Leo and Sera had decided that their next trip into the dungeon would take pce in two days. So this was a good time to start preparing. He'd already started the crossbow upgrade, and the two of them would have dinner with his parents in the evening.

  Tomorrow, Leo would pay Kerrin and the vilge's carpenter a visit.

  With the stirrup upgrade already running, Leo had nothing to do but wait.

  He'd spent the first hour pacing the cottage, checking the timer every few minutes as if staring at it would make the numbers tick faster. It didn't.

  He'd spent the second hour lying on the bed, arms behind his head, running through mental blueprints of things he couldn't afford to upgrade. By the third hour, he'd given up on productivity entirely and was sitting at the table, carving aimless lines into a scrap of wood with his new dagger when the knock came.

  Knock. Knock. Knock.

  Leo opened the door and found a young woman standing on his porch, a leather satchel slung over one shoulder and a basket of supplies banced on her hip. Her free hand was still raised from knocking.

  She was small. The top of her head barely reached his chin. Her face was round and soft, with a button nose dusted pink from the sun and a scattering of pale freckles across both cheeks. Mousy brown hair, the color of wet bark, was pulled into a braid that hung over one shoulder, though loose strands had already escaped and curled around her temples.

  Her eyes were a warm amber, rge and doe-like behind a pair of wire-rimmed spectacles that sat slightly crooked on the bridge of her nose.

  She wore a healer's smock - undyed linen, cinched at the waist with a cord - and it did a poor job of concealing the figure beneath it. Her hips were wide, and her breasts pressed heavy against the smock's front, straining the fabric in a way that suggested she'd outgrown it.

  The scent of dried chamomile and rubbing alcohol clung to her clothes.

  "Leo," she said, adjusting the spectacles with one finger. "I'm Hanna. Healer Marta's apprentice. I treated you when you were first brought in. I'm here for a check up."

  "Hanna. Right," Leo stepped aside, gesturing her in. "Sorry, my memory of those first days is still a blur."

  "That's expected with a head injury like yours," she set her basket on the table and began unpacking - clean linen strips, a small cy pot of salve, and a thin wooden stick.

  "I need to check your ribs and your head wound," Hanna said. "Could you remove your shirt?"

  Leo pulled the tunic over his head. The air in the cottage was warm, but his skin still prickled.

  Hanna's hands were small and cool as they pressed along his ribcage, testing each bone with firmness. She leaned in close, close enough that he could smell the chamomile in her hair.

  "Does this hurt?" Her fingers pressed down on a rib that had been the worst of the fractures.

  "A dull ache. Nothing sharp."

  She frowned, moving her hands higher, checking the bruising that had faded to a sickly yellow-green across his left side. Then she straightened, picking up the thin stick from the table and holding it near his eyes.

  "Follow this. Don't move your head."

  He tracked the stick. Left. Right. Up. Down. She watched his pupils, her amber eyes narrowed in concentration behind those crooked spectacles.

  "Headaches?"

  "Gone."

  "Dizziness?"

  "None."

  Hanna stepped back and stared at him for a long moment, her head tilted, the way someone looks at a puzzle they can't quite solve.

  "You're healing remarkably fast," she said. "The fractures alone should've kept you bedridden for another week, at least."

  "I don't understand that stuff, really," Leo shrugged, pulling his shirt back on. It wasn't a lie.

  Hanna didn't push it. She began repacking her supplies, tucking the salve and linen back into her basket. But her hands slowed, and she gnced at him over the rim of her spectacles.

  "So," she said, her tone shifting to something lighter. "How was the dungeon?"

  Leo's hands froze halfway through straightening his shirt.

  "What?"

  "The Verdant Pit," Hanna crified, adjusting the strap of her satchel. "How was it?"

  "I don't know what you're talking about."

  "Leo," she gave him a look. "I treated Marsh. The cuts on his arms are from Thorn Beetle thorns. I've stitched enough of those wounds to recognize them blindfolded. And the bite marks on his hands? Flesh Biters. You have some on you too, by the way."

  She pushed her spectacles up with one finger.

  "And the bruising around his neck," her voice softened. "That's a Creeping Strangler. I've only seen two cases of it before, and one of those men didn't make it."

  The cottage was very quiet. Outside, a chicken clucked. Somewhere down the ne, a dog barked twice and went silent.

  Leo let out a slow breath through his nose.

  "You're sharp."

  "Thank you," she smiled.

  He studied her. She stood by the table, her basket hugged against her hip, looking back at him without accusation or judgment. Just curiosity, pin and earnest, shining behind those eyes.

  "If possible, please don't tell anyone else," Leo said.

  "Tell who? The vilge gossips? So they can wag their tongues about it over the washing stones?" Hanna shook her head, a strand of brown hair falling loose across her forehead. "I'm a healer, Leo. People tell me things they wouldn't tell their own mothers, and I keep every word of it. Your business is your business."

  She hoisted the basket higher on her hip and turned toward the door. Then she paused, gncing back.

