Squirt was an idiot. Absolutely and positively.

  For one, she’d left without Tobias, who would have known where the quartermaster was and thus might have been able to procure her some arrows. She was currently out of pretty much everything, after all.

  Annoyingly.

  And damnit, the lord had promised to pay up so she might as well stock up before he finally ended whatever game he was playing. It was bad enough that she had to go back for her stove and other supplies, she refused to go back again, to risk any more of their attention. She didn’t need their help—she didn’t need a damn protector.

  She did, actually, but that wasn’t the point. The point was that his protection would mean she’d owe him, and she refused.

  Instead, she kept to the shadows of the halls, sneaking around as silently as possible to where the quartermaster would likely be and avoiding as many people as possible. It took almost an hour, but she finally found the quartermaster, a portly middle aged fey, though the muscles under her layers of well-fed fat were as obvious as the sharpness in her onyx black eyes.

  There would be no hiding from this fey.

  Squirt waited until the fey in line got their supplies and left the room before she came out of her hiding spot, trotting over to the quartermaster and bowing lowly. Keeping her voice quiet and respectful but enunciating well enough for the woman to hear her, she said, “His lordship sent me here to restock on some arrows, madame.”

  There was a moment of silence before the gruff woman said, “Aye, you’re the little one with the little arrows.”

  Squirt did her best to ignore the constant stream of “little one” from everyone around her by reminding herself that it was, in fact, true. Instead, she merely pulled out the quiver and held it out, somewhat surprised they had arrows for her sized bow. Normally she had to shorten and re-fletch the regular ones.

  The quartermaster took it and grunted, “How many?”

  Squirt hesitated before saying, “His lordship did not say, only that I was to go hunting for the next five days for feybeasts.”

  The woman turned and moved amongst the shelves behind her. “That a dimensional pouch?”

  Squirt’s hand automatically shifted to a possessive hold over the pouch before she said, “Yes, madame.” Dimensional pouches were common enough, but amongst the poorer fey, they were rare enough to covet. She watched her warily, checking to see if she would be one of those.

  Unperturbed by her suspicious gaze, the quartermaster merely grunted again, grabbing several large bundles of extra small arrows. Only she didn’t immediately return. Instead, she continued amongst the shelves, adding more items to the pile she managed to hold in one arm before she finally turned back and deposited the mound in front of Squirt. She grabbed a board and quill, marking off the items as she went. “Two hundred arrows, rations, a tent, bedroll, a standard medkit, water purification, and a standard cloak. Can this all fit in that there pouch of yours?”

  Squirt took in the pile, measuring it with her eyes. While it was a large amount of stuff, it was definitely sized for her, making it much smaller in size than if it had been for, say, Tobias. Nodding to the quartermaster and somewhat suspicious of the supplies that had to have been specifically sized and made for her, she answered, “Yes, madame.”

  The woman grunted. “Call me Quint. Do you need anything else? Tinder and flint?” At Squirt’s shake of her head, she said, “Show me your weapons.”

  Squirt wanted to refuse on principle, annoyed she couldn’t and was once again trapped by social convention into obeying as she pulled out her blades, setting them on the counter. While the quartermaster looked over them, she started putting the items into her dimensional pouch. The quartermaster finished and grunted out, “You take good care of these.”

  Scowling, Squirt muttered, “Only an idiot wouldn’t.”

  The woman gave her a challenging grin, then abruptly turned and moved to the very back of the room. “I will give you replacements.” She added a few new daggers and blades to the pile Squirt had been slowly putting into her pouch, and while Squirt was annoyed at first, inspecting the blades she was given dampened the annoyance with a bit of awe. They were finely crafted blades, honed and sharpened to perfection, perfectly weighted. Much better than the shoddy blades she’d made do with for the last twenty years.

  Quint turned back amongst the shelves, searching before she came back carrying an oblong package that looked like a toothpick in her large hands. “Sir Hawke mentioned you’d likely be by and asked for me to give this to you.”

  Squirt eyed her warily. “Me, specifically?”

  The woman snorted. “How many other greenling hunters are there?”

  Pursing her lips, she accepted the package, opening it to reveal an almost identical copy to the practice sword she’d been hoping to return. Almost identical, because when she slid it from the sheath to study the enchantments on it, she noticed this one was enchanted with sharpness instead of bluntness. The enchantment itself was bog-standard, though well made. Squirt gave the woman a sharp bow in thanks, unstrapping the practice blade and moving to hand it over.

  She held up a hand. “He said to keep that one, for training.”

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  Just thinking of the exercises of the last month made Squirt want to groan, but instead she silently accepted the new blade, strapping it in place of the old and stashing the other into her pouch.

  “Anything else?”

  Squirt eyed the quartermaster. She needed replacement parts for her traps. Technically, the lord had said to go through him for it, but anything Squirt could do to stay as far away from that wolf as she could, she would.

  Fey that powerful were never truly reasonable.

  Carefully, she said, “I have supplies I may need ordered to make traps.”

  The quartermaster grunted, turning and grabbing a slate and chalk piece. “Write ‘em up.” She paused. “You know how to write, yes?”

  Squirt gave the woman a dry look. “Yes, Quartermaster.”

  She shrugged, unbothered. “This far in the Outskirts, illiteracy is fair high.”

  Fair enough.

  The door opened, so Squirt grabbed the offered board and chalk, darting to a shadowed corner as a couple of the guards came in with the other trainees. “This here is our quartermaster, Mistress Quint. Let her have a look at your gear so we can size you up with replacements.”

  Squirt wrote her order quietly in the corner, thinking through what she’d need, then doubling it just for good measure. She finished just as the bull Zakam sniffed the air and turned to her, his dark eyes locking onto her form. Jul, next to him, noted his attention and followed it to her, scowling as soon as he spotted her.

