Deebee was silent for several minutes before Enfri realized the dragon didn't mean to continue. She remained curled above the hearth, basking in the heat radiating off of the glowing embers, and appeared content. Deebee stared at the ceiling and savored the last vestiges of her story.

"And what then?" Enfri asked.

The dragon blinked and came back to the moment. "Hmm? Oh, nothing that needs telling of, really. Children growing. The trees they climbed and the rocks they dug up. Beetles to catch, rabbits to chase, and chores to be done. It was a peaceful time and remained so for several years."

Enfri lay in her bed and adjusted the blankets around her. As she listened to Deebee's story, she had taken her hair down and brushed it thoroughly. One hundred strokes, just as Mother said it should be done.

A distant memory came to her— Enfri sitting on the floor while Mother knelt behind her, the sensation of a brush through her hair, and the sound of Mother's voice as she sang to her. Mother used to tell Enfri how beautiful her hair was.

"Like silk woven from sunbeams," she had said. "Your father had hair like yours, but his was always so tangled. If he could see you now, he would shed tears at how lovely you are."

Those were all too brief moments, when Enfri could close her eyes and just believe. She would imagine that her back was straight and strong, that Father would soon return from the war, and that Mother would always be like this. Then, the dullness would come into Mother's eyes and steal away her sparkle. Then came the weeping, the resentful glares, and the harsh words.

"Deebee?" Enfri said as she let the brush come to a rest in her lap.

"What is it, girl?"

"Before..." Enfri blinked away the moisture that appeared in her eye. "You said you knew my mother well."

Deebee grunted. "I did. Once. I loved your mother, Enfri. I truly did. But..." The dragon sighed. "Mortals can change, and the spirits know that Mierwyn had cause to."

Enfri's knuckles turned white as she gripped the brush handle. "I suppose so."

Deebee watched Enfri out of the corner of her eye. "Would you like to hear more about her?"

"No," Enfri replied. "I think I can get to sleep again, now. Thank you for the story, Deebee."

"As you wish. Lay down, love. I'll see to the lights, and we can speak more if you have trouble sleeping. I'll be awake if you need me."

Getting comfortable in her bed was hard. Her back was what made it difficult. Enfri placed a pillow beneath her hip to support the curve in her spine, and shifted her weight until she found a good position.

The bed seemed so empty now. Before they died, Enfri had shared the bed with Mother and Grandmother. Both fidgeted and snored something fierce, and Enfri was pleased to know that she didn't inherit that from them.

Despite what she said, Enfri was wide awake. She lay with her eyes closed and took deep breaths, but sleep wouldn't come.

Deebee's story unsettled her. Though she was giddy to finally know for certain that it was for Father's sake that the dragon was in Sandharbor, Enfri couldn't shake the feeling that there was more that Deebee hadn't said. Enfri recalled one of Grandmother's favorite sayings. Half a truth can be fully a lie.

Enfri sniffed and wiped at her eyes. She felt a powerful urge to sit back up and demand more answers, but thought better of it. Deebee had been gracious to tell as much as she did. It was plain that she could feel heartache as keenly as a human, and if Enfri pushed when it wasn't welcome...

I couldn't bear it, Enfri thought. I can't let Deebee grow to hate me, too.

She lay in her bed, and sleep never came.

***

A pale blue light appeared through the shuttered windows. Enfri opened her eyes, though they felt heavy with fatigue. She rolled onto her stomach and pushed herself into a sitting position.

"Giving up?" Deebee asked.

The dragon still lay curled over the hearth. Her head was raised and alert. Did dragons ever sleep?

"What do you mean?" Enfri said thickly.

Deebee grimaced. "You didn't sleep one bit. I can tell, you know."

Figures, Enfri groused to herself. "I'll just have to manage. I'll finish the chores early and sleep like a stone tonight."

"Whatever you think is best," Deebee said. "If you wish, I could take care of the chores again. I don't mind, and you need to get back to your normal self."

"Being a hunchback doesn't make me an invalid, Deebee," Enfri said. The truth was, she was nervous about Deebee working while nude again. The more time went by, the more likely it was that Enfri would get a visitor looking for a sky woman. It would be hard to explain why there was a silver-skinned naked woman tending the garden. There'd be trouble over it, and Enfri wanted the villagers to think well of her.

They thought well of us once, Enfri thought. Deebee said that everyone used to love the sky women. What changed?

The first thought to come to mind was an unpleasant one. For as long as Enfri had been alive, the sky women were kept at arm's length. Perhaps Enfri was the reason. No one wanted to associate with a deformed girl.

