gold is as good as anyone else’s," Talbot replied. "And you’re not in much of a position to be picky, Athearn."

Matthew was the last to mount up, settling onto his saddle behind Liv. She found herself acutely aware of how riding the same horse pressed them together, but there was nothing to be done for it, unless she wanted to walk the entire way back to Whitehill. "You two clearly know each other," he commented. "And yet, you weren’t sitting together."

"I’ve been ordered to escort Master Athearn to Whitehill and back," Talbot explained. "But after ten days on the road, I’m sick of his snoring and his tall-tales."

"He’s a miserable old sot," Athearn said. "Snores worse than I do, and what’s worse, he doesn’t believe mermaids are real."

"Are they?" Liv asked, leaning forward.

"Are they ever!" Athearn slapped his leg. "Young lady, let me tell you about the time I washed ashore on an island off the coast of Lendh ka Dakruim. There’d been a storm, you see, and-"

"By the gods old and new, now you’ve got him started," Talbot complained. "Come on then. If we’re going to be riding all night, best be off." He nudged his gelding toward the road, forcing the bound drunks to stumble along in his wake.

The ride back north to Whitehill took much longer because they kept the horses to a walk. Despite Coram Athearn’s rambling stories, Liv wasn’t used to staying awake so late. She wasn’t certain exactly when she’d nodded off, but it wasn’t until they’d stopped at the town gates that she woke again.

"Gates don’t open until dawn!" a guard shouted down from the parapet.

"The sky’s already turning red," Matthew called back. "We have criminals who need to be locked up, and guests expected at the castle. Open the gates already. Unless you want to tell my father why you made us wait half a bell out here."

That got them moving, and the new sheriff, a wiry man named Fane, was more than happy to take five drunks off their hands. By the time the four riders made their way up from the Lower Banks, past the market square, and then through the Hill to the castle, dawn was breaking.

"There you two are," Piers said, shaking his head. "Your mother found you missing this morning she went in to wake you, Lord Matthew, and the whole castle is in an uproar." He leveled a look at Liv that made her turn away, but moved on without addressing her. "Who’re these two?"

"This is Sir Robert Talbot, in service to the Duke of Courland, Thomas Falkenrath," Matthew introduced the soldier. "Escorting one Master Coram Athearn, who I am to understand has business with my father. They were staying at the Sign of the Terrapin, where we made their acquaintance."

"You rode all the way to the south pass?" Piers exclaimed. "You’d all better get into the great hall. The footmen are serving already, not that anyone’s in much of a mood to enjoy it. Let us take your horses."

Liv itched to run to her room and get her staff, but she couldn’t see a way to duck aside. Not only would she be leaving Matthew alone for the scolding that was coming, she knew that it wouldn’t help one bit. Better to face Baron Henry and Lady Julianne all at once, together, she decided.

When they walked through the open doors into the great hall, Liv saw just how seriously their disappearance had been taken. There hadn’t been so many armed men filling themselves with food at the low tables since the eruption. It looked like Baron Henry had called every one of his knights in the city, along with their men, in anticipation of a search.

"Matthew!" Lady Julianne cried, rising from her chair. "Where in the world have you been?"

"My apologies, Mother, Father," Matthew said, stopping in front of the high table to bow. Liv curtsied, lowering her eyes to the floor of the hall and doing her best not to draw any more attention than she had to. "We ran into some unexpected guests, who have come from Courland. Please permit me to introduce Sir Robert Talbot, in service to the duke, and Master Coram Athearn, a seaman he was tasked to escort to Whitehill."

"The fact that you’ve brought guests," Baron Henry said, "will be dealt with momentarily. Sir Talbot and Master Athearn, you are welcome here, and I will speak with you in good time. I trust you will forgive me for dealing with my wayward son, first."

"Of course, m’lord," Talbot said, inclining his head. "For what it’s worth, the boy’s got courage."

"Is that so?" Henry Summerset narrowed his eyes, turning to address his son. "And when, pray tell, would you have demonstrated courage in escorting two guests to the castle?"

"I wanted to hear the storyteller at the Sign of the Terrapin," Matthew said, keeping his head held high. "Just as we were leaving the inn last night, a table of drunks started trouble. These two gentlemen helped deal with the problem, and we have just come from delivering the men to Sheriff Fane."

"Men assaulted you?" Lady Julianne asked.

"They took exception to the young lady," Coram Athearn broke in. "Said something about trimming her ears. Your boy stood up to them, bold as you please, blade in hand."