  Great. And she’d been literally backed into a corner.

  Jul’s lip curled in a sneer as he stalked forward, saying, “You little—”

  The bull stopped him, his nostrils flared as he glared down at the fire fata. “You lost. Do not sully your honor further.”

  Jul snapped, “I’m not sullying anything. I want to know why the fuck she didn’t speak up. She had every opportunity to offer her help. Hell, I went hunting with her, and she never said a damn word.”

  Squirt kept her eyes down in deference to hide her scowl.

  The air grew heavy as a bamboo pole came out from under the counter and Quint whacked both men in the heads with a sharp crack. The woman growled, “No fighting.”

  The guards chuckled, their arms crossed and clearly amused at the dumbfounded looks on the shifter and fata as they stared at the quartermaster. The other trainees were shaking in their boots as they looked between them and the irate woman with a bamboo pole.

  Squirt, meanwhile, relaxed. There. That was a normal fey. This one had rules about her space. She could work with that.

  The pressure lifted and the quartermaster huffed, stalking away and muttering darkly. She returned with a bundle of older, heavily used if well cared for weapons, passing them out.

  Jul raised a brow at his as he took it, pulling it out of its sheath. “A practice blade, really?”

  Another loud whack as the woman smacked him with her staff. “You learn to treat the weapons well, or you will get none from me.”

  The guards were now guffawing and chortling at the expression on Jul’s face.

  He tried again. “I take excellent care—”

  “When did you last oil the handles? Sharpen the edge? When you cut, do you hit or slice? No, until you know how to use it, you get nothing from me.”

  She stepped to a free space on the counter, eyeing Squirt. “You have finished?”

  Squirt hesitated, eyeing the fuming Jul before she obeyed as she must. Like she was afraid of, his eyes snapped to the blade at her hip, and he angrily asked, “Why does she get a live blade?”

  One of the guards let out a low whistle. “Damn. That’s impressive, Squirt.”

  Squirt gave the man a wary look out of the corner of her eye as she handed the quartermaster her list. There was no question, so she gave no response.

  The quartermaster grunted, turning and grabbing one of the blades she had replaced of Squirt’s, holding it out to Jul. “When your blade is as well-kept as this, you will get a live one.”

  Jul rolled his eyes. “It’s well kept because she never used it.”

  That earned him a smack upside the head as the quartermaster growled, “I know the difference, boy.” She pointed to the edge. “This blade is thinner than its sheath is meant for, and the edge is thinner than parchment. She sharpens it frequently. There are no chips, no dents, the blade is not bent or crooked. The handle is well groomed. Here, at the edge of the hilt where most fail to clean, I could eat off. Now,” she all but threw his original blade at him as she sneered, “yours is warped from your heat, the edge is chipped from poor form. It is sharpened, but the handle is frayed, and there is enough detritus by the hilt and in the sheathe to make my stomach turn.” She smacked him again. “And I think it no coincidence that she ran to the corner and hid when you came stomping in.”

  Squirt was just as stunned as the rest of them, and when Jul turned his dumbfounded eyes on her and their eyes briefly met, she merely blushed deeply, dropping her eyes to the countertop, fidgeting and scowling and wishing she could be anywhere else.

  She… she’d never had anyone stick up for her like that before. And she genuinely didn’t know what to do about it.

  The quartermaster wrenched the blade back from Jul and snarled, “Begone, pest. Come back when you are ready to listen and not just speak.”

  Jul’s jaw dropped, but before he could say anything else, the guards grabbed him by his elbows and dragged him and the other trainees from the room, chortling about upsetting the dragon.

  Quint the quartermaster came back over to Squirt, who flinched reflexively, then stared with confused irritation at the woman behind the counter. She was unbothered by Squint’s gaze, simply noting things down on a board and returning to the shelves as she piled a selection into a crate. “I won’t have everything you’ve requested, but I will have enough. The rest will be here when you come back in five days.”

  Squirt’s eyes narrowed immediately. She had mentioned five days of hunting, not that she would be revisiting the quartermaster then. Meaning someone had told her to expect Squirt.

  The woman glanced Squirt’s way and snorted. “Aye, Tobias told me of you. Few haven’t, frankly.” She grunted as she reached to the top shelf, pulling down a crate that she sorted through. “I’ve heard all the rumors about a plucky pixie trainee.” She started a small pile on the countertop and left Squirt to her thoughts before marking the rest down on her board. “Alright. I’ll get the rest of this.”

  Squirt nodded, turning to leave when the quartermaster stopped her.

  “Not that way.”

  Squirt froze, turning slowly to the woman behind the counter, wondering if there was a darker servant’s corridor she was required to use, and if this is where the woman turned on her.

  Quint grunted and jerked her chin. “Go out the back. It’ll lead you straight to the gates. Tell Vhgog I sent ya, and he’ll let you back in this way.”

  That… was not the outcome Squirt had been expecting. Instead, the response slipped out for sheer disbelief. “You… want me to go through the secret back entrance to the castle?” They all had them—bolt holes, they were called, usually heavily warded. It was impossible to use one without the title holder knowing.

  Quint jerked her chin. “Back this way.” Then, the woman glared at the door. “I don’t trust some of these fey. His lordship gave me control over this here entry—I can’t offer better help than that.”

  Incredulous and dumbfounded, Squirt asked simply, “Why?”

  The woman gave her a hard stare. Then shrugged. “I don’t like bullies. I like a woman that can treat a blade well. His lordship sees talent worth cultivating. I need nothing more.”

  Squirt often had to hold her tongue. Rarely was she ever stunned speechless. And yet, here she was, stunned speechless for the second time in a day.