After a brief hiatus she had assumed was born of the stress and discomfort of sleeping outdoors, Rowena’s dreams had returned. Tonight’s, however, was not a good one: rather than her beatific mother or joyful Tommie, she saw her father, Tomas.

She’d made her best efforts not to think about him (and to a lesser extent, Calla) since they’d set out on this journey, but that had proven more challenging than she’d thought. Rowena, as a general rule, despised extremes, despised complication, and her feelings about her father were nothing if not that. As a young child, she’d been mostly attached to her mother. Her father had probably been a pretty good father, she thought, but her attraction to the role of Merchant and the appeal of her mother’s direct, business-like manner appealed to her nature more.

By the time her mother was pregnant with Tommie, Rowena had been her constant companion and helper. Her parents had laughed together at their serious daughter, already bustling about and managing the household while her mother lay in bedrest. But what started as an earnest and fun responsibility had quite suddenly and quickly become an overwhelming burden.

Her mother’s labor had gone wrong– so wrong; Rowena could still remember the screams and the blood and her father’s shouting. At the end of that night of pain, she didn’t recognize her parents anymore: her mother’s face had been ashen and lifeless in the brief second before the midwife had covered it with the sheet, her father’s face had been buried in his hands and his strong body wracked and broken by sobs. Rowena still remembered the rough feeling of the wood of the doorframe she’d been clutching, the splinter she’d gotten in her little finger.

She’d cried out in pain, holding the hurt finger, but no one had come. She’d looked around at the scene, at the midwife holding and cooing at the screaming baby, trying to get him to calm down so that she could fetch the doctor to begin the preparations on Rowena’s dead mother’s body.

Rowena had looked at the little splinter and then behind her at Calla, who was cowering underneath the table they usually ate at together as a family. She stopped screaming, steeled herself, and carefully pulled the splinter out herself.

Then, she’d walked up to the midwife and held her arms out for her brother. She vaguely remembered the doubtful look on the woman’s face but had said in her most grown up and responsible voice, “Please give my brother to me. I’ll hold him until my father is ready.”

Relief had washed over the woman’s face as she’d carefully put the baby in Rowena’s arms and left to get the doctor.

And that had been that. She’d promised she’d hold Tommie until her father was ready, and that was what she’d done. That her father would take the better part of six months to be “ready” wasn’t something she’d been prepared for, but she supposed no one was really ready for the the thing that would make them grow up.

Terrified that they’d (though who ‘they’ was, little Rowena couldn’t have said… there was just this inexplicable, looming ‘they’ of the authorities, the townspeople, or anyone who wanted to split up her family) take Tommie away, Rowena had enlisted Calla in a strict and elaborate playact. Rowena would take Tommie to Artemesia to be nursed, or would get goat’s milk from the market along with their groceries. Calla would keep the house as clean as a ten-year-old could be expected to and made simple meals. The story was that their father was busy with accounts and the shop, which was why the townspeople never saw him— that it was Rowena’s serious little blonde head was the one they saw when they entered the shop, they never openly acknowledged. Tomas himself mostly kept out of their way, staying in the back room, where he’d set up a cot and somehow always had a supply of wineskins and other bottles.

When it had all gone on so long that little Rowena thought she might shatter at the lightest touch, her father had finally opened the door to the back room. She’d been skittish at first, like a nervous foal, worried that this was a temporary reprieve before the crushing weight of responsibility would return.

But it hadn’t. Tomas had re-entered the family sphere. What could his daughters do but be grateful, and learn to accept and love their father again?

It hadn’t been Tommie’s death that had brought back all of the old feelings and resentments. No. It was her father’s cowardly return to that room. The room where he got to feel safe and isolated from all of the troubles of the world, troubles that then fell upon Rowena to manage and fix.

That was why his appearance in her dreams was so unwelcome, and she tossed and turned for hours after they’d finally drifted off.

In this particular dream, Rowena was tallying up accounts at the shop, preparing the ledger for the monthly reckoning. But the numbers wouldn’t add up– and worse than that, they wouldn’t stay still. They were gibberish and running up and down the pages like they’d only just been written in the freshest ink, splilling over and over each other as she frantically tried to remember what they’d been before this mess.