  "But I'd like to hear about it. The dungeon, I mean. Sometime, when you're not busy," a small, almost shy smile crossed her face. "Healer Marta has books about the creatures in there, but books don't tell you what it's actually like."

  "It smells like rot and mushrooms," Leo said. "And it sounds like things clicking in the dark."

  "That's a start," Hanna's smile widened.

  "I'll tell you about it," he shrugged. "You can ask Sera too. She stood closer to those things than me."

  "I'll hold you to that," she adjusted her spectacles one final time and stepped out into the midday sun.

  Leo watched her walk down the path, her braid swinging against her back, her wide hips swaying with each step. The chamomile scent lingered in the cottage for a few minutes after she left.

  Smart girl, he thought, and went back to watching the timer count down.

  Leo drove the hoe into the dirt one st time and straightened up.

  His lower back protested with a deep, familiar ache. His palms were rough with old calluses and fresh blisters yered on top - the kind that came from grip work in the heat, skin that had hardened and split and hardened again over years of this. He wiped his forehead with the back of his wrist and surveyed the field.

  It looked good.

  The rows were neat and well-spaced, the dark soil turned and weeded with a care that spoke of daily attention. Broad green rosettes of turnip tops fanned out in even lines, their leaves healthy and sturdy, about six weeks into growth. The roots were thickening underground - mid-autumn harvest if the weather held. Late summer still had honest warmth in it, the st stretch of heat before the slow turn toward cold, and the pnts were making the most of it.

  Leo had done his share - hoeing, hauling water, pulling weeds from the back rows - but Sera had kept this field alive through his injury.

  The sun sat high in the sky. The air smelled like warm earth and the faintly peppery bite of turnip greens. A decent yield, if nothing went wrong. Enough to eat through winter, a small surplus to sell, and just barely enough left over to cover the Baron's tax when the collectors came knocking in mid-autumn. A third of the harvest or its coin equivalent, and it would only get worse if there was a war going on.

  Without the dungeon, there's no way we would make enough when we finally have a child...

  Still, this small plot of nd was a good backup. Even if they got unlucky with a series of unprofitable runs, at least he and Sera wouldn't starve during winter.

  He set the hoe against the fence, grabbed his empty waterskin, and started down the path toward the vilge center. Sera had gone to draw water half an hour ago. He'd meet her there, and they could walk home together.

  The packed dirt was warm under his boots. Crickets tuned up in the tall grass along the roadside. His body ached in the way that came from physical work. And if Leo had to be honest with himself, it felt good. Much better than wasting away on a bed.

  The communal well sat at the center of the vilge, a squat stone structure with a timber frame and a rope-and-bucket system that squeaked with every pull. It was the closest thing Ashwick had to a town square - the pce where news spread, arguments happened, and women gathered to fill their water jugs while catching up on who was sleeping with whom.

  Leo spotted Sera before he reached the well. She was standing with her back straight and her shoulders squared - the posture of a woman about to hit someone.

  Across from her stood a woman Leo hadn't met, but recognized from old Leo's memory.

  Edda Croft. Married to Tomas Croft, the tanner's son turned professional disappointment. She was a tall woman, bony where Sera was curved, with a long face and a sharp jaw that gave her a permanently disapproving expression. Her hair was iron-gray despite being no older than thirty-five, pulled back tight against her skull. Deep lines framed her thin lips, etched by years of frowning.

  She had narrow, pale blue eyes. Her dress was nicer than most in the vilge, a dark green wool with actual buttons instead of ties, though the hem was fraying and one sleeve had been patched with a different shade.

  Edda thought she was better than everyone because her uncle owned a shop in Rockhaven. She wasn't. But nobody wanted to be the one she talked about, so they let her believe it.

  Three other women stood nearby - two of them filling jugs with exaggerated slowness, clearly eavesdropping, and a third who had given up all pretense and was watching openly.

  "...running around buying pot and meat like he's some merchant prince," Edda's voice was sharp. She didn't raise it, but everyone could still hear every word. "Everyone knows your husband couldn't earn a full silver in a year of farming. Leeching off his parent? Hmm?"

  "My husband's earnings are none of your concern, Edda," Sera's voice was ft and controlled, but her knuckles were white around the handle of her water jug.

  "Oh, but they are. When a boy who was dragged home half-dead a fortnight ago is suddenly bringing home half of Harwick's shop, people notice," Edda's thin lips curved.

  "Let them. It changes nothing."

  "It changes perception, dear," the word 'dear' dripped with condescension. "People are wondering if that husband of yours stole it. Or if you earned it some... other way."

  The silence that followed was sharp enough to cut gss.

  Sera's chin lifted. When she spoke, her voice had gone dangerously quiet.

  "You want to talk about husbands, Edda? Fine. Let's talk about yours," she took one step closer. "When's the st time Tomas held a job for more than two months? Was it before or after he drank through the dowry your family scraped together? I lose track."

  One of the eavesdropping women inhaled sharply through her teeth.