Enfri got to her feet and her gaze settled on the table. Gain's blood had been scrubbed away— Deebee's doing— and the gold coin Jin had placed there as payment glinted in the early morning light.

She wondered if Gain was healing well. Though he had been intimidating, Enfri decided to think well of the older assassin. He had been polite and well-spoken, also more human than his beast's eyes suggested he would be. He hadn't once disparaged her for her back, and he even corrected himself and apologized when he mistook her for an old woman. Gain had treated her better than most.

Enfri remembered the fear she had seen in him when she prepared to tend his wound. Gain was afraid but kept it under control. He reminded me of Grandmother.

The others, however, could all fall from their horses and be dragged a mile. Silent and unnerving Dashar, that blustering tramp Maya, and Jin. Enfri shuddered.

There was something else. Enfri rubbed at her forehead and tried to remember. Treating Gain had pushed it from her mind, and Enfri tried to summon it back.

"Haythe," Enfri blurted. "Winds and storms, I forgot all about Haythe!"

"The Smith boy?" Deebee asked as she fluttered to the table. "What of him?"

"Don't you remember?" Enfri asked as she hurried to throw off her nightdress. She'd want to lay out a fresh shift, head to the stream for an early morning bath, and then find where she had stashed away her good dress. "The thing the Smith family wants?"

There was the slightest hint of a snarl on Deebee's lip. "Enfri, please. I thought we discussed this. We agreed that the apprentice isn't a good match for you."

Enfri gathered together some clean rags and a cake of horse tallow and alkali. She placed them in a wooden bucket. "I'm not remembering that talk the same way you are, I think. I have every reason to consider the offer."

She took her bucket of bathing supplies and left the house. The stream wasn't far, but there was a chill in the air that didn't see a threadbare shift as a barrier.

Deebee followed, muttering to herself about the foolishness of mortal girls.

Enfri went to the best spot for bathing. There was a broad and flat stone just beneath the water's surface a dozen paces from where the duck pond flowed into the stream. Enfri could hear the squabbling of water fowl coming from that way; the geese were making nuisances of themselves again.

After disrobing, Enfri gingerly lowered herself to sit on the submerged stone. The cold water shocked her fully awake, and Enfri gritted her teeth through the initial shivering. Once she was in, her skin grew accustomed to the temperature. She dunked her head beneath the current and sputtered as she resurfaced.

"Winds, that snaps you up in the morning," she gasped.

"By far," Deebee said, "this is the silliest thing you mortals do. Why not just roll in some clean sand?"

Enfri looked to where Deebee sat on the bank. Out of respect for Enfri's modesty, she had her back turned. It was amusing when Deebee remembered human opinions of nudity. This was bathing. Completely different situation.

"Sand is rough," Enfri explained. "Humans don't have armored hides."

Deebee held out her front leg and admired the sheen. "More's the pity. I think you'd look lovely with scales."

Enfri wrinkled her nose. The very idea. She grabbed a rag from her bucket and worked up a lather from the cake of tallow.

"What's your intent, girl?" Deebee asked. "Do you mean to march down to their forge and ask for a betrothal?"

"Perhaps," Enfri said with a mischievous grin. "You said it yourself. Goodwife Smith might summon the village headman today if we let her."

Deebee turned to give Enfri a disapproving look.

"Oh, come off it. I won't say a word of it. I'll just happen to stop by to check up on the goodman. I really should make sure he's recovering as well as it sounds like he is. He was very sick, and he might need more medicine. Then, if their intentions happen to come up, I'll let them know I'm interested."

Deebee lay her belly and chin on the ground. Enfri started to think of that as the dragon's worrywart posture.

"You shouldn't. If they need anything, they'll come to you. That's how things work here, now."

"Now? I don't want it to be like it is now. I want it to be like it once was— like when Mother was a girl. Now is blustering awful."

Deebee flinched.

Enfri felt a stab of guilt. That must have sounded like an insult. She reached out of the water and stroked her wet finger over Deebee's muzzle. "You're the only thing I have making me happy."

Deebee shook a few droplets of water from her snout. She then began a close examination of a shiny, black beetle waddling through her spot on the bank. "I guess that's not enough."

Was that the dragon's worry? That she wasn't enough for Enfri?

"That's not it at all," Enfri said to reassure her. "It's just... You leave here to look for more dragons sometimes, right? It's the same thing with me. Humans need other humans."