Leo’s voice called out in her mind– “Maybe yer not meant to be a Merchant”-- and she scowled, but her frustration turned to fear as she realized the doorknob to the backroom was rattling. Her father was back there as he was always back there, and he was going to come out and see that she’d messed everything up.

Her father began pounding and pounding on the door and the knob rattled harder and harder with every passing second.

Rowena’s eyes snapped open and she sat up in bed with a shout, sweat pouring off her. With a start, she looked over and saw a figure standing over Kieran, hands wrapped around his throat. Kieran was making a horrifying but quiet choking sound and pushing back against the figure, but his movements were erratic and ineffective.

Father? Rowena thought for a second with bile and rage in her belly, but in a flash reality coalesced and she realized that that had just been a dream. In reality, someone was attacking Kieran, and she had to do something.

Calm Person! Calm Person! she focused all of her energy on the Ability, but her thoughts were wild and scattered and she couldn’t quite reach the calm space where the center of her Abilities lay. Kieran let out a little cry.

Rowena looked around frantically in the very dim light eeking in from the moon outside and her eye caught her truncheon by the side of her bed where she’d left it earlier that night. Clumsily, she stood up as she grabbed it, stumbling forward with a yell as she awkwardly slammed it toward the figure’s head.

She mostly missed, the truncheon glancing off the top of his head but knocking back the hood. It was the sickly man from downstairs– she’d known he was a bad sort to get mixed up with!-- but barely had time to register that before he snarled and turned, rage in his thin face.

That split second of distraction was all Kieran needed. He gasped, taking in precious air, and then grabbed the sickly man’s two hands with his and yelled in a hoarse voice, “Again!”

Rowena’s hands had gone shaky and weak. She was no Warrior! But she took a deep breath and tried to recall the anger she’d felt after her bad dream– the rage and frustration that she knew always lurked deep down inside of her, no matter her calm and placid exterior.

She clenched both hands around the end of the truncheon and this time, her aim was true (finally, she thought wildly, my Proficiency has decided to kick in!). A sickening crack rang out and the man stumbled and stopped fighting so wildly against Kieran’s grasp, but after a few moments he blinked and renewed his efforts.

“Again, Rowena!” Kieran shouted fearfully, and, concerned that she was going to freeze up, continued shouting. “HELP! SOMEONE, HELP US!”

Rowena gritted her teeth and raised the truncheon high a third time. She hesitated for only a moment before bringing it down with all of the force she could muster, this time hitting the man right on the ridge over his eye. She thought she saw his pupil shrink and blood begin to pool in and around the eye just as the door to their room swung open and with a sudden soundless boom of energy, the man simply… disappeared.

Rowena dropped back onto the foot of Kieran’s bed, panting with the sudden intense expenditure of physical and emotional effort.

“Breathe slowly,” a voice commanded. Thea!

“You’re alright,” Finnegan’s voice joined hers, coming into the room and sitting down next to Kieran.

“Well, we don’t know that yet,” Thea said archly, and came over to Rowena, kneeling in front of her. “Are you alright?”

Rowena nodded, trying to slow her breathing. She saw Finnegan try to put his hands on Kieran’s neck, who flinched away.

“Don’t worry, lad. I’m not going to hurt you. Let me Heal you,” he said gently, using a voice Rowena thought he probably usually used on his son, Colin.

Kieran sat up in the bed, hugging his legs to his chest. He gripped at his chest, and nodded.

“Okay,” he croaked, and Finnegan reached out and gently touched Kieran’s neck and focused.

Two concerned faces appeared in the doorway: Mattie and Sorel. Of course– they had to have heard all of the ruckus. Rowena vaguely heard Thea explaining the situation to them in rapid, low tones, but couldn’t quite make out any of the details. She kept reliving the shocking scene over and over in her head.

After a few moments, she realized that Thea was saying something to her. Rowena blinked and shook her head to clear it of the sound of the crack the man’s skull had made when she’d struck it. “What?”

“Let go,” Thea said firmly, her hands tugging at the truncheon. “You need to let go.”

Rowena felt tears welling up in her at the words, and let Thea take the truncheon from her. Her grip had been fierce and tight, but now any strength remaining left her, and she felt weak and shaky. “Where… where did he go?” she managed to ask.

Thea shrugged. “I Banished him from the Inn. Him and his companions,” she added, seeing Kieran open his mouth to protest. “You shouldn’t do any speaking until my husband is finished with you.”