  Edda's pale eyes narrowed to slits.

  "You..."

  "Maybe if he spent less time at the bottom of a mug and more time doing something useful, you wouldn't have so much free time to stand here and poke your nose into other people's business," Sera wasn't done. Her hazel eyes burned. "But I suppose gossiping is easier than admitting your husband is a good-for-nothing who can't tell a hoe from his own prick."

  Edda's composure cracked, and underneath was something raw and ugly.

  "At least my husband isn't the son of a disgraced guard," she spat, her voice rising for the first time. "Your father beat a nobleman's son half to death like a common thug. Everyone remembers that, Sera. That stain doesn't wash off, no matter how many iron pots your boy buys you."

  Sera went still. The fire in her eyes changed.

  "Don't talk about..." She started.

  "That's enough, Edda."

  A new voice. Hanna stepped around the well, her leather satchel hanging from one shoulder, a filled waterskin in her hand. She must have been there the whole time, quiet on the periphery, listening.

  "The argument's over," Hanna said. Her voice was gentle but firm, the tone of someone used to delivering unwelcome news to difficult patients. "Walk away."

  "This doesn't concern you, girl."

  "It concerns me when someone brings up old wounds to hurt people at the vilge well in broad daylight," Hanna didn't back down. "Gregor defended someone. That's all he did."

  "He assaulted the Baron's..."

  "He stopped a crime." Hanna's amber eyes were steady behind her spectacles. "You know that. Everyone here knows that."

  Edda's face twisted. She reached out and grabbed Hanna's wrist, yanking the smaller woman sideways and shoving past her. Hanna stumbled, her spectacles going crooked, the waterskin falling to the dirt.

  "Mind your pce, apprentice," Edda snarled.

  Then she turned back to Sera. Something had shifted in the tall woman's expression. It was personal now, and Edda's hand rose, palm open.

  Leo caught her wrist. One moment he was ten paces away, and the next his fingers were wrapped around Edda's bony wrist, stopping the strike dead.

  Edda gasped. Her pale eyes snapped to his face.

  "Let go of..."

  "Step back," Leo said. His voice was quiet.

  Edda's mouth opened. Her free hand scrabbled at his fingers. She looked past him, toward the women by the well, searching for allies, for someone to tell this boy to unhand her.

  Nobody moved.

  "Go home, Edda," Leo said, his green eyes locked on Edda's. "Cool your head, and leave my wife alone."

  "You...this is..."

  "If you have a problem with how I spend my money, say it to my face. But if you put your hands on my wife again, I won't stop you next time. I'll let her handle it. And she'll do worse than I would."

  Edda's face had gone a mottled red. Her chest heaved. For a long moment, she stared at Leo, and saw the coldness behind his eyes.

  Leo released her wrist.

  Edda stumbled back a step, rubbing the spot where his fingers had been. Her mouth worked silently, forming words that never came. Then she turned, snatched her water jug from the stone rim of the well, and walked away. Her back was rigid, her stride too fast to be dignified.

  The vilge women by the well exchanged gnces. One of them smothered what might have been a smile.

  Leo exhaled slowly. He turned to Hanna, who was picking up her fallen waterskin.

  "Are you alright?" He asked. "She grabbed you pretty hard."

  "I've had worse from patients who didn't want their stitches," Hanna adjusted her spectacles. A faint red mark circled her wrist where Edda had seized it. "Thank you, though. She's... something."

  "Something is one word for it."

  "I can think of a few others, but Healer Marta says I should practice restraint," Hanna dusted off her smock and tucked the waterskin back into her satchel. She gnced at Sera, who was standing very still, her jug gripped tight. "Are you okay, Sera?"

  "Fine," Sera's voice was clipped. "Thank you for speaking up. You didn't have to."

  "Your father is a good man. Someone should say it out loud more often," Hanna shrugged, like it was the simplest thing in the world. She then turned back to Leo, her amber eyes catching the afternoon light. "Don't forget, you two owe me a dungeon story."

  "I remember."

  "Good. Take care, both of you," Hanna gave them a quick nod, hoisted her satchel higher on her shoulder, and headed off toward the eastern cottages, her braid swinging with each step.

  Leo watched her go for a moment, then fell into step beside Sera. He didn't take her hand. She was still wound too tight for that.

  "What was Edda's deal?" He asked.

  "I was at the well first. She wanted to cut in line. I didn't let her."

  They walked in silence for a dozen more paces before Sera spoke again.

  "I could have handled her."

  "I know."

  "She's always been like that. I didn't need you to step in."

  "I know that too."

  Sera gnced at him. The anger was still there, simmering behind her eyes, but it had softened at the edges.

  "But... thank you. For protecting me."

  Leo reached over and took the water jug from her grip. Sera let him.

  "What was that about a dungeon story?" She asked.

  Leo ughed and told Sera about Hanna's visit and how she discovered their secret.

  The te afternoon sun painted the dirt path gold as they walked home together, the scent of woodsmoke settling around them like a familiar bnket.