Tainted

Chapter Fifty-Three

Partem's a short ride from the prison. I see Partem's mill in the darkening sky first. It sits partially submerged in the churning water, whirling over and over itself. It's exactly how I remembered it.

Small cottages dart the farmland, their rooves made of thatch. Ivy crawls up the white stucco sides, and I smile. It's almost like I can feel my mother holding me up to look over the cart's wall.

Surma, Sailor, and I dismount the horses and tie them up alongside the river. We walk the small stone path toward the wooden barn, keeping close to the shore. It's late evening, and so many of Partem's citizens have already retired for the night. I see them moving before the yellow lights of candelabras, like the shadow plays we'd put on as children.

"My cousin works the mill," Surma whispers, "he'll protect us."

Sailor and I follow behind Surma as she steps quickly over the barn's vast threshold. Soft mooing greets us, along with the cluck of a solitary chicken.

"Eric," Surma calls softly.

A figure swings down from the hay loft. As he steps forward into the light, it's clear he's as pale as Surma, but without her preternatural calm. He smiles warmly and pulls Surma into a tight hug.

"Serkku," he says, patting her on the back. He's as tall as she, making him at least a head taller than me, if not more. I have to bend to look up at him, putting me in the awkward position of seeing right up his nose.

Eric lets go of Surma and holds out his hand to Sailor and me. We both shake, introducing ourselves.

"It is pleasure to meet you," he says. He turns to Surma. "Now, what is this all about?"

"We need safe passage to the Laplands. And supplies, if you please. I have payment that should be sufficient."

Eric waves his hand in front of his face. "You never need to pay for anything, serkku." His eyes flick to Surma's gloves. She clasped them behind her back, out of sight.

"That is kind of you," she says, "but unnecessary. I have coin. And we will need...more insurance."

Eric looks between the three of us. "What? Have you brought harm to the king?" He laughs, but the laugh dies when none of us respond. He pales, making himself appear almost bloodless.

I picture the king's angry purple face, staring up at me as I escape through the skylight.

"No, Surma, you did not," Eric says. His grey eyes shine with fear in the flickering candlelight.

Surma shakes her head. "The king is fine. Though we may have made him angry."

"When have you not?" Eric asks.

This brings a smile to Surma's face.

Eric taps a nail against a tooth. "Three writs of passage then? To Pruden? If you dye their hair and powder their faces they can pass for young." Eric moves to the back of the barn and begins pulling out papers and pens, bottles and jars.

"Two writs of passage to Pruden, and one to the Laplands," Surma says, her voice carrying to the back.

Eric pauses. "It won't be as convincing," he says.

Surma clears her throat, but I lay a hand on her arm.

"It's alright," I say. "If it'll be more convincing then we'll just do three writs of passage and I'll break off before continuing up to Pruden."

Surma nods.

We wait in silence as Eric gets his papers and paint together. Surma takes a seat on an upturned barrel, Sailor positions himself by the barn's lone goat, and I move over to stand behind Eric, watching him work.