"Defending a lady under your care would be commendable," Baron Henry said, "if it had not been you who put her in the path of danger in the first place. I cannot imagine it was Apprentice Brodbeck’s idea to ride to the south pass in the middle of the night. Was it?" He turned to Liv, and she couldn’t fight the urge to hunch her shoulders under the man’s gaze. For all that the eruption and the years had not been kind to him, he was still terrifying when he wanted to be.

"No, m’lord," Liv admitted. "I should have come to you, though, or to Lady Julianne, and told you."

"You should have," Julianne said. "This was foolish, reckless, and dangerous. All things I have come to expect from my son, but not from you."

"What is more reckless still," Master Grenfell broke in from beside her, "is that I do not see your staff in your hand. When these men came for you, Apprentice, you left yourself unprepared."

"She still did for two of them," Master Athearn said. "Wrapped ’em up neat in ice. Seen a few words used, in my time, but not that one."

"Nor would you have," Grenfell said. "I am somewhat reassured, Apprentice, that you defended yourself. I would expect nothing less."

"Both of you will go to your respective rooms immediately," Lady Julianne said. "While we decide the precise nature of your punishments. Sir Talbot, Master Athearn, you have our gratitude for bringing our lost sheep home. Come and join us at the high table, and break your fast."

Liv followed Matthew out to the hall, and from there up the stairs to the second floor, where both their rooms were located. "I’m sorry you got caught up in this, Liv," Matthew said, pausing at his own door. "I’ll tell my mother it was all my fault, and see if I can get you out of it."

"No," she said. "I went with you. I should have known better."

"The story was good though, right?" he asked her, with a grin.

"It was a nice night, until it wasn’t." With a sigh, she left him there and slipped into her own chambers. There, she paused to run her fingers over her staff, where it leaned uselessly in the corner. That was not a mistake she would be making again. Then, she went over to her desk, where she opened her spellbook.

"Five men," Liv mumbled. If it hadn’t been for the assistance of Sir Talbot and Master Ahearn, would they have still won? Would Matthew have been hurt, or killed? Would she? The words of the drunken men echoed through her mind, and what they’d threatened to do to her ears. It was all well and good to have help, but she didn’t want to depend on it.

Uncorking her inkpot, Liv went to work.

☙

For an entire month after their ill-fated adventure, Liv and Matthew were given all of the foulest tasks Lady Julianne could think of. It’d been years since she’d had to scrub chamber pots or dirty dishes in the scullery, but now they did it together. The stables needed mucking out, of course, and then there was the laundry, washed in great wooden basins with lye.

Nor were they permitted to neglect their usual lessons, which meant they had to rise early every day and work late into the night, after the rest of the castle had gone to sleep. Liv’s hands were red and raw for the first time since she was a child, and Matthew found the callouses he’d formed working with practice swords in the courtyard did not prepare him for the misery of common labor.

They both knew it would only get worse if they complained, however, so they set their backs to each and every task put before them. "All of this makes our lessons seem like a rest," Matthew remarked, panting, after he’d finished hauling the clean laundry in from the courtyard to be sorted and folded.

It was true: the only time Liv had to ease her aching hands was when their minds were occupied. "I need to be able to deal with more people at once," she told Master Grenfell one afternoon. They were working in his chamber again, with a desk each set out for her and Matthew. The trips to the Old Oak had been halted, as part of their punishment.

"You got two of them," Matthew pointed out. "That was more than anyone else dealt with."

"But if you all hadn’t been there, what would I have done?" Liv asked. "Grasping Ice is good for one or two people, but it’s not meant for so many. What if I just froze all of their feet to the ground? Like an Icewall, but on its side instead of upright?"

"If all you’re looking for is time to get away, that could be very useful," Master Grenfell conceded. "It won’t stop anyone with a crossbow from trying to kill you, but having the correct instrument for a particular problem can be an effective way to protect yourself."

"At least you can make your magic work," Matthew complained.

"You need to memorize the conjugations of Ters," Grenfell told him sharply. "Liv, why don’t you experiment with Vradim - roots of ice might do what you need."

Master Athearn stayed for an entire ten-day, during which word made its way around the castle that his aim was to secure financial backing to purchase a ship. "Apparently he lost the last one off the coast of Varuna," Gretta told the entire table of servants over dinner. Liv and Matthew were scrubbing in the scullery, which at least made it easy to overhear the gossip. "I wouldn’t trust money to a man who’s already lost one ship," the old woman said.

