CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

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Wicket

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22nd of Decepter, 935 PC

“Tell him you don’t wanna go to Northcrest! That you wanna be with me… in Locke!” snapped Lilly. The fork clinked off the metal plate in front of her.

Wicket rubbed the stubble on his neck. “It ain’t that easy, Lil. He needs this done well, by someone he trusts. Lords, I reckon everyone needs me to do this well.”

“More like he doesn’t care if ya get killed.” Lilly stared at him. “James, the Deep Frost is impenetrable. The five of ya’s will be dead before you ever step foot in that glacier.”

That’s probably true, but ya ain’t gotta say it out loud. “He’s sendin’ the Patterson boys with us. The artist and the warrior. They will get us through the Eastern Wall and into the glacier without any hiccups.”

“No.”

“No, what?” asked Wicket.

“No. As in, no, you’re not going anywhere without me. Who is supposed to keep you out of trouble?”

Wicket smiled. He couldn’t help but smile. He’d never felt so important to anyone before. There was Cora, but unconditional love always felt a little less special to him. Important in it’s own right, but not the same as earning someone's love.

“You know Yormir. He’s like you, he can smell trouble coming-”

“Don’t you dare compare me to that crude loud-mouth! Incredible intuition is not at all the same as sticking your nose in the air and sniffing like a hound!”

Yormir Huff was a Perceptionist capable of picking up a scent from a remarkable range. Wicket had once watched the man track a fox through the woods and shoot it with his crossbow. Blindfolded. And Drunk. He could not deny Yormir’s magical ability to track, but they had argued for hours about whether or not the shot was lucky.

Wicket reached across the table and placed his hand over Lilly’s. “I’m sorry, you’re right. You’re an angel, he’s a mutt.”

Lilly let her shoulders droop. They matched the curl of her lips.

“Come on Pattick, it ain’t more than a moon and we’ll be right back here together. Then we can go off wherever we want.”

Lilly stood from her chair, handkerchief in hand, and walked toward a dresser on the other side of the room. “It’s not how long you’ll be gone, I'm worried about James. It’s that you’ll never come back. I’ve seen Northcrest. More than a time or two. It’s not a friendly place. Especially for Purists.”

She’s right. But what am I supposed to do? “Somebody’s gotta go there. Don’t make much sense doin’ all the other parts if we don’t got the two people that can actually end this whole thing.”

She wiped hands on her handkerchief as she said, “I don’t understand why we need these alchemists so badly.”

“Cause, Lil. When y’all get back with the formula they’ll be able to better create the cure for lotus magic. Sampson wants to offer a way out. Not just kill the Lotus Queen and expect her followers to wander off. Iris leads ‘em now but somebody will take over when she's dead if ain’t on good terms.” When she’s dead. When I’ve helped kill my first love. When the mother of my daughter is dead. Without ever hearing Cora say a word. Seeing her walk. Three hells, life’ll put ya in tough spots won’t it?

Lilly opened the drawer and dug around in the bottom, beneath the few clothes she had not packed for her trip to Locke. “I know,” she said, her voice calmer. “But why you? Why do you have to go there? Why not Tripelthin or that new fella, Shade. He seems well equipped for sneaking into something like the Deep Frost.”

“Him and his sister are insep-” He stopped, realizing too late that making the claim that the siblings were inseparable was not a good idea. Lilly glared at him. Her eyes said plenty. Ain’t exactly the wordsmith today am I? He tried to explain. “Alaric keeps Trip on by his side. And he knows me better than Shade. I reckon he thinks I’ll deal with being pissed off at him better than a lass like Narah. She ain’t one to make sudden changes.”

“I’m not either,” said Lilly harshly then looked into the drawer. Whatever she was looking for still evaded her grasp.

“It’s too late, Lilly. I have to go to Northcrest. ‘Sides, I wanna see the gambling halls.”

Lilly’s eyes shot toward him again. Am I trying to get myself killed?

“You stay outta those sinful places. They don’t take kindly to men like you.”

“What do ya mean by that?”

“You know what I mean. The kind of men that lose and don’t pay up. They’ll have your head on a spike in front of the place before midnight.”

Wicket shrugged. “Then I’ll show up after midnight.” Lilly wasn’t interested in his humor.

At last, she pulled something from the drawer. “Here. Take this.” In her hand was the smallest clay container Wicket had ever seen. No wider than an oversized pebble and only a few eyelashes taller.

“What’s that?”

Lilly tossed the container through the air to him, he caught it smoothly.

