Her senses were assaulted the moment she opened the door. Aurelie’s eyes poured water to soften the brightness. Her lungs filled with the warm air that thinned the congestion, heaviness, and mustiness inside. Her nose was bludgeoned with the smells of the world, with the honey-sweet perfumes of flowers, with the musk of the foliage rotted into compost nearby, with the pollen, like salt, filling her. She breathed it in.

  Once her eyes adjusted, Aurelie found a place to sit on the porch. The heat of the day shifted in the breeze, never quite cool but never quite hot. She let the golden pelt slip from her shoulder, letting the breeze cool her through the stitches of her dress, but kept it draped over her arms. Without it, she doubted she could be outside the door. The pelt was the armor covering her. It was a comfort she didn’t know of until she pulled it from the stack of folded blankets and quilts.

  She had unfolded it and ran her hands along the golden furs that morning, soft yet coarse, like those of a horse, but thick and cushioned at one end. What beast did Draka pull this from? A beast large enough to cover her head and still drag on the floor. And the skin to it, though worked to be nearly as soft as the fur, was still thick. Tough. That was what made her decide to open the door. With this wrapped around her, she was protected.

  It wasn’t until she was sitting on the porch and tucked her nose into the pelt for no reason in particular, that she finally smelled what her subconscious already knew. The pelt was a perfect mix of Maud and Draka, as if the fur and skin had been seasoned with their scents. They both, at separate times, had slept while wrapped in it. She took it in with a deep breath, filling her lungs with their combined scents, one obviously older than the other.

  The wind blew through the tall wheat field in front of her and tossed hanging garlic to thump on the open doorway behind her. The green weeds that had grown taller than the wheat stalks were eyesores, but the thickness of the field made her smile. The wind made waves across the field with clicks and brushes through it.

  She didn’t lift her nose from the pelt. Her entire family, even with her alone on the porch, were there with her. Balor and Alden were in those rolling waves through the field like ripples in a pond, Maud in the pelt wrapped around her, filling her with each breath, and Draka, there, hidden in the mix.

  She was smiling. She kept the golden pelt over her nose and mouth, her eyes on the waves through the wheat. She had a wide, toothy smile spread across her face, hidden away, for just her to enjoy. How, she wondered, did Draka end up being in her mind beside her husband and children as if he had always been there?

  She didn’t think much further into it. It may not be completely obvious to them, but he and Maud are a perfect match. Just as Balor had wanted all along. In his absence, Draka had taken care of her. In some ways, better than Balor ever could. Not like Balor would have asked Pierre to teach her how to read. That wasn’t what a farmer would do with his daughter. He would have preferred she be prepared to be a farmer’s wife.

  Most farmers wouldn’t like a woman who knows more than them, from Aurelie’s experience, especially one that can read and write. Everything she says would be taken as condescending. But Draka was no farmer and Maud was as far from being a farmer’s wife as a fox was from a rabbit. She didn’t see it, but Balor did, and Draka must also have recognized it since he’s only encouraging it further.

  Then again, soldiers are often farmers with shields and spears in that respect. They, too, prefer to be smarter than their women. Like farmers, they want warm meals, warm beds, and children to bounce on their knees between shifts, between campaigns. A woman who can read and write would be taken the same way; condescending, boisterous, threatening.

  So why was Draka, a soldier, having her daughter learn these things? He is a prince, perhaps that’s the reason; it would be below him to marry an illiterate wife. If only she had seen them together more often, especially since Balor and Alden died, she would have a better idea of what he was doing with her little girl. Alright, grown woman who should already be on her second child with a husband, but she’ll always be her little girl. It is still hard, harder even than before, to see Maud as anything other than a twig twirling and shouting her way through a forest at imaginary foes. Come to think of it, no wonder Draka is having her learn to read. The poor thing would be miserable with a normal village marriage.

  “Aurelie?” Gerard appeared on the road from the lake. “It’s good to see you.” His hands were behind his back as he approached her. He looked happier to see her than his words could ever say.

  Aurelie was squinting against the sunlight after she turned to him. She folded the pelt down so that he could see her polite grin. “Still here? I thought you’d be off to battle with your fearless Prince by now.”

  “Eh, he thinks he can handle them without me. I’m sure he’ll come crawling back to have me join in no time,” Gerard chuckled as he stepped onto the porch.

