CHAPTER 30
FERAL

333 AR SUMMER

RENNA WAITED PATIENTLY AS the rock demon materialized. She had chosen her perch carefully, high in the single tall tree atop a hill where a large facing of bedrock jutted from the ground like a broken bone sticking through flesh.

The pattern of tracks in the soil told her the giant coreling, some dozen feet tall, materialized in this same spot almost every night. Over the last six weeks, Arlen had taught her many things, including the fact that rock demons were creatures of habit, and lesser demons would have learned to stay clear of any rising place claimed by a rock demon.

As the foul gray mist seeped from the bedrock, slowly coalescing into demonic form, she closed her eyes, breathing deeply as she embraced her fear and found her inner center.

It was amazing how well the Krasian technique worked. It had been a challenge at first, but now it took only a moment to shift her perspective, going to a mental place where there was no pain, no fear of foe or failure.

The world looked different as she opened her eyes and stood, bare feet gripping the tree limb in perfect balance. In her left hand, she gripped Harl’s knife, running her thumb absently over the wards she had carved into the bone handle. In her right, she held a single chestnut.

A cool breeze rustled the yellowing leaves around her, and she inhaled deeply, letting the air caress her bare skin, feeling as much a part of the nighttime world as the unsuspecting demon materializing below her.

Her waist-length brown hair had gotten in her way and was now a short, spiky remnant with only a single braided tail to recall its former length. She had discarded her dress entirely, cutting her shift into two parts: a high vest laced tightly to hold her breasts in place but open below to reveal her warded belly, and a skirt slit high on both sides to free her warded legs.

Arlen still refused to ward her flesh for her, but she had ignored him, grinding her own blackstems. The ink stained her skin a dark brown that lasted many days before fading.

She looked down, seeing the demon solidify at last, and flicked the chestnut. Without waiting to see if it struck its mark, she stepped off the branch into thin air, dropping silently.

The chestnut hit the demon’s far shoulder as she fell, the heat ward she had painted onto its smooth surface blazing bright in the darkness as it sucked magic from the powerful coreling. The tough nut became superheated in an instant, and exploded with a bang.

The rock demon was unharmed, but the flash and noise turned its head the other way just as Renna landed on its broad armored shoulder. She grabbed one of its horns with her free hand for balance and drove her knife into its throat. The wards on the blade flared, and she was rewarded with a jolt of magic and a hot gush of black ichor that covered her hand.

She snarled and drew her arm back for another strike, but the demon howled, throwing its head back, and it was all Renna could do to hold on to its horn and keep her perch.

She swung wildly to avoid the talons as the demon clawed and punched at its own head in an effort to dislodge her, stabbing with the knife and kicking her warded feet at whatever targets came in range. Magic bucked through her with each strike, an electric thrill that made her faster, stronger, more resilient with every touch. The wards around her eyes activated, and the night lit up with magic’s glow.

Her blows distracted the demon, but they did little more. She could no longer access the more vulnerable eyes and throat, and she did not have the leverage to stab through its thick skull. Sooner or later, one of its wild swings would crush her. She laughed at the thrill of it.

Sheathing her knife, Renna reached into her waistband, pulling free the long string of brook stones Cobie Fisher had given her in what seemed like another life. She whipped the necklace around the demon’s throat, letting go its horn to catch the far end as it came around. She crossed her arms and dropped down into the groove between its armored shoulder blades, hanging from the ends of the leather cord just out of the enraged coreling’s reach.

She was slammed about but kept her grip, using her full weight to pull the warded beads tight around the demon’s throat. Renna had painted the smooth stones with wards of forbidding, and they flared to repel, the magic crushing inward from all sides.

In moments the giant rock demon’s thrashing and thunderous footfalls became twitches and staggered steps. The string grew warm as the magic built in intensity, brightening the night.

At last, there was a crack and a final flare before the magic winked out. The giant horned head fell free, and Renna kicked off, leaping out of the way. She landed lightly on her feet as the giant demon came crashing down next to her. She could feel the stolen magic tingling in her skin, healing every scrape and bruise received in the battle. She looked at the black demon ichor on her hands, and laughed again, winding up her beads and running off to continue the hunt.

