Chapter 12 | Part 4

An old man stepped into Maris’s path.

“Coin for the unfortunate?”

His beard had collected half of Riverhold.

His hand trembled.

Maris gave him a copper.

“For food.”

“Of course.”

His fingers closed around the coin.

The trembling stopped.

Maris stopped breathing.

His eyes fixed on hers. A moment earlier he had barely been able to hold her gaze.

“The Scholar’s Rest,” he said.

His voice no longer sounded like his.

“Ask for Xandor.”

That was all.

Maris waited.

The old man blinked.

His hand began trembling again. He caught the wall as his knees dipped.

He looked at the copper.

“Bless you, ma’am.”

Then he shuffled away.

Maris watched until the crowd swallowed him.

Not the first stranger whose mouth had spoken to her in someone else’s voice.

Still unpleasant.

Whoever had spoken was gone. She looked at the old man’s retreating back, reluctant to call him back and see what answered.

Xandor could be a name, at least. She could ask about a name.

The pressure behind her eyes pulled toward the next street.

Maris followed it.

At a baker’s stall she asked for the Scholar’s Rest.

“Two streets north. Blue shutters.”

No prophecy required.

Maris continued.

The stable image did not return.

That worried her more than if it had.

End of Chapter 12.4 —> 12.5: The Grass Where She Fell: The Choice