Free Blood and Memory by Fiona McIntosh

themselves as threads intertwined.
    Knave wandered away. Fynch assumed the dog was hungry and would hunt down a careless rabbit. He settled back against a tree and closed his eyes to ponder. Where would Wyl go? he wondered. And then memory of his recent vision slipped into his mind. He went back over the words he had heard and then considered the town and the hops. Why had that picture been given to him? He let the thread go and allowed his thoughts to become random.
    Where had Myrren come from?
    Fynch sifted through his memories and recollections of overheard conversations between excited city folk about the witch trial. He relaxed, turning his face to allow the watery sunlight to fall upon it through the canopy of leaves. Where? It came to him moments later. Baelup! Could that be it? Baelup was where the realm’s best ale was made. He knew this from listening to the soldiers over the years; they loved assignments that took them through the tiny town. The picture of the fields of hops came back to him. Hops were used in ale making. It was a clue.
    Wyl must be going to Baelup—back to where Myrren had lived. Perhaps he was trying to track down her family.
    The dog returned. He was carrying something in his mouth, but it was no creature. Knave dropped his offering into Fynch’s lap. It looked like a ragged thong until Fynch realized it was the bracelet that Romen used to wear.
    “It’s a sign, Knave. He must have hidden here on the night he became Hildyth. Wyl left this deliberately, I’m sure. Perhaps he hoped you would find it, you clever dog.” He scratched Knave’s ears and hugged the animal close. “We’re going to Baelup,” Fynch whispered to his friend. “I shall need a horse to do that. Valentyna’s purse will be put to good use.”
    Wyl had collected a tiny stash of coins from a hiding spot in Crowyll, the whereabouts of which Faryl’s memory released. She had similar hides sensibly stashed over both realms, he realized, so she could access money relatively swiftly. What he had was very little—he would need more…much more. He took the time to write down the locations, just in case Faryl’s essence and memories faded as quickly as Romen’s had.
    He learned that her mind was tidy and her ways thorough. He was impressed.
    If you must be a woman, be glad it’s this one
, he reminded himself almost every hour.
    Faryl was not just good at her chosen work; he discovered she was the very best. Her kills shocked him. Highly placed or influential people from many different cities and even realms across oceans, like Tallinor and Cipres, had drawn their last breath as a result of her actions. She had felt nothing for them. Faryl was cold. More than that. She was bitter. Why? This he could not tease out from where it was buried deep and locked away through layers of years and, he gathered, self-torment. He sensed it was connected with her family, but no more would come through. Wyl left it. It might surface as had so many vague recollections of Romen’s.
    He was riding toward Morgravia, destination Baelup. It was a start. He knew that Myrren’s mother had left that town almost immediately after her husband and daughter’s traumatic deaths. Back then Lymbert had reluctantly given Wyl details of where they had found Myrren and he had immediately traveled to Baelup to collect Knave as he had promised the girl he would do. He had met the mother only briefly—they had not even swapped names. He had tried to explain that he was from Pearlis, a member of the Legion, but she had hardly paid attention.
    “What do you want?” she had asked, no further formalities exchanged. She had been almost out of her wits, packing frantically. He had told her in simple terms that he had promised Myrren he would pick up her pup, and the mother had been glad to hand over Knave without further questions.
    There had been no additional conversation other than her bidding him good day and him thanking her, although he was not sure