She had never felt so free.

A flame demon came at her, a lone coreling hunting through the brush by the trees. Renna set her feet as it charged, waiting for the telltale inhalation.

Flame demons always opened their attacks with a blast of firespit as soon as they were in range. The spit could set anything alight, and usually stunned their prey into helplessness while they pressed the attack with tooth and claw. But if the initial blast could be avoided, there was a brief period before they could spit fire again.

Renna crouched, face low to the ground, presenting a clear target as the demon pulled up short right in front of her, inhaling. It squinted its lidless eyes shut as it began to blow, a reflex not unlike when a human sneezed, and Renna dashed to the left in that instant, the bright blast of firespit arcing through empty air.

By the time the coreling opened its eyes and saw she was gone, Renna was behind it, grabbing its horns. She yanked its head back and gutted it like a hare caught in her father’s field.

The flame demon’s ichor spattered her, burning like embers from a fire, but Renna was in a place beyond pain. She slapped mud where the drops had fallen, cooling her skin, and rose.

A low rumbling told her that in the scant moments the battle with the flame demon had taken, she had been surrounded. She turned to see a wood demon hunched before her, standing six feet at the shoulder, stooped. Farther back and waiting in the trees, her warded eyes caught its two fellows, their rough armor blending into the surrounding woods, but unable to mask their magic. When she engaged the first, the strongest, the others would come at her from the sides.

Renna had killed wood demons many times, but three was two more than she had ever faced at once without Arlen beside her.

Is three more than I can face? She pushed the useless thought away. There was no outrunning demons; nowhere to hide once they spotted you. There was only kill or be killed.

“Come on, then,” she snarled, pointing her knife at the demon before her.

The Painted Man watched Renna from the trees on the far side of the road, shaking his head. It had taken him some time to track her down. He had gone to gather herbs and firewood, and made her promise to wait at the keep until he returned, so they could hunt together. This wasn’t the first time Renna had gotten impatient or simply ignored his wishes and gone off on her own.

Watching her slip around the flame demon’s blind spot, laying it open from tooth to tail with her father’s knife, he had to admit she was a fast learner. More than even Wonda of the Cutters, Renna Tanner had thrown herself into the art of demon hunting body and soul, and her skill level after just a few short weeks was a testament to that.

He wondered if he had done the right thing, teaching her to embrace her fears. Renna had taken it too far and quickly become reckless; as much a danger to herself as the demons.

He understood what she was going through—more than she would ever know. The night was unforgiving, even to one who embraced its ways, as shown by the copse of wood demons he saw stalking Renna while her attention was focused on the flame demon. Likely she would only see the one that came at her openly, the trunk, and the branches would have her.

The Painted Man nocked an arrow to his great bow, holding it at the ready. He would wait until she saw all three, and knew doom was upon her, before killing them. Perhaps then she would begin to take better care.

The wood demon roared, an act meant to terrify and stun her, much like the flame demon’s spit. All along, its fellows crept closer, positioning themselves to strike.

But Renna never gave them a chance, charging forward in a seemingly suicidal attack. The wood demon bared its rows of teeth and hooked claws, throwing out its chest to accept her initial strike. Wood demons were second only to rock demons in strength, and likely the beast had never had its barklike armor pierced.

Renna pivoted, using her momentum to power a circle kick. Her warded instep and shin exploded into the demon’s chest, and it was thrown back in a blast of magic, stunned.

The other demons roared out of the trees, and Renna charged at one, grabbing its wrist and setting her feet, twisting her hips to turn the force of the demon’s attack against it. It was almost effortless, the way she made the heavy wood demon sail through the air into the third member of the copse. She ran into the press, Harl’s knife stabbing into every opening that presented itself in the tumble as the two corelings tried to untangle and right themselves.

One of the demons swiped at Renna from its prone position as she came within reach of its long, branchlike arms. She threw herself back, feeling the air whistle across her chest as its claws passed. She had been unable to effectively ward the cloth of her vest, and the claws would have cut deeply had they connected. She envied Arlen his ability to fight shirtless.

