With the little boy guiding them, the four made their way from the lumber camp through the trees and into the village proper. It was tiny, with probably less than a hundred residents in all. Most of them were already in their houses for the night and the village center was completely empty. There was a single road bisecting the village and D’Argen took note of the directions, knowing to leave by the road rather than through the trees again.

When he turned to look back at the tiny village, he locked eyes with an elderly man from a distance. He was sitting in a rocking chair that he stopped with a cane on the ground by his feet. D’Argen looked away first when he noticed the curtains of the house he was at close quickly. Another glance at the house besides that one revealed a middle-aged woman in front of a laundry bucket, her hands not moving at all, her dark eyes focused on the group.

“This one, this one, this one,” the boy started chanting and tugging more harshly at Abbot’s braids.

Abbot let the boy down on the ground and they all watched as he ran off on chubby legs to one of the houses, screaming at the top of his lungs for his mother. Not that far from the house entrance was an old and worn wooden cart, filled to the brim with already refined planks.

Another middle-aged woman opened the door with a fond expression, looking down at her son. D’Argen did not hear what the boy said next but when he turned to point right at them, the woman looked up at them. Her face darkened immediately and then she ushered the boy inside, slamming the door closed and stomping over to them.

“Excuse the intrusion, we’re hoping to speak to—”

“You’re not welcome here,” the woman interrupted D’Argen before he could even explain himself. “Your kind. You’re not welcome. You should go.”

“Not welcome?” Yaling scoffed out with a raised brow. “Are you aware of who we are?”

“Of course,” the woman replied, looking down at Yaling with her chin raised in defiance. Unfortunately for her, to the Never Born, that was a sign of respect and submission. None of D’Argen’s party took offence at the action. “You call yourself gods and yet—no. No. I will not get into this. You should leave. Now.”

“Fine, fine,” D’Argen started and raised his hands in a placating manner. “We will go. I just have one question before we do.”

The woman stiffened and crossed her arms over her chest. She did not say anything though so D’Argen took it as an invitation to continue.

“Mittas? Do you know what his trading route is?”

“Who?”

“Mittas. Your boy. He said there was a travelling merchant named Mittas who—”

“Matias,” the woman interrupted with the correction. “Yes. He has been here a few times. What of him?”

“His usual trading route? We wish to find him.”

The woman shrugged and scowled. “I don’t know.”

“It is very important that we—”

“I said, I don’t know, it means, I don’t know. He has been coming every year for a while now, right before the snows. Last time it wasn't even long enough for tea before he left.”

“But not yet this year?”

“No snows. No Matias.” The woman shrugged, her tone and posture becoming more offensive with every terse word.

D’Argen raised a brow at her and then turned to look at his companions. “I guess we have to wait around here until the snows come. If this is the only place—”

“North!” the woman interrupted again with a shout. “North. He goes somewhere to the north.”

“Where to the north?”

“I don’t know. But he has silks in his cart, always tries to sell them to us.”

“Silks. North. Cana’s lands?” Yaling asked quietly.

“What does he trade with you?” D’Argen asked the woman again.

“Herbs, mostly. Cloth. We’ve no need for the silks, but he has cotton and wool too.”

“What kinds of herbs?” Lilian stepped forward to ask.

“Mostly for cooking. Rosemary. Parsley. Chives.”

“Do you know where those are native?” D’Argen turned to ask Lilian.

“I know too many places they are native.”

“Any near Cana’s lands?”

“I think I have an idea,” Lilian confirmed and stepped back.

“Matias, you said?” D’Argen asked the woman and she nodded. “What does he look like?”

“I don’t know. Like any merchant.”

D’Argen gave her a pointed look, hoping her discomfort with them would be enough to get her to tell him more.

“Shorter than you, black hair, eyes, and dark skin. He’s not remarkable.”

“Great!” Lilian let out a frustrated growl. “I guess we will be sitting around looking for—”

“His cart though!” the woman interrupted once more. “Not one to miss. Trust me. I’m surprised he’s never been robbed with how gaudy that thing is.”

“Gaudy how?”

“Covered in jewels, gold, silver. The kids love the colours and sparkles. His cart is probably worth more than our entire village output for the year.”

“Good, that’s good,” D’Argen finally felt his smile was true. “If he comes by here, tell him his presence is required in Evadia. The queen will reward—”

“Not my queen,” the woman said and spat on the ground.

D’Argen flinched at the action, mostly because he wanted to lash out to defend Acela and had to hold it back. He gritted his teeth and forced as a smile as he spoke again, “The Queen of Evadia will reward you both.”

“Don’t need your money. Just need you gone. Now.”