  “Who would’ve thought a shoemaker would become such a good soldier?” She cocked her head at him, leaning into his shadow to keep from looking directly into the sun.

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  “I’ve always been good at what I do,” he winked.

  Aurelie rolled her eyes away from him at that. She did smile at the implications.

  He sat on the floor beside her and looked out over the wheat field. A brush of wind and his sweaty musk tickled her. There was a time, long before he had gotten such a thick neck, thick and gray beard, before he had the lines on his forehead and around his eyes, that she would have crawled into his arms for comfort. For a taste of those lips. For his hands to be on her.

  Her smile faded.

  “I saw you come out from the tower,” he pointed with a hand that was sucked into brushing through his thick salt-and-pepper hair nervously.

  She had been so fixated on the field of wheat that Balor had planted that she didn’t see the walls of the fortress rising beyond it. If she squinted, she could see the figures pacing across it, covered by slanted roofs that looked like cushions filled with needles.

  “The birds must be vicious that high up. Were you invading Talkro or the clouds?”

  “Neither,” Gerard narrowed his eyes at her in amusement, “Standard Monastic fortress. Those roof spikes aren’t for birds.”

  “What are they for, then?”

  He turned from her, back to the wheat field, and squished one side of his face with a wince, “Preventive measures.”

  Aurelie knew what it was for. Demons. Lilith. She pulled her hand from touching the scar on her neck. Her throat felt dryer than it should.

  Gerard turned back to her with a heartfelt grin. “I’m glad you came out. I’ve been worried about you.”

  “I no mean to worry you,” Aurelie met his gaze warmly. She looked away to take in everything around them. “I didn’t expect all that.”

  “The fortress is the least of it, trust you me,” Gerard moved his hand through the air as if rubbing it across the horizon. “The village is completely changed, now, too. The farms are gone. Well, except for the Preston farms out of Alcer.” He drew her eyes to him, “You know, people from across the kingdom are flocking to Talkro, looking for new lives, new beginnings.” His eyes followed her nose from her eyes to her lips and back again, “The possibilities.”

  Aurelie puffed with a deep breath and looked away from him to calm her nerves. She slid the pelt back up over her shoulder. She wasn’t completely sure whether the way he was looking at her made her feel excited, wanted, enticed, more than uncomfortable. She was still deciding.

  “Sounds like you have your hands full,” She reminded herself of Balor and Alden arguing over which hand to throw seeds with while they had been sowing the field. She could almost see him look up to her and wave. She blinked the fantasy away and shot Gerard an embarrassed glance.

  “I’ve managed well enough.” He tossed something he picked from his trousers and lifted a knee thoughtfully, “Aurie, after what happened…”

  “Gerard,” Aurelie touched his hand, “I know.”

  “I’m sorry,” Gerard leaned to look at her hand covering his. She could see the tears forming in his hard eyes, eyes that had once been soft and full of joy. He probably thought the same of hers.

  “I know,” she patted his hand and looked back to the waves through the wheat fields. Balor wasn’t there, waving at her. Alden wasn’t beside him, tossing the seeds across freshly tilled ground. Her daughter wasn’t being taught to be a farmer’s wife. And she was no longer a farmer’s wife. Just a farmer’s widow.

  She tucked her hand back under the pelt and tried to take another long whiff of her daughter’s and protector’s scents. Her heart was beating too fast. She needed to go back inside. She needed to lay down, away from this world without them.

  She stood and wrapped the pelt tighter around her. She needed the armor to keep her from collapsing in his gaze.

  He stood with her. Taller than Balor, but shorter than she remembered when they were younger. Broader shoulders, thicker than he had been before he married someone else and she ended up here, before he had cast her out, before he had gone on his pilgrimage, his crusade for all those years. She liked him better then. This man was a stranger to her with the familiar smells and expressions. The face that looked into hers was weathered by decades of strife, decades of fighting, of devotion, of loneliness she knew he must have experienced after his wife died so long ago. Or at least, she hoped for the sake of his wife.

  “If you need anything,” he slid from in her path as she made her way back to the door, “Don’t hesitate.”

  She grinned haphazardly at him as she stepped into the doorway. He watched her with that look of having more to say.

  She braced by leaning into the doorframe with a warm, “Don’t be such a stranger.”

  He beamed, his eyes twinkling.

  “Any friend of Draka’s is a friend of ours,” she turned from him and shut the door behind her.