She righted herself unharmed, but her momentum was lost, and all three wood demons had regained their feet to threaten her again. They carried scorched wounds where she had struck, but even as the magic she ’d leeched from the corelings healed her own wounds, so too were they recovering quickly. In moments they would be fully healed.

She reached into the pouch at her waist as they charged, hurling a handful of warded chestnuts their way. The demons shrieked and threw up their arms defensively as the heat wards flared, the chestnuts bursting into intense flames with tiny pops.

The two outermost corelings escaped unharmed, but the one in the center took the brunt of the salvo and its shoulder caught fire. In a moment the whole creature was aflame, shrieking and flailing about madly.

Seeing their fellow ablaze, the demons to either side backpedaled away from it, separating farther and giving Renna the opening she needed. She charged back in at one, stabbing up into the vulnerable gap between the third and fourth ribs on its right side. Her long knife pierced the coreling’s black heart.

She ducked under its death throes and grabbed its shoulder with her left hand as it lunged. The ward on her palm flared hot, burning the demon’s knobby armored skin, and she felt flush with strength and power as a portion of its magic arced into her. She pivoted and drove her knife in deeper, using it to lift the two-hundred-pound demon clear over her head. She shrieked, sounding like a demon herself, and threw it into its blazing companion.

Harl’s knife, still deep in the demon, should have come free then, but the crosspiece caught on its lower rib. She cried out as the blade was torn from her grasp.

Seeing her unarmed, the last demon roared and charged her, tackling her into the scrub and dirt.

Wards flared all over her body, but the demon, mad with rage and pain, bit and clawed wildly until its searching talons found purchase. Its claws dug deep, Renna screamed, and hot blood soaked the ground.

There was a rustle in the trees, and Renna knew more wood demons, drawn to the light and activity, would soon be upon her. Not that it mattered, if she did not end the fight with the demon atop her quickly.

The demon roared again, and she roared right back, shoving hard against it and reversing the pin. It was a basic sharusahk move, one any novice could have prevented, but corelings had only instinctive knowledge of leverage. She pumped her knees continually, hitting the demon’s thighs to keep it from shifting its legs up to claw at her. She had owned enough cats to know the fight would be over quickly if it gained that advantage.

She managed to free a hand, grabbing at her beads, and whipped them around the coreling’s corded neck, tucking in close to minimize the demon’s reach and leverage as she crossed the ends and pulled in opposite directions. Its claws continued to tear at her, but she embraced the pain and held on until the wards flared and the great horned head severed with a pop, spraying her with black, smoking ichor.

The Painted Man had unconsciously eased the draw of his bow when Renna threw her chestnuts. He knew the heat ward; it was common enough in Tibbet’s Brook, and his parents had used it often in winter, painting large stones around the house and barn to absorb and hold the heat. He had tried making weapons with it in the past, but while it was good for arrowheads, it always either consumed hand weapons or burned through the wrappings of the hilt to scorch his hands. Even the tiny heat wards on his skin burned horribly when activated.

It had never occurred to him to ward chestnuts with them. Barely a few weeks into the night, and Renna was already warding creatively in ways he had never thought of.

He watched the wild look in her eyes as she lifted the demon over her head, and wondered if he had looked the same the first few times he ’d felt the rush of coreling magic. He imagined he had. It was a heady feeling, and gave delusions of invincibility.

But Renna wasn’t invincible, and that was made clear an instant later as she was disarmed and the wood demon tackled her. The Painted Man cried out, fear making him go cold as he fumbled for his bow. He tried to take aim as they struggled on the ground, but he was unable to get a clear shot, and wouldn’t risk hitting Renna. Dropping the bow, he burst from hiding to rescue her.

Only to find his aid unrequired.

He stood there, his heart thudding in his chest at the sight of Renna, beautiful Renna, whose soft childhood kiss he had dreamed of on so many lonely nights in the wild, bloodied and battered atop the demon corpse.

She turned his way snarling, until recognition lit her eyes. Then she smiled at him, looking like a cat that had just laid a dead rat at its owner’s feet.

Renna rolled off the corpse, struggling to regain her feet before the other demons were upon her. She was covered in her own blood, though already she felt the flow decreasing as her stolen magic began to knit the wounds. Still, she felt in no state to keep fighting.

