Free Wintertide by Linnea Sinclair

neck, framing her face, just brushing the tops of her eyebrows. It made her already large eyes appear even larger and she wrinkled her nose.
    “I look like a ten-year old boy in a dress.” Her comment was wistful. She wondered why she suddenly was concerned over her appearance. It never mattered much before.
    “I can take care of that, too.” The Tinker produced a worn, but clean shirt with full sleeves and bib-front, along with a vest and matching chamois breeches. “It’d be safer, if you intend to travel.”
    “I do.” She accepted the clothing and returned to the cave.
    Minutes later, she reappeared barefoot and stockings in hand. “We forgot one thing.”
    The Tinker pointed to a woven basket at the front of the cart. “Find what fits and they’re yours.”
    She pulled on a pair of mid-calf high boots. “How can I thank you?”
    “You already have, m’Lady.” He smiled, adding: “You healed my horse and fed and entertained me.”
    “You saved my life. Surely that far outweighs one meal and some herbal balms.”
    “Perhaps.” He hoisted the basket back into the front of the cart. “Where will you go now?”
    Khamsin started to gather her belongings, shoving her short hunting knife and then the sword through the loops on her belt. She hesitated and her eyes wandered in the direction of the village. Tendrils of dark smoke curled over the treetops.
    “I don’t know. I could return to the village. Perhaps there’s some way I could help…” The image of Tavis’s lifeless body came to her mind and her throat constricted. Surely, someone had cut him down, had buried him and the others. “Blessing rites…”
    “Were said. A journeying priest, I believe.” He reached out and touched her shoulder briefly. “It’s all been taken care of. You needn’t go back.”
    “But the survivors would want to rebuild. I could help.”
    “They’ve left. The village is deserted.”
    This news startled her. “You’re sure?”
    “I traveled there on a few afternoons while you slept. There’s nothing for you to go back to. And even if there were, I would advise against it.”
    Enar and Gilby were probably some of the survivors. Khamsin hadn’t forgotten their hate, their anger.
    “There’s nothing there for you to go back to,” the Tinker repeated.
    Khamsin picked up Nixa, stroked the cat’s soft head. The village of Cirrus Cove, and the cave in the foothills, were the only home she’d ever known. Where else could she possibly go?
    And then the omens in the mage circle swam before her eyes. A journey. She had been directed to start a journey.
    “I’ll go to the City, to Noviiya perhaps,” she said, surprised at the conviction in her voice. But the words felt right even as she said them. The Temples of Ixari and Merkara were there. She could spend time in prayer and meditation.
    She released Nixa and the cat jumped nimbly into the Tinker’s cart. “Yes, to the City. My learning here is finished, that much I know, that much I found out, that day that...” Her voice drifted off into a whisper.
    “I’m headed there myself, if you care for company.”
    “I can’t burden you any longer. You’ve been far too kind. To be honest, what I seek is dangerous.”
    “So I noticed.” He touched the bruise on her cheek. His fingers were warm, gentle. She fought the desire to rest her face against his hand.
    “But still, I’m going that way and as your cat has no qualms about accepting my offer, I suggest you take her advice and do the same.”
    Khamsin sighed and allowed her bundles to be taken from her. “I’ll repay you. Somehow.”
    “Can you cook? Well, yes, of course you can. I’ve had your stew. Very fine.” He pursed his lips and blew a short whistle as Khamsin climbed into the cart beside him. The gray mare started into a trot. “Get tired of eating my own cooking, you know. That’s why I sell pots and pans. Never make it in this world as an innkeeper.”
    He slapped at the reins and Khamsin