“When you don’t know what in the three hells you’re doing, pop the top off of that there and wet your finger. Put it on your tongue and give it a second. It’ll help ya make a good choice. A logical one. Not the kind of stupidity Yormir’s gonna have you trying.”

He thought about King’s soquet. Good luck and good choices. What else could I need for a suicide mission?

There was a soft knock at the door. Lilly closed the drawer and made her way across the creaky floorboards. Wicket dropped the clay container in his cloak pocket.

“Well, hello Cora!” said Lilly happily, hiding any annoyance she had for the situation with Wicket.

“Hi, Lilwee. Iz muh da here?” asked Cora.

“Right over here little one,” Wicket called, recognizing his daughter’s voice, though suspicious of why she was speaking strangely.

Cora’s chubby cheeks were especially round and plump as she turned the corner, even for having a smile on her face. Then he noticed the chomping she was doing on whatever was in her mouth.

“Whatcha eatin’ my little pendoi doll?” asked Wicket. The girl smiled at the reference to the infamous toys known for their beauty, made in the southern realm of Morne. He had promised her he’d bring her one back from Locke. He hadn’t yet broken the bad news to her that he was no longer going to be able to. He didn’t figure he would tell her until he returned. If he returned.

Cora spoke with her mouth full. “Yormee gamey sum purk.” She swallowed. “Pork,” she said through her giggling. “Yormir gave me some pork. And look!” She pulled a small round thing wrapped in wax paper from her pocket. “Mr. Sampson gave me a piece of his hard candy.”

“Ain’t that sweet of him,” said Wicket.

“Aye!” She turned to Lilly. “He says it’s time for you to go now.”

Lilly glanced at Wicket. To this point, the two adults were just friends in Cora’s eyes. And truthfully, in Wicket’s eyes as well. But Lilly’s demeanor, not to mention the adamant stance she had taken against going separate ways, told him that she wanted to kiss him goodbye as more than friends. To his surprise, he wanted to too. Am I really fallin’ for this gal? Or am I just worried I ain’t never gonna have a beautiful woman laying beside me again?

The child broke the silent gaze the adults were sharing. “And Yormir wants to see you at the bar.” She tugged on her father’s hand, trying to pull him toward the door.

“Ay Cora, why don’t ya gimme just a minute to say bye to Lilly.”

“Alright,” said Cora. She held Wicket’s hand firmly, smiling at Lilly.

Wicket crouched in front of his daughter. “I need ya to go tell Mr. Sampson and Yormir we’ll be right down.” Cora nodded her head unenthusiastically then walked away.

The sounds of the pub below softened as Cora closed the door behind her. A moment later Wicket was turning to Lilly, wrapping his arms around her tight. His lips pressed against her, withdrew, looked deep into her soft green eyes, pressed their lips together again.

They withdrew. “I-” Kissed again. Separation. “Am going to-” Lips locked. He held the small of her back and dipped her no more than a gentle wind dips a flower. “Miss you.” They kissed again until Wicket felt it was right to stop, then held Lilly’s face with both hands, cupping her jaw and neck gently. “I’m comin’ home from Northcrest. Don’t worry.”

Lilly’s eyes glistened as if glazed over with joy. “You better,” she whispered.

*~~~**~~~*

Lilly left for Locke with Alaric and his team less than fifteen minutes later. He had watched her disappear into the horizon before searching the pub for Cora. She was playing a card game called Smirks and Daggers with Orin while he rested before his night shift. Her head barely peeked over the table from her seat in the booth. And what was visible was blocked by the cards she held in front of her face.

“Evenin’ Wick,” said Orin.

Cora flattened her cards , face up, on the table at the sound of her father’s name. “Sorry Mr. Rockfall. I want to talk to my father.”

“Course.”

Cora wrapped her tiny hand around one of Wicket’s fingers and pulled him toward the staircase. The regulars Wicket knew so well smiled and laughed as the determined little girl led him through the thin crowd and into a side room where Orin often took his breaks. Half the room was storage where he kept barrels of ale and extra mugs, among other things, the other had was arranged like a small living space in a home.

The door closed out the soft hum of the pub. Instantly, streaks of tears ran down Cora’s chubby cheeks. News of her father leaving was not a surprise. It was what he did. She knew that but she still cried every time. And every time it chipped away at him until he was almost as sad as the young girl. But what else should a girl with seven years to her name do when her father is set to leave her for so long? There was something different about Cora’s crying this time though. There was a deep sadness in her body language, a look in her tear-filled eyes that said more than I’m going to miss you. Each tear that fell from her little chin felt like an anvil being dropped through the floor, tied to it, Wicket’s heart. She knows. Somehow she knows how dangerous this trip is. He slid his hands under her arms and lifted her, carried her to a wobbly chair that sat beside a barrel being used as a table and sat her on his lap.