She snarled, refusing to give in, but when she raised her eyes there was only Arlen there, glowing brightly with magic like one of the Creator’s haloed seraphs. He was clad only in his loincloth, and he was beautiful, pale muscles rippling under the pulsing wards crawling across his skin. He wasn’t tall like Harl or bulky like Cobie, but Arlen exuded a strength those other men lacked. She beamed at him, flush with pride in her victory. Three wood demons!

“You all right?” he asked, but there was sternness in his voice, not pride.

“Ay,” she said. “Just need a moment to rest.”

He nodded. “Sit down and breathe deeply. Let the magic heal you.”

Renna did as she was told, feeling the deep cuts all over her body beginning to close. Soon most would be nothing but thin scars, and even those would fade quickly.

Arlen picked up the charred remains of one of her chestnuts. “Clever,” he grunted.

“Thanks,” Renna said, even the simple compliment sending a thrill through her.

“But clever wards or no, that was stupid of you, Ren,” he went on. “You could have set the forest on fire, not to mention the foolishness of taking on three wood demons at once.”

Renna felt like he’d punched her in the stomach. “Din’t ask them to stalk me.”

“But you did ignore me and go huntin’ ripping rock demon by yourself,” Arlen scolded. “And left your cloak back at the keep.”

“Cloak gets in the way when I hunt,” Renna said.

“Don’t care,” Arlen said. “That last demon nearly killed you, Ren. Your ground form against it was terrible. A nie’Sharum could have broken that hold.”

“What’s it matter?” Renna snapped, stung, even though she knew he was right. “I won.”

“It matters,” Arlen said, “because sooner or later, you won’t. Even a wood demon can get lucky and break a hold, Renna. Strong as you feel when the magic is jolting through you, you’re still not half as strong as they are. Forget that, cease to respect them even for an instant, and they’ll have you. That means you take every advantage you can get, and being invisible to demons is a big one.”

“Then why don’t you use it?” Renna asked.

“ ’Cause I gave it to you,” Arlen said.

“Demonshit,” Renna spat. “You were huntin’ through your bags for it like you hadn’t seen it in weeks. Bet you ent never worn it, either.”

“This ent about me,” Arlen said. “I been at this much longer than you, Ren. You’re getting drunk on the magic, and it ent safe. I know.”

“If that ent the night callin’ it black!” Renna shouted. “You do it, and you’re fine.”

“Corespawn it, Renna, I ent fine!” he shouted. “Night, I feel it changin’ me as we speak. The aggression, the disdain for day folk. It’s the magic talkin’. Demon magic. A little makes you strong. Too much makes you…feral.”

He held up his hand, covered in hundreds of tiny wards. “Ent natural, what I done. Made me crazy a good sight, and I don’t reckon I’m even half sane now.” He put his hands on her shoulders. “I don’t want it to happen to you, too.”

Renna took his face in her hands. “Thank you for caring,” she said. He smiled and tried to look down, but she held his face and kept eye contact. “But you ent my da or my husband, and even if you were, my body’s my own, and I’ll do with it as I will. Ent living my life how other people tell me no more. I’ll follow my own path from now on.”

Arlen scowled. “You following your own path, or have you just latched on to mine?”

Renna’s eyes bulged, and every muscle in her body screamed at her to leap upon him, kicking and clawing and biting until he…She shook her head, drawing a deep breath.

“Leave me alone,” she said.

“Come back with me to the keep,” Arlen said.

“Damn your ripping keep!” she shrieked. “Leave me alone, you son of the Core!”

Arlen looked at her a long moment. “All right.”

Renna locked her jaw tight, refusing to cry as he walked away. She got to her feet, keeping her back straight despite the pain as she retrieved her knife from the charred remains of the demon. Despite the conflagration, the weapon was undamaged, and still tingled with residual magic as she wiped it off and returned it to its sheath on her hip.

She stood a long time after Arlen left, two sides warring within her. One wanted to scream and charge into the night, looking for demons to vent her rage upon. The other part wondered if Arlen was right, and threatened to drop her weeping to the ground at any moment.

She closed her eyes, embracing both the pain and the rage and stepping away from them. It was amazing how quickly she calmed.

