It seemed my luck with new places was cursed to remain rotten.
I sat astride Pastel just outside the towering gates of Highgarden, the morning sun warm on my shoulders and the air thick with the scent of blooming roses and baking bread from vendors' carts.
The great walls rose before me like a living garden, ivy and flowering vines crawling over pale stone, golden apples and bright berries hanging heavy from trellises trained along the battlements.
Highgarden was every bit the jewel of the Reach I had imagined: alive with color, music drifting from within, and the distant laughter of cloaks and smallfolk alike.
Yet here I stood, blocked by a single bored gate guard whose spear point hovered a little too close to Talen's curious snout.
"That is a bear cub, lad," the guard drawled, eyeing the small brown bundle of fur at my side. "I ain't letting it into the city for nothing."
"I am a knight, I will have you know," I replied evenly, tapping the hilt of my new sword where the Oakheart crest gleamed faintly in the sunlight.
The guard squinted at the emblem, then at my travel-worn cloak and the two horses behind me.
"Well, forgive me, ser, but I can't. Orders are clear, no beasts inside the walls. We've had enough trouble with dogs and pigs running loose."
I let out a loud sigh, reached into my pouch, and produced a silver stag, letting it catch the light between my fingers.
"Times are hard for all of us. This might ease your conscience."
The guard's eyes lingered on the coin, hunger flickering there for a moment, but he shook his head. "That's a high coin, ser. But I prefer to keep a steady pay. Job's neat, and the captain's got a sharp eye these days. Leave now, before I decide to test my spear on that wild hide."
The hemp rope gave a sharp tug as Talen pulled against it, testing his growing strength.
I turned away from the gates, dragging the cub along with me.
He grunted in protest, his milk teeth clamping down on the edge of my leather boot sole, a habit he had developed in the past week, like a mischievous pup.
"You have to stop doing that, Talen," I growled, giving the rope another firm yank.
The cub released my boot with a playful huff, rolling onto his back in the grass for a moment before scrambling up again.
It had been a full week since I had taken him in, and never once in that time had I found a proper roof to sleep under.
The towns and villages around Highgarden boasted fine inns with thatched roofs and warm hearths, but none would allow a bear, however small, under their sheds alongside the horses.
I had tried coin, charm, and even a fabricated tale about a trained mummer's beast. All met with slammed doors and suspicious stares.
Pastel and Gilde stood patiently by the roadside as I dragged my odd little company out of the main path.
Merchants and traders streamed past us through the gates, their wagons creaking under loads of wine casks, bolts of silk, and baskets of fresh fruit.
Many cast odd glances our way, some amused, most wary. A bear cub trailing a hedge knight was not everyday fare, even in the Reach.
"Half a mind I have," I muttered, rubbing Talen's head roughly between his ears as he nuzzled against my leg, "to leave you back in the woods and see myself under a proper inn. Treat me to a good bite of roasted boar and a soft bed."
Both Pastel and Gilde neighed almost in unison, Pastel tossing her head sharply while Gilde stamped a hoof.
"What?" I raised my brows in bewilderment, looking between them. "You were spooked as a pair of wet hens not a week ago when he first followed me into camp, and now you can't let go—"
"Are you talking to your horses?"
I blinked and turned. A young boy stood a few paces off the path, watching me with wide, curious eyes.
His clothes were little more than a large sackcloth tunic with crude holes cut for his arms and head, cinched at the waist by a cheap rope belt, barefoot, dirt-streaked, and no older than ten or eleven, he had the sharp, hungry look of a street urchin who knew every alley in the shadow of the city walls.
"No," I said flatly.
"I saw you doing it," he pressed, a grin tugging at his freckled face.
I shook my head with a small grin of my own and decided to play along.
"Oh, these? They are my family, this here is my mother, Pastel," I patted the black mare's neck "And this is my father, Gilde." The brown warhorse flicked an ear. "And here is my baby brother, Talen."
Talen chose that moment to sit up on his haunches, ears perked, which made the boy take a wary step back.
"Those are horses… and is that a bear?!"
"They are now," I replied, letting my face turn mock-sad. "You see, I was trying to woo this wood witch by the Rose Road, she cursed me because I was too persistent, turned my whole family into horses and a bear. Tragic, really."
The boy stared for a heartbeat, then burst into laughter, the sound bright and unrestrained.
"You are mad indeed," he said, wiping his eyes.
"What do you know? I was mad for her," I answered with a dramatic sigh.
He seemed entertained enough to edge closer, smiling as he slowly approached Talen with one cautious hand outstretched. "Does he bite?"
"Only if your hands are made of leather and smell like boot soles," I said.
The boy crouched down and gently scratched behind Talen's ears.
The cub leaned into the touch with a contented rumble, eyes half-closed. "What are you called, boy?"
"Olmun. The lads in the streets call me that."
"Olmun it is. I'm Ser Henri Crent of Ramsgate."
He took a step back at that, looking me up and down as if sizing up my worth, from my scarred boots to the decent but unflashy armor on Gilde's back. "Are you a knight, truly?"
"Why? Do I not look like one?" I asked, bemused.
"No, you do, but.." His gaze flicked toward the gate, where the same guard was now bargaining openly with a merchant over the size of a bribe. "Ole' Doyle always lets the knights of high standing into the city without a word."
"I am not of noble birth," I corrected. "I