Deebee batted at the beetle with a claw and knocked it onto its back. "No, I understand. I'm not feeling sorry for myself or jealous, girl. I promise."

Enfri dunked beneath the water to rinse the lather from herself. When she back came up, she saw that the beetle had vanished and that Deebee was noisily chewing something.

"Then why do you seem so down?" Enfri asked. "Why are you so against Haythe courting me?"

The response came through a mouthful of beetle. "You deserve better."

"Deserve better," Enfri repeated. She lathered her hair and ran her fingers through it. The motion of her hands grew forceful. "Deebee, there isn't anyone better. No one comes all the way out here unless they need to. I've been a crooked pariah since the day I was born. And now, finally, someone is looking my way for something other than a cure for irritable bowels."

Her voice was getting louder. Enfri winced when she saw Deebee hanging her head and avoiding her eyes.

"Winds, I'm such a mule." Enfri said. "I'm sorry, Deebee. I know none of this is your fault."

The dragon slowly rose to all fours. Her wings were spread wide, and her tail stuck up in the air.

"Enfri?" she said softly. "How many arcanists are in Sandharbor?"

"What sort of question is that?"

Deebee averted her eyes. She refused to look Enfri's way. "How many?"

"Well, there was Goodman Scribe," Enfri replied nervously. Deebee's abrupt change in manner scared her. "He knew some runes, but he died the same year mother did."

A pointless death. Had the village scrivener thought to contact the sky women, his pneumonia could have been treated.

Deebee nodded. "And before him, your wizard was called to the capital and never returned. Janwyn's mother was the last witch around here to bargain with spirits. There are no arcanists in Sandharbor anymore, and I believe that's how the goodfolk here prefer it."

"What are you driving at, Deebee?" Enfri asked.

"There is no magic within a hundred leagues but mine. Please, girl, remember that when it comes time to place blame." Deebee turned on her heels and launched herself into the air.

Enfri watched Deebee disappear through the scattered trees. She was taken completely off-guard. What did Deebee mean by that? Was she angry? Enfri was miserable with herself. This wasn't what she wanted. She didn't want to have to choose between Haythe and the only friend she ever had.

Why is she being so unreasonable? Enfri wondered. It's not as if I won't want her around anymore if I marry Haythe. I'll probably need her more than ever if I do. Who else can I talk to about...

Her cheeks heated up enough that she worried the stream might start to boil. Merciful winds, she'd need Deebee to ask about lady stuff. Who else was around that might know of such things? Goodwife Smith? Absolutely not. They didn't know each other near well enough yet.

Enfri pulled her bent form out of the stream and put on her sodden shift. She shook the greater part of the stream out of her hair and started back for her house.

Deebee was already there. She was back in her human disguise, but she was wearing Mother's dress this time as she worked. She was tossing feed to the chickens when Enfri approached.

Enfri opened her mouth to speak, but Deebee beat her to it.

"I'm not angry, girl," she said wearily. "I'm afraid. I never wanted to see you hurt. Please understand that."

"Deebee, I didn't..."

"Go," she interrupted. "The sun's up, and it's a long walk. Go see the Smiths."

Enfri hesitated, then sighed and went into the house. When she came back out, she wore her best dress, her hair was hidden beneath her favorite shawl, and her basket was filled with anything she thought she might need for Goodman Smith.

Before heading down the path to the village, Enfri gave Deebee one last regretful look. The dragon was upset. Enfri just wished she knew what she could say to fix it.

The journey to Goodman Smith's forge took much longer without either a horse or cart to carry her. Her gait was short and slow, so walking more than a few paces became a chore. The problem had nothing to do with her legs. Those, at least, had some strength to them. Her back made balance an issue, and she had to be careful if she didn't want to find her face in the dirt.

Enfri stumbled, but caught herself before she fell. Her thoughts weren't on putting her feet down properly. She couldn't get Deebee's odd behavior out of her mind.

She wished the dragon would just come out and say what was bothering her. If it was a misunderstanding, they could clear the air. If it was some sort of deeper disagreement, they could work through that, too.

Why won't she just talk to me? Enfri asked herself.

That Deebee was starting to remind Enfri of her mother was distressing. Mother wouldn't talk about why she acted as she did either. At least Deebee didn't look at Enfri as if she were a slug from the garden.

Not yet.

Her stomach twisted and began to ache. Enfri clutched at her middle as worry gnawed at her. She considered turning back. Perhaps if she did and told Deebee that she'd forget all about Haythe and marriage, the dragon would go back to normal. Then again, tomorrow would be the same as today. Enfri would be alone, even more so when Deebee decided to leave again.

