As a boy living in a small village, he had heard many stories delivered by visitors-tinkers mostly. They had been the only ones to enter the Hintindar Valley on a regular basis, and Hadrian suspected that little had changed since he had left. Usually it would be Packer the Red, who could be spotted a mile out by the sound of his rattling wagon and the sight of his flaming hair. When the sun was setting, it looked as if Packer’s head was literally on fire. The tinker sold and traded with practiced skill, but his stories had always been free, which granted him a welcomed place in everyone’s home.
Packer said he had traveled to the far reaches of the known world, from the deep forests near the Nidwalden-which he claimed marked the boundary with the ancient elven kingdom-to the immeasurably high towers of Drumindor, an ancient dwarven fortress that could spew molten stone hundreds of feet through the air. Everyone delighted in his tales, which usually featured Packer on lonely roads in the middle of the night. Most often he spun fantastical stories about encounters with ghosts, goblins, or faeries who attempted to lure him to an untimely death.
When Hadrian was young, one of his favorite tales was about Packer finding himself surrounded by a bunch of goblins. He had described them as little green men with pointed ears, bulbous eyes, and horns. Fastidious little folk who Packer declared wore formal coats and tall hats. They were dapper in the moonlight and spoke with Calian accents. The goblins had wanted to take Packer to their city to wed their queen, but the tinker outsmarted them. He convinced the goblins that a copper pot had magical properties and when worn on the head showed visions of the future. Packer’s grand tale had kept everyone in the village huddled at the hearth, riveted and squealing at every turn, Hadrian included. He had clearly imagined the goblins Packer described and believed every word. That was long before Hadrian had left Hintindar, before he had gone to Calis and seen a real goblin. By that time, Hadrian had already begun to doubt Packer’s worldliness, but he knew just how ridiculous the tinker’s stories had been the moment he entered the jungles and saw his first Ba Ran Ghazel. Packer had never seen a real goblin. If he had, he never would have lived to tell the tale.
Much of Hadrian’s education had been gained kneeling around various hearths in the winter or beneath shady trees in summer, told by people who never traveled more than a few miles from home. No one in Hintindar knew anything about what lay beyond the valley, except Lord Baldwin and his father.
Danbury Blackwater hadn’t been from Hintindar. His father had come to the village only a few years before his son’s birth, but he never spoke of the days of his youth. Presumably because there was nothing to tell. Danbury was a simple man, more concerned with creating a plowshare than adventuring. Hadrian resented his small-minded attitude, and it was just one of the reasons he had left home, anxious to find out more about the world.
Packer may have lied about his goblins, ghosts, faeries, and elves, but his geography was impeccable. The river would indeed end at Amber Falls near Apeladorn’s largest city-Colnora. Beyond that, the river would fracture into a handful of fast-flowing, rough cascades that came from the highlands where Hadrian had spent most of his soldiering years. In all that time, though, Hadrian had never set foot in the city.
He yawned, regretting the hours of lost sleep. His legs were stiff, and just as he stood up to stretch, the hooded man headed toward the cabin door. Hadrian moved quickly and climbed down. He entered the cabin area only to find Mr. Hood simply going to his room.
Hadrian headed for his own door, but his footsteps must have unnerved Vivian, who called out in a wavering voice, “Who is it? Who’s there?”
“Don’t worry, Miss Vivian. It’s just me, Hadrian.”
“Oh, thank Maribor. Can you please wait just a minute?”
Hadrian heard dragging noises, and after some fumbling with the lock, the door opened.
She waved him in, opening the door wider. “I need to give you back your cloak and want to ask you something.”
All the ship’s cabins were the same, except perhaps the one the merchants rented, which Hadrian expected was a double where Eugene probably was forced to sleep on the floor.-Vivian’s room was identical to his with one narrow bed and a trunk beside it that doubled as a table. A lantern hung from the ceiling, and Hadrian bumped it with his head just as he always did in his own room.
After entering, he was surprised that Vivian motioned for him to close the door. She worked at the ties of the cloak, her hands shaking. “Thank you for this,” she said when she finally got it free.
He took it from her and she rubbed her arms.
“You can keep it, if you’re still cold. I don’t mind.”
She shook her head. “No, that won’t be necessary. At least I hope not.”
Hadrian wasn’t sure what she meant.
Vivian licked her lips, then said in a whisper, “I know this will sound unusual, but then again this night can hardly be considered a common situation.” She hesitated, the cabin’s lantern casting a halo of light around her thin frame. “I don’t mind telling you, Mr. Blackwater, that I am very frightened. I fear that if I close my eyes tonight, I shall never open them again.”
“I said I’d protect you. I may seem young, but you can trust me. I’ll be right next door. If anything-”
“That’s precisely the problem. What if he blocks your door and you can’t get out? Or what if you fall asleep and don’t hear him breaking in? How long does it take to slit a throat?”
Her hand went to her neck, then lowered slowly, brushing past her breast. She took a breath, closed her eyes, and said, “I would feel much safer if you spent the night in my room.”
Hadrian raised his eyebrows.
“I can’t begin to tell you how I would appreciate it. These last few days have been the worst of my life. I’ve lost everything. My whole life and I’m certain that man is planning to kill me.” She shivered, drawing closer. “Please, it would mean so much. I’ll make certain you stay very warm tonight.” She took his hand in hers.
Hadrian narrowed his eyes. He was young, not stupid. “All right. I’ll … I’ll sit here next to the door-put my back against it, so even if I fall asleep, there’s no way anyone can get in without my knowing. How’s that?” It wasn’t a serious question. He just wanted to see her reaction.
She didn’t keep him waiting.
No stunned surprise, no frustration at his ignorance or her need to spell things out, no clumsy debate. She merely faced him and began to untie the delicate ribbons of her gown. The lantern caused her shadow to sway in a slow rhythm, side to side, keeping time to the musical creaking of the wooden vessel. Loosing her bodice, she continued to tug at the satin, working free the strained material that pulled away and revealed pale skin. Hadrian finally understood why she was always so cold-all she wore was the dress.
Vivian had stopped shivering. Any chill that the cabin originally held had burned away. Her nimble fingers no longer trembled, and her eyes never left his. “I want to thank you for spending the night with me,” she said in a breathy whisper. “I know it’s a terrible hardship. I only hope I can make your sacrifice worthwhile.”
“I don’t want to ruin the moment, but didn’t your husband just die? Murdered you said.”
“What’s your point?” Her hands were back at work, this time on his sword belt.
“I’m guessing you weren’t the faithful type.”
“The man is dead. I’m alive, and I’d like to stay that way.” She arched her back, rose on her toes, and closed her eyes.