Wicket was not a good father in many ways. He seldom knew where Cora was, and in a seedy inn like the Black Boar that was an even bigger problem than usual. As much as he denied it. He often forgot to make sure the girl was fed, and seldom remembered to buy her new clothes as she grew. He missed tucking her in at night far more than he ever told her bedtime stories and quite frequently, he simply forgot about the girl altogether. He was irresponsible to say the least. But there was one thing he could do well; cheer Cora up when she was sad.

“Sweetie.”

Cora rested the side of her head against his chest. She rubbed the tears from her eyes with her pudgy little fingers then wrapped her arm as far around him as she could.

“Cora, sweetie. It ain’t that long. I’ll be back-” He stopped when he felt her shaking her head against him. “What’s wrong? Ya don’t think I’ll be back?” Do people really have this little faith in me?

Finally, she pulled her head from his chest and looked at him. More tears had accumulated in the corners of her eyes. “I-I-I heard-” Her body shook as she struggled with the words.

He wiped the tears from her cheek with his dirty thumb and tried to smile. “Calm down, little one.”

“I-I heard them talking,” she said.

“Who?”

“Yormir and Orin. And the big strong one. With the blonde brother.” The Pattersons. Lace.

“Aye, so what,” he said.

“They don’t think they’re coming back. Said it’s too-” She searched for the word she had heard.

Wicket thought about how to handle the situation. If I don’t come back she’s gonna have to learn all the hard stuff without me. Might as well leave her with at least one piece of advice. Real advice. “Cora.”

She sniffled and looked at him.

“You wanna be a great hero someday, right? Like your daddy.”

She nodded.

“I’m gonna tell you a secret then. That all heroes share.” This changed her mood slightly. A little less sobbing. A little more focus. “Do ya promise not to tell?” She nodded, still trying to hide her interest beneath her sadness. “We all be scared. Real scared. Every time we leave home. I reckon it’s smarter to be scared than too sure you’re gonna survive.”

“Really?”

“Aye.”

“Even Garth?” she asked.

“Even Garth.” That probably ain’t true. Cora’s eyes lit up in shock. “But you can’t tell him I said that. Promise?”

“Promise.”

He lowered his face so she could seal their promise with a kiss on his cheek. She wrinkled her nose when the stubble on his cheek scratched at her lips.

“But why daddy?” she asked. “Why would any of you be scared? You’re magical.”

“Because we don’t have no business comin’ home. Not with the things we gotta do. They be too dangerous. Scary. Hard. Impossible. Do you know what impossible means?”

She shook her head.

“It means you can’t do it. You will fail. Even if ya try your hardest,” he said.

The reality of what he was saying made its way into her youthful mind. A deeper look of concern emerged. “Then don’t go. Not if you can’t do it.”

“I have to.”

“Why?” She sounded defiant. Like typical Cora.

“Because I’m the one Mr. Sampson asks to do impossible things. The things no one else could come back from. And guess what.” He paused, waited for her to understand.

Eventually, she wiped the last tears from her eyes and smiled. “You always come back.”

He nodded his head. “I always come back,” he whispered. It felt as though if he said it any louder the creator would hear him. Punish him for his bravado.

Her smile grew. “I knew they were wrong. Just didn’t want to tell them.”

He hugged her, looked at her. “Remember this. Always… alright?

She nodded, her innocent little eyes locked tight on his. Soaking in every word that left his lips.

“When ya act without thinkin, ya end up never thinkin’ again. My ma taught me that, long time ago. Understand?”

“I think so.”

“Good. Now, look here. I have something for ya.” He sat her on the floor and reached into his cloak pocket. In his hand was a small rectangular box, no longer than two inches and the height of a single knuckle. There was a small fastener on one of the long sides, copper hinges on the other. “I’m gonna give this to ya, but ya can’t open it and ya can’t tell nobody ya got it. Alright?”

Cora’s eyes were looking at the box so intently he wasn’t sure she had heard him. He put his dirty, dry finger under her chin and lifted her eyes to his. “Ya hear me?” No one. And ya can’t open it because I don’t want ya losin’ it.”

“Right. No one. But what is it?” she asked.

“Somethin I don’t want nobody takin’ from me while I’m off playing the hero.” She went to open her mouth again but he covered it with his finger.