Arlen was simply being overprotective. After all she had done, he still didn’t trust her.

In a place beyond feeling, she set her feet and began the first sharukin, flowing from one move to the next, trying to force the forms into her muscles so deeply that they would come without her even thinking of them. As she did, she recalled every moment of the night’s battles, searching for ways she could improve.

He might be the almighty Painted Man to others, but Renna knew he was just Arlen Bales of Tibbet’s Brook, and she’d be corespawned if there was anything he could do that she couldn’t.

That went well, the Painted Man thought sarcastically as he walked away. He didn’t go far, sitting and putting his back to a tree, closing his eyes. His ears could hear the scraping of caterpillars on leaves. If Renna needed him, he would hear and come.

He cursed the childhood naïveté that had kept him from seeing Harl for what he was. When Ilain had offered herself to his father, he had thought her wicked beyond words, but she was just doing what she needed to survive, as he himself had done out on the Krasian Desert.

And Renna…if he’d gone back with his father instead of running off when his mother died, she would have come back to the farm with them, safe from her father and spared a death sentence. Their own children would be promising age by now.

But he had turned his back on Renna; another path to happiness abandoned, and her life had become a horror as a result.

He was wrong to have brought her with him. Selfish. He was thinking only of himself to damn her to this life just to keep himself sane. Renna was choosing his path because she felt she had nothing left to lose, but it wasn’t too late for her. She could never go back to the Brook, but if he could get her to Deliverer’s Hollow, she could see that there were still good folk in the world, folk willing to fight without giving up the very things that made them human.

But the Hollow, even if they took the straightest route possible, was still more than a week’s travel from their keep. He needed to return Renna to civilization immediately, before her new wildness became the only thing she knew.

Riverbridge was less than two days away. From there they could go on to Cricket Run, Angiers, and Farmer’s Stump before reaching the Hollow. Every chance that presented itself, he would force her to interact with people and remain alert through the sun instead of sleeping the mornings away and tracking demon patterns in the afternoon as both of them had taken to doing.

He hated the idea of spending so much time amid people himself, but there was nothing for it. Renna was more important. If people saw his wards and began to talk, so be it.

Euchor had kept his word in letting refugees cross the Dividing, but with all of Rizon’s harvest lost and summer solstice come and gone, it was hard times for all. Riverbridge was swollen on both sides of the river by a growing tent city of refugees outside the walls of the town proper, poorly warded and rife with filth and poverty. Renna crinkled her nose in disgust as they rode through, and he knew the scene was doing nothing to dissuade her rejection of civilization.

The number of guards at the gate had increased as well, and they looked disparagingly at the Painted Man and Renna as they approached. It wasn’t surprising. Covered head-to-toe even in the hot sun, the Painted Man’s appearance never failed to draw attention, and Renna, clad in scandalously revealing rags and covered in fading blackstem stains, did little to reassure them.

But the Painted Man had yet to meet a guard in any city or town who didn’t turn welcoming at the sight of a gold coin, and he had many in his saddlebags. Soon after, they were inside the walls, stabling their mounts outside a bustling inn. It was early evening, and the Bridgefolk were returning home from a day’s toil.

“Don’t like it here,” Renna said, looking around as people passed them in the hundreds. “Half the folk’re starvin’, and the other half look as if they expect us to rob them.”

“Ent nothin’ for it,” the Painted Man said. “I need news, and that can’t be had out in the wilds. Get used to towns for a while.” Renna didn’t look pleased with the answer, but she kept her mouth closed and nodded.

The taproom of the inn was crowded at this time of day, but much of the activity was centered at the bar, and the Painted Man spotted a small empty table in the back. He and Renna sat, and a barmaid came to them after a few moments. She was young and pretty, though her eyes had a sad, tired look to them. Her dress was clean for the most part, but it was worn, and he knew at once from the tone of her skin and the shape of her face that she was Rizonan, probably one of the first of the refugees, lucky enough to find work.

There was a raucous table of men seated next to them. “Ay, Milly, another round here!” one of them cried, and slapped the barmaid’s rump with an audible crack. She jumped and closed her eyes, taking a deep breath before putting on a false smile and half turning to the men. “Sure as day, boys,” she said cheerfully.