Solitude broken only by brief visits and the occasional child birth was unacceptable. Enfri had a year of living like that under her belt, and she couldn't stomach another.

I'm sorry, Deebee, but I have to do this. I can't be a child forever.

The Smiths' home appeared around the bend, and Enfri hastened her pace. As she came closer, her stomach ache doubled in intensity. Anxiety made her insides flip about like acrobats at a festival. If things went as Enfri wanted, she could very well be betrothed by the end of the day. The prospect managed to be both exciting and terrifying at once.

She stopped on the packed dirt path leading up to the house. Now that she was here, Enfri wasn't sure what she should do. It had seemed so simple a few minutes ago. She had run through so many versions of the coming conversation in her head during her walk, and now none of them seemed possible.

Enfri recognized this feeling for what it was. A sky woman could never give in to fear. She tightened her shawl and shuffled up to the door. After taking a final, bracing breath, Enfri rapped her knuckles against the doorframe.

The door cracked open after a few moments, and Goodwife Smith's face peeked out from inside. She looked at Enfri with a befuddled look. "Winds bless you, Oldwife," she said in greeting.

Unbelievable, Enfri fumed. "No, it's just me. I came to check on your husband to see that he's recovering."

Goodwife Smith blinked in confusion. Winds and storms, but Enfri hoped that if she and Haythe had children, they wouldn't be cursed with that familial trait. If any inherited Enfri's back and Smith brains, Enfri would consider celibacy.

"Oh," Goodwife Smith said. She closed her eyes and gave a firm shake of her head to clear the cobwebs. "Of course. Forgive me, my mind must have been elsewhere. Please, come in."

Enfri thanked her and stepped inside. She listened to the goodwife burble on about how she was feeding her husband as asked and that he was being kept indoors until his strength returned.

"Good," Enfri interjected before Goodwife Smith could go on much longer. "I hope it isn't hurting his trade. Is Haythe picking up the slack?"

"He is. Brandyn sent him and Kiffa into town this morning. With all of our iron gone, our smelter has been cold. They've gone to see if the trading post has anything to sell."

Enfri nodded as she followed the goodwife towards her bedroom. Brandyn must have been the goodman's given name. Enfri hadn't known it. "Nothing from Nadia, I trust. I take it that the... hunters... left with the ore yesterday?"

Goodwife Smith stopped at the door to her bedroom. "That's right. I forgot that they came back with Haythe from the sky woman. Goodman Hunter was very generous. Such a fine man to be making sure that this poison won't harm anyone else."

Enfri held her tongue about her own opinions of the "Hunter family". If the lady of the house was ignorant of their true identities, Enfri wouldn't correct her. That they were now gone was enough. Instead, she cleared her throat.

"Was there anything else?" Enfri asked.

"About what?" the goodwife asked.

"Any questions? Anything you'd like to discuss with me?"

"No," she replied slowly. "No, I don't think so. Brandyn seems to be recovering. Though, he hasn't quite been himself since yesterday. I figure he's just tired still."

Enfri looked away to hide her grimace. So, the goodwife was going to be coy about suggesting a betrothal. So be it, but Enfri didn't plan on leaving until something was said on the matter. "I'll keep that in mind when I talk to Goodman Smith. Shall we?"

"Yes, please." Goodwife Smith opened the door to let Enfri in.

Goodman Smith was sitting on the foot of the bed. He was dressed in a gray shirt and linen pants. The beard on his chin was untrimmed and haggard, and there was a sheen of sweat on his forehead. He didn't look up as Enfri entered. His gaze was fixed somewhere miles away.

Enfri furrowed her brow. She thought he would be more recovered than this. Goodman Smith looked no better than the last time she'd seen him.

She turned to the blacksmith's wife. "Could I ask you to boil some water and bring it. I think I should brew another remedy."

Goodwife Smith stared slack-jawed at her husband. By her expression, she was as surprised to see him in this state as Enfri was. She nodded to Enfri and scurried towards the kitchen.

Enfri approached the goodman cautiously. She didn't wish to startle him. "Goodman Smith?" she called gently.

He didn't respond.

"Brandyn?"

At the sound of his given name, Goodman Smith turned his eyes toward Enfri. They were distant, but clear. They weren't glazed over as Enfri feared, so this probably wasn't a return of the fever.