“Banished?” Rowena asked weakly.

Mattie had squeezed her way into the small room– Rowena wondered nonsensically if the room had ever had so many occupants– and sat at Rowena’s side, eyes wide and scared. Sorel stayed in the doorway looking angry and a little helpless, her hazel eyes flashing.

Thea pursed her lips but put a comforting hand on Rowena’s shoulder. “It’s one of the Abilities affiliated with the Intake Guest Ability. I can instantly Banish any registered guest from Inn property. I don’t often need to use it, so I’m not exactly sure how far they go.”

Rowena nodded, suddenly overwhelmed with exhaustion.

“Some guests you entertain here,” Kieran said bitterly as Finnegan leaned back. His voice sounded back to normal, but he still looked wary.

“I don’t think I’ve seen anyone so upset about losing a dice game,” Finnegan said, trying to make light of it.

“He was trying to rob me,” Kieran snapped, and Rowena realized that the thing he was clutching was Leo’s necklace.

Rowena wasn’t sure if she was glad he’d been wearing it to sleep or not. If it had simply been in his pack, the thief might have managed to steal it without waking them, and no one would have gotten hurt. She didn’t exactly feel bad about hurting a thief, but, well… the sound of the crack rang through her mind again and she retched.

“Do you need Healing, as well?” Finnegan asked, looking at her with concern.

Rowena shook her head. “Can you tell us more about them now? I thought you could only come to the Inn if you already knew it.”

“Well, no, or else you wouldn’t have found us,” Finnegan said carefully.

Thea frowned. “Guests can either return to The Wandering Vine if they’ve been here before, or if they have overwhelming need of us. The man you– the man who attacked Kieran, you may have noticed, was rather unwell. He and his companions found their way here after the man suffered a terrible stab wound that needed magical Healer attention.”

Finnegan clarified, “As a Healer, I’m sworn to attend to the needs of any and all who suffer. No matter their creed or background.”

“Even if they’re no good, violent robbers?” Kieran said incredulously. “That seems like a flawed system.”

Thea’s eyes narrowed. “Obviously, we were not aware of that specific aspect of their personages. The man who attacked was a Merchant and a Smuggler.”

“How respectable,” Sorel muttered.

“Lest you forget, you yourselves are traveling with a ROGUE,” Thea said testily.

Finnegan interrupted, “The point is that, well… it takes all kinds. People choose or develop Subclasses for all kinds of reasons. We try not to judge based solely on Class or Subclass. Obviously, we misjudged these particular individuals.”

“They’re gone now,” Thea said, and sighed. “I can’t tell you how sorry I am that this happened to you here.”

“Did I–” Rowena started, and then swallowed. Mattie rested a hand on her back. “Did I kill him?”

Thea shook her head and shrugged. “He wasn’t dead when he left, or the Banishment wouldn’t have worked. Whether he’ll survive is a better question for Finnegan.”

“Probably not. You’re not all that strong, my dear,” Finnegan said reassuringly, but hesitated. “Still, head wounds are challenging. Sometimes, if you hit someone in the right place–”

Rowena heard the crack again, and felt sick. “I picked truncheon because I thought it would be less harmful than… than a knife, or something.”

Thea looked Rowena directly in the eyes. Rowena’s instinct was to look away– she still didn’t quite trust that Kieran’s enchantment on their eyes was working– but something in Thea’s expression held her gaze. “Rowena: if you’re going to carry a weapon at all, if you think someone is trying to hurt you– you need to aim to kill. Trust me on this.”

This wasn’t something Rowena particularly liked hearing, but she nodded her head anyway.

“I thought they weren’t supposed to be able to enter,” Sorel said suddenly, eyeing the doorframe as though it was potentially in cahoots with the thieves.

Thea and Finnegan exchanged a troublesome glance. “That’s definitely something we need to look into,” Thea finally said. “But you’ll be safe here tonight.”

Sorel looked wary, as though she personally didn’t plan on sleeping again that night. Rowena would have thought she’d feel the same way, but suddenly felt like she could hardly keep her eyes open.

“We’ll go,” Finnegan said softly. “But please don’t fear– Thea and I will protect you the rest of the night.”

Rowena looked around at her friends and nodded. “Let’s try to rest. We have a long day tomorrow.”