Her smile vanished when she turned back to them. “What’ll ya have?”

“Two ales and dinner,” the Painted Man said. “And a room, if there’s one to spare.”

“There is,” the girl said, “but with all the folk passing through town, price is dear.”

The Painted Man nodded, laying a gold coin on the table. The maid’s eyes bulged; she had probably never seen real gold in her life. “That should cover our meal and a night’s drinking. You can keep the change. Now, who should I speak to about that room?”

The girl snatched up the coin instantly, before any of the surrounding patrons could see it. “Talk to Mich, he owns the place,” she said, pointing to a large man with rolled sleeves and a white apron, sweating behind the bar as he tried to keep all the mugs being thrust at him full of ale. As he turned to look, the Painted Man saw her thrust the coin into the front of her dress.

“Thank you,” he said.

The girl nodded. “Have your ales right away, Tender.” She bowed and scurried off.

“Stay here and keep to yourself while I get us a room,” the Painted Man told Renna. “Won’t be long.” She nodded, and he moved off.

There was a tight press at the bar, men looking for a last few ales before retiring behind their wards for the night. He had to wait at the end for the innkeep’s attention, but when the man glanced his way, the Painted Man flashed another of his gold coins, and he came swiftly.

Mich had the look of a once burly man gone fat. Formidable enough to toss an unruly patron, perhaps, but success and middle age seemed to have sapped the strength of his youth.

“A room,” the Painted Man said, handing him the coin. He pulled another from his purse and held it up. “And news of the South, if you have it. Been out Tibbet’s Brook way.”

Mich nodded, but his eyes squinted. “Ent nothin’ passing for news out there,” he agreed, leaning in a bit to try to see under the Painted Man’s hood.

The Painted Man took a step back, and the innkeep immediately backed away, glancing nervously at the coin, afraid it might disappear.

“South’s all anyone talks about these days, Tender,” Mich said. “Ever since the desert rats stole the Hollow’s Herb Gatherer as a bride for their leader, the demon of the desert.”

“Jardir,” the Painted Man growled, clenching his fist. He should have snuck into the Krasian camp and killed him the moment they came out of the desert. He had once thought Jardir a man of honor, but he saw now it was all a façade to mask his lust for power.

“Word is,” Mich went on, “he came there lookin’ to kill the Painted Man, but the Deliverer’s up and disappeared.”

Rage welled up in the Painted Man, burning like bile. If Jardir harmed Leesha in any way, if he so much as touched her, he would kill him and scatter his armies back to the desert.

“You all right, Tender?” Mich asked. The Painted Man flicked him the mangled coin that had been in his clenched fist and turned away without waiting for a room key. He needed to get back to the Hollow with no delay.

Just then he heard Renna shout, and there was a cry of pain.

Renna sucked in her breath as they entered the tavern. She had never seen a place like this, where folk gathered in such a tight, uncomfortable press. The din was overwhelming, and the air was hot and stale, choked with pipe smoke and sweat. She felt her heart pounding, but when she glanced at Arlen, she saw he stood tall, his stride sure, and she remembered who he was. Who they were. She straightened as well, meeting the eyes of those who stared with cool indifference.

There were hoots and catcalls as some of the men caught sight of her, but she glared at them, and most quickly turned their eyes away. As they pushed through the crowd, though, she felt a hand paw at her behind. She whirled, gripping her knife handle tightly, but there was no sign of the offender; it could have been any of a dozen men, all studiously ignoring her. She gritted her teeth and hurried after Arlen, hearing a laugh at her back.

When the man at the table next to them slapped the barmaid’s bottom, Renna felt a rage fly through her like nothing she had ever felt. Arlen pretended not to see, but she knew better. Like her, he was probably fighting the urge to break the man’s arm.

After Arlen left to speak with the innkeeper, the man turned his chair to face her.

“Thought that Tender would never leave,” he said with a wide smile. He was a tall Milnese man, broad-shouldered, with a coarse yellow beard and long golden hair. His companions at the table all turned to look at Renna, pawing at her bare flesh with their eyes.

“Tender?” she asked, confused.