"The baron will act with prudence, I am certain," Archibald told her.

"I’d do it if I had the money," Edward, the second footman, declared. "Put up the coin once, and you get a portion of what he makes from then on, without having to do a day’s work ever again."

Baron Henry must have agreed with Edward, because Master Athearn left with not only the company of Sir Talbot, but a contract witnessed by the Banking Guild. With the visitors gone, and their long punishment finally completed, the infamy of Liv and Matthew’s nighttime adventure was gradually forgotten. Unfortunately, not every change that sprang from that evening was so transitory.

"Alright," Emma Forester said, that summer, as the two girls skinned a brace of conies. "You need to tell me what happened that night. You haven’t been able to look at Matthew without blushing ever since. You’re like a tomato or something."

Liv shot her the fiercest glare she could. "Did you ask your father to stay home today just so you could corner me?"

"Smart girl," Emma said, with a grin. "Now answer the question."

"Nothing happened," Liv said, ripping off the last of the fur from the hare she was working on. "We listened to the story, had a drink, and then tried to leave."

"At which point a bunch of drunks came after you," Emma said.

"Right."

"So you rode all the way from Whitehill to the south pass on a single horse, under the stars," Emma said. "Then sat together drinking at an inn, listening to a story. And when those horrible men said mean things about you, Matthew drew his sword and protected you. You know what this sounds like, don’t you? You’re lucky you came back with a few witnesses."

"I also fell asleep on the ride back," Liv admitted.

"...in his arms?" Emma asked.

"Not like that. But he didn’t let me fall out of the saddle, either," Liv said.

"If you were a noble lady, they’d already have the two of you married," Emma remarked. "To avoid a scandal."

"But I’m not," Liv pointed out. "And he’s half my age. I took care of him when he was a baby, Emma."

Her friend’s smile faded. "Liv," Emma said. "You’re in a tough spot. I didn’t understand when I was little, but I can see it now. Maybe better than you can. He’s half your age, but it doesn’t look like that. Blood and shadows, you’re older than me, but if we went to an inn right now they’d think you were my little sister. You know in a few years, he’s going to look older than you, right?"

"I know it," Liv said. "Let’s get back, then."

Knowing something in your mind, however, didn’t seem to have a whole lot to do with knowing it in your heart. Perhaps if they hadn’t been together so often, Liv reflected, after a particularly strenuous sparring match in the courtyard the following spring. They’d continued working with swords at half speed, for her own safety.

Every time Matthew wrestled her to the ground, or wrapped his arms around her to pratice a disarming technique, she could only hope that no one noticed her cheeks burning. Half the reason she worked so hard to master riding was so that she didn’t end up sharing a saddle with him again.

And as the years went by, it only got worse. At twelve, Matthew had been an exuberant, smiling boy. At fifteen, he was putting on muscle from his daily exercise, shaving the scruff from his chin, and taller than her. By the time he was eighteen years old, every girl in town followed him around on market days, giggling.

Liv, in the meanwhile, found herself in the role of his adoptive sister. And not even an older sister, any longer. At thirty years old, she was increasingly exasperated to see that she looked no more than half that age. The girls that trailed Matthew in the market, for all they had no chance of winning his affections, at least didn’t look like children.

Worst of all, as the harvest neared its end, was the knowledge that hovered over everything she did: as soon as all the crops were in, Matthew would be leaving for Coral Bay, while she stayed behind.

It was that particular problem that she was mulling over at The Laughing Carp, halfway through a goblet of watered wine, while Matthew danced with a girl named Mary. Or was it Maude? Liv couldn’t keep them straight. Master Grenfell had downright refused to let her go to college with him, no matter how much she argued.

They were in the Lower Banks because the Old Oak had become too boring for Matthew’s tastes, and it was a busy night. Whether because of the crowd or her own troubles, Liv was the last to notice the musicians had stopped playing, and that everyone in the common room was gathering at the windows. "What is it?" Liv called, scooping up her staff and pushing her way through the crowd to Matthew’s side.

"Look at the sky," he said.

Liv looked. Rather than a brilliant blue, the horizon glowed the orange and red of a banked fire, while above, the entire sky was painted in burning shades of purple and pink. "I’ve never seen a sunset like that before," she said.

From the bar, the sound of shattering glass was heard. Liv had time to think that someone must have dropped something, before the horror began.