He focused on Enfri's face, and he squinted at her as if he couldn't believe what he saw. "Mierwyn?"

Enfri felt a chill on the back of her neck. "No, Goodman. My name is Enfri. Don't you remember?"

"Enfri?" He looked disoriented. "Enfri. Yora's girl?"

"That's right," she said as she ventured closer. Enfri put a hand to his forehead. Sweaty, but not warm. She couldn't fathom what was wrong with him. "You and my father were friends, I'm told."

"That we were," Goodman Smith said with a chuckle. Some strength had come into his voice. "Knew each other since we were both babes. His ma used to chase us out of their home with a broom when we brought in toads to play with."

Enfri smiled. Maybe she could coax him out of this malaise by jogging his memory. "I'd wager you have plenty of stories about him."

He laughed again. "That I do. When I wasn't doing apprentice work, you'd find me with Yora. Tried to steal his girl once, you know. Oh, how I pined for Mierwyn. I even think that if she'd chosen me, Yora wouldn't have raised his voice at it. Any other man would have beaten me bloody for the stunts I pulled trying to woo her away from him. A fine man. Finest man I ever knew."

It was a testament to Enfri's bedside manner that she kept herself from making an unpleasant face. Goodman Smith and Mother? Winds. How different would life be had that happened?

Enfri decided that he was more himself now, though he still had a thousand yard stare. "How are you feeling? Talk was that you were practically dancing yesterday after you received payment for the toxic ore."

Goodman Smith wrung his hands. There was a tremor in his voice when he spoke. "Dancing? No. Not with them near. As soon as I saw their backs, I barred the doors. Hardly had a wink of sleep since."

Of course. Goodman Smith spoke of it during his fever. He knew a royal assassin's eyes when he saw them. They frightened the blacksmith enough to send him into this state.

"I'll never forget what they did," Goodman Smith said through bared teeth. "At Teularon, we were on the field. Yora and I were side by side. I wasn't with him at Drok Moran, and I wanted to prove to him that I could be just as good a soldier as he was."

Goodwife Smith arrived with a bowl of steaming water, but Enfri barely noticed her. She listened to the goodman with rapt attention.

"The lines were faltering," he continued, "but our unit held. We took position on a hillock and had the high ground. Any Teulite daft enough to try pushing us back got our spears in his guts. Yora knew just where to put us. He called the formations, charge after charge. Assault after assault. They couldn't push us back. Our unit was the only one still holding. We wouldn't break. We couldn't, not with Yora leading us. It was like we fought the whole winds-cursed Teulite horde on our own."

Goodwife Smith knelt at the foot of the bed and took her husband's hand. He didn't seem to notice her, but Enfri saw that he was squeezing her hand like it was the only thing keeping him from being swept away into his memories.

"Then, they came. Two dark hounds on black steeds. We knew what they were. We'd seen them among the tents in camp and always kept our distance. The king's assassins were as feared by us as by the enemy, and we recognized the mark. Eyes of blue. Eyes of beasts.

"They leapt from their horses and joined our battle on the hillock. They were death on the wind. Teulites fell in their footsteps by the handful. They slaughtered the enemy with blade and spellfire. Battle is an ugly thing— men drowning in mud made from their own blood and piss— but there's honor in it. What the assassins did wasn't battle. It was butchery. I pitied the Teulites. There's no glory in killing men who never stood a chance."

Enfri felt her breaths coming short and frantic. She was hyperventilating. She realized what Goodman Smith was remembering, and she wanted to run away. Her feet wouldn't obey her. She was frozen in place and couldn't move. Unaware of the effect the retelling of this event was having on Enfri, the blacksmith continued.

"The fighting got worse. When the Teulites saw who now held that hillock, they sent what felt like the whole blustering horde against us. One of them broke my ankle with his shield while I gutted him, then Yora took a gash over his eye from some tiger lord's lance. The lordling's mount was going to finish us with its jaws, but Yora rammed his spear down the beast's gullet. An assassin finished the tiger lord off, shattered the man where he stood, and it was over just like that."

Goodman Smith's voice broke, and he began to weep.

"The assassin came up to Yora and pulled him to his feet. He praised him. Called him a hero. Then he... He wiped the blood from Yora's face and saw the wound was gone. The monster didn't even say a word before he drove his sword into Yora's heart."

Enfri covered her mouth with her hands to stifle the horrified sound coming out of her. Now she knew how Father died, and it wasn't at the hands of an enemy as she always believed. Enfri now had the truth.

The king's assassins murdered him.