Wintertide by Linnea Sinclair

love him.”
    “As a friend.”
    “Yes.”
    “But not as a lover.”
    “Tinker, I…” Though she knew the answer, it was difficult to voice, even in the dark.
    “I know. It’s not my place to ask such things. But it matters, you see.”
    “Why?” For a moment, her heart inexplicably skipped a beat.
    He cleared his throat. “For one, it would help me understand why you left Cirrus.”
    She forgot that was her original question to him and so felt obliged to answer it.
    “No, I didn’t love him, as you said, as a lover.”
    “You’re sure?”
    She caught a movement in the dim light as he leaned closer to her. “I’m sure. But…” and she hesitated, wondering if his questions uncovered yet another flaw in her character. That of a stingy, selfish wife. “But I never refused him. I did care about him.”
    “I see.” He was quiet. When he spoke again, his voice carried a slight hesitation she never heard before. “Tell me. That is, have you ever been in love, Khamsin?”
    She thought a long while. Love was something that grew over time, over a sharing of mutual experiences. It was deeper than just a physical attraction. She wondered if that was what was happening to her. But perhaps the Tinker was a symbol of strength and reassurance only because he was present at a particular place at a particular time. Her rescuer could’ve been anyone. Even a Hill Raider. Shaking that disturbing thought from her mind, she answered his question.
    “No. I don’t believe so.”
    “Well. You have much, then, to learn.”
    She heard the smile return to his voice and she relaxed. It was so easy to talk to him, easy to voice things she wouldn’t have been able to say to herself, a week ago. “Even before... the raid, I had begun to wonder if I belonged in the village,” she told him, turning her thoughts to more practical matters. “You know I’m a Healer. I’ve also practiced the magic arts.” She waited for his reaction, wishing she could see his face.
    “The villagers didn’t approve.”
    “They didn’t understand. Perhaps if they had, they would’ve approved.” She tugged on a blade of grass poking through the rocky ground. “But that’s all past, now.”
    “So you leave, seeking what?”
    She sighed. “Knowledge. Experience. There was only so much Tanta Bron could teach me. And only so much I can learn on my own. It’s as if I’ve come as far as I can go by myself. New surroundings should provide increased knowledge.”
    “That sounds like something from a book of prophecies.”
    “It is.” She pulled up one knee and rested her elbow on it, toying with the short thickness of her hair.
    “Why didn’t you leave Cirrus sooner?”
    “Because... an Assignation was placed on my name. But since it never occurred, I’m now free.”
    “An assignation?”
    “I was claimed as a child. Though Tanta Bron—Bronya the Healer—raised me, it was with the knowledge that I’d been marked at birth. But there was a time limit: the assignation had to take place before my eighteenth birthday. I turned eighteen the day the village was raided.”
    “Do you know who placed the claiming mark on you?”
    Khamsin hesitated, the silence filled with the hollow cry of an owl. “The Sorcerer,” she admitted finally.
    “That’s serious business.” The Tinker shifted position with a rustling of clothing. “And not one to be taken lightly.”
    “I’m aware of that. That’s why I’m cautious about maintaining your company. For your sake, you understand. And that’s also why, though I view you as a friend, we must part when we reach the City.”
    There was a spark from a tinderbox, then the sweet, heavy smell of tobacco as the Tinker lit a thin cigar. Khamsin could hear the hushed sound of the smoke as he blew it between his lips.
    “To be honest, I’ve not thought much past tomorrow. Never do, you know. Learned a long time ago it doesn’t pay.” He twirled the cigar between his fingers for a moment. “But what I