“Yer chaperone in the robes,” the man said. “Figure a girl as pretty as you needs a Holy Man to ’scort her about, ’cause no other man could keep his hands off.” He reached under the table, his large hand wrapping around her bare thigh and squeezing. Renna stiffened, shocked at his boldness.

“Figure you’re woman enough for all three of us,” the man husked. “Bet you’re already dripping for it.” His hand probed higher beneath her skirt.

Renna had had enough. She reached down and gripped his thumb with her left hand while putting the knuckle of her right hard into the pressure point between his thumb and forefinger. The big man’s grip weakened to nothing as he gasped in pain, and a sharusahk twist bent his wrist back and planted his hand firmly on the table.

Where her knife cut it off.

The man’s eyes bulged, and for a moment time seemed frozen as neither he nor his companions reacted. Then suddenly blood began to spurt from the wound, the man started screaming, and his friends all leapt to their feet, knocking back their chairs.

Renna was ready for them. She kicked the screaming man into one of his fellows and leapt onto the table, crouching with her feet set wide and her father’s knife in a downward grip beneath her forearm, hidden from most onlookers, but ready to slash out at any who came near.

“Renna?!” Arlen cried, grabbing her from behind. She kicked and twisted as he pulled her down from the table.

“What’s going on here?” Mich demanded, shoving through the gathering crowd carrying a heavy cudgel.

“The witch cut off my hand!” the blond man cried.

“Lucky I din’t cut off more ’n that!” Renna snarled at him over Arlen’s shoulder. “You had no right to touch me there! I ent promised to you!”

The innkeep whirled on her, but then caught sight of Arlen and his eyes widened. Arlen’s hood had fallen back as he struggled to hold her, revealing his warded flesh to all.

“The Painted Man,” the innkeep whispered, and the name was repeated as it spread through the crowd.

“Deliverer!” someone cried.

“Time to go,” Arlen murmured, grabbing her arm. She kept pace with him as he shoved past those who did not scurry out of his way. He tugged his hood back in place, but there was still a sizable crowd following them from the inn.

Arlen quickened his pace, dragging her to the stables where he flipped the hand another gold coin and headed for Twilight Dancer.

Moments later they burst from the stables and galloped from the town. The guards at the gate shouted after them as the crowd from the inn came running up behind, but dusk was falling, and no one dared follow them into the gloaming.

“Corespawn it, Ren, you can’t just go around cutting people ’s hands off!” Arlen scolded when they stopped for the night in a clearing not far from town.

“Deserved it,” Renna said. “Ent no man gon’ touch me there again, ’cept I want him to.”

Arlen made a face, but he gave no retort.

“Break his thumb next time,” he said at last. “No one ’ll look twice at you for that. After what you did, there ’ll be no going back to Riverbridge for some time.”

“Hated it there anyway,” Renna said. “This,” she spread her arms as if to embrace the night, “this is where we belong.”

But Arlen shook his head. “Deliverer’s Hollow’s where I belong, and with what the innkeep told me before you pulled your crazy stunt, ent got no time to waste gettin’ there.”

Renna shrugged. “So let’s go.”

“How can we, when you’ve just cut us off from the only ripping bridge in Thesa?” Arlen cried. “Dividing’s too deep to ford and too wide for Dancer to swim.”

Renna looked at her feet. “Sorry. Din’t know.”

Arlen sighed. “Done is done, Ren. We’ll figure something out, but you’re going to need to cover up a bit in towns. Fine to bare your wards to the night, but that much flesh will put ideas in the head of any man sees you in the light.”

“Any head but yours, it seems,” Renna muttered.

“All they see is bare legs and cleavage,” Arlen said. “I see the blooddrunk girl who thinks with her knife more than her head.”

Renna’s eyes widened. “Son of the Core!” she shrieked, and launched herself at him, knife leading. Arlen slid to the side effortlessly, grabbing her wrist and twisting the knife from her hand. He put his hand against her elbow and used her own force to throw her onto her back.

She tried to rise, but he fell on her, grabbing her wrists and pinning her. She tried to put her knee hard between his legs, but he was wise to the move, and moments later his knees were pinning her thighs with his full weight. Her magical strength had dissipated with the sun as it did every day, and she could not force him from her. She screamed and thrashed wildly.

“Making my point for me!” he growled. “Stop it!”

“Ent this what you wanted?” Renna cried. “Someone din’t slow you down? Someone who wern’t ’fraid of the night?” She pulled at his grip, but his arms were iron. Their faces were mere inches apart.

“Din’t ‘want’ anything, Ren,” Arlen said, “ ’cept to get you out of a bad situation. Din’t mean to make you…like me.”

Renna ceased struggling. “You din’t make me do anything ’cept look hard at myself. Everything else, I done ’cause I wanted. You leave me tomorrow, I’ll still paint my skin. I ent going back to prison now I’ve had a taste of bein’ free.”

She felt his grip weaken and could have pulled her hands free if she’d wanted to, but there was something in Arlen’s eyes, a flicker of understanding she hadn’t seen before.

“Thought of the night we played kissy in the hayloft a lot when I was a girl,” she said. “Meant that kiss as a promise, and I felt it on my lips years after, while I waited for you to come back. Always thought you would. Din’t kiss no other till Cobie Fisher, and by then it was the only way not to be alone with Da. Cobie was a good man, but I din’t really love him any more than he did me. Barely knew each other.”

“You barely knew me, too, when we were kids,” Arlen said.

She nodded. “Din’t know what promisin’ meant, either, or that what Lainie and Da were doin’ was wrong. Din’t understand a lot of things I do now.”

She felt tears welling in her eyes, and had no choice but to let them fall. “Seen what you are and how you live. Ent got any illusions. But I could still be a wife to you. Want to, you’ll have me.”

He kept looking at her wordlessly, but his eyes said more. He bent even closer. Their noses touched gently, and she felt a shiver go through her.

“Sometimes I can still feel that kiss,” she whispered, closing her eyes and parting her lips. For a moment, she was certain he would kiss her, but then he let go her arms and rolled off. She opened her eyes in surprise to see him get to his feet and turn away.

“Don’t know as much as you think you do, Ren,” he said.

Renna wanted to scream in frustration, but a sadness in his tone softened her. She gasped, coming to her knees. “Creator. You’re married already!” She felt like she couldn’t breathe.

But Arlen looked back at her, and he laughed. Not the polite barks he might give at a jest, or a cruel sound meant to hurt, but a full laugh that shook his body so much he needed to put a hand on Twilight Dancer to steady himself. She felt her lungs ease as the sound denied her fear. Something in her gave way, and she found herself laughing along as he roared at the joke, hugging her sides and kicking her feet. It went on a good while, and the tension between them had vanished when they finally slowed to sporadic giggles, and then fell silent.

Renna got to her feet and put a hand on Arlen’s arm. “If there ’s something I don’t know, then tell me.”

Arlen looked at her and nodded. Again he pulled from her grasp, walking a few feet away, his eyes on the ground.

“Here,” he said after a moment, kicking the dirt. “There’s a path to the Core right here.”

She came over, looking with her warded eyes. Indeed, the glowing mist eddying about their feet was flowing from the spot like smoke from a pipe.

“I can feel it,” Arlen said, “stretching all the way to the Core. It’s calling to me, Ren. Like my mam at suppertime, it’s calling me, and if I wanted to…” He began to fade away, as if he were a ghost…or a coreling.

“No!” Renna shouted, grabbing at him, but her hands passed right through. “You tell it to throw its call down the well!”

Arlen solidified after a moment, and she breathed a sigh of relief, though his eyes were still sad. “The paint ent why I can’t live a normal life, Ren. This is where drawing too much magic leads. I’m more demon than man now, and honest word, each dawn I wonder if today’s the day the sun’s gonna burn me away for good.”

Renna shook her head. “You ent no demon. Demon wouldn’t be worried about Deliverer’s Hollow, or Tibbet’s Brook. Demon wouldn’t care if some girl he knew got cored, or put his life aside for months to try’n help her.”

“Maybe,” Arlen said. “But only a demon’d ask that girl to become one herself.”

“You din’t ask me nothing,” Renna said. “I make my own choices now.”

“Then take time and make it with care,” Arlen said, “ ’cause it ent one you can take back.”