Elina

A headhunter was someone who'd try to intercept a witch hunter on his way back and steal the head. If the client refused to pay the headhunter, then the headhunter could just claim the original witch hunter died in battle. Or some other excuse.

At first I thought Syrus and his wife might be headhunters. But I might be wrong. Because he had the drop on me. He could've killed me. But he didn't.

Either way, I should be careful with what I tell him.

Syrus and I stood under the porch roof of the abandoned trading outpost. Maybe before the Eisen King lowered the import tariffs, the owner of this place used to sit on this porch, in a rocking chair, watching the world pass by, greeting any merchant who wanted to trade. He'd exchange news and gossip. Hear the latest stories from Merkelborough. Share a drink. Watch the travelers go on their way.

It sounded like a solitary life. Unless he had a wife. But where do you find a woman who'd be willing to stay on this island under an ocean of stars? Maybe there is someone like that out there. A woman like Julia Abernathy. Someone who is perfect for an odd lifestyle.

Syrus said, "So, explain yourself."

He words sounded demanding, rude. But the way he said it was calm and even. Like he was just asking a simple question.

I told him that my client asked me to find a specific witch and to bring her in alive. I told him that this was an odd request, and then lied that the payment was paltry, but I accepted it anyway because the client was an old friend. I said that when we meet others, Elina and I pretended to be husband and wife. To make things easier.

Syrus raised an eyebrow. "And she corporates?"

I said, "For now, yes. But it isn't easy."

It isn't easy on my wallet. But I didn't say that.

"How did you capture her alive?"

"Knocked her on the head. Then put the gransia handcuffs on her."

"How did you get gransia handcuffs? No many witch hunters use those."

"I know a guy in Merkelborough. Specializes in smelting and smithing gransia."

A pause. A moment of thought. Then he asked, "Who is your client?"

The most important question. If he knew who the client was, then he knew who'd pay me. Then he could kill me.

I asked, "Any news from Merkelborough? I've been away for almost a month."

I looked at him. He looked at me. My message was simple: time for me to ask the questions.

It looked like he understood. Because he starting talking.

"Why?"

"Because there's been a surge in contracts."

"Why is there a surge?"

He shrugged. "I choose not to question money when I get it."

"That's a good way to live."

"It is." A pause. Then he said, "But there is something."

"What?"

"My wife, Julia, heard something from her contacts inside the Church of Deliverance."

I thought of the green eyed bastard and his friend. The armored horses. The insignia of the Church. Something strange was going on. Someone in the Church was making waves.

"What is it?" I asked.

"I don't know. She didn't tell me much. She just said the Church is making changes, making plans. I didn't ask her for details."

"She's your wife. Why didn't you ask her for details?"

"Because when you're married, you learn when to stop asking questions."

"??…?"

He said, "But if you really want to know, I could ask Julia."

The door opened in a flash. Someone stepped out of the hut. It was Julia.

She said, "Syrus, we're leaving. Now."

He said, "Wait, there is — "

"We're leaving. Now!"

I suppose marriage also teaches you when to shut up, because that's precisely what Syrus did.

He dutifully untied the horse and cart, and they rode off into the rain.

I turned and looked through the open door, into the hut, at the two smiling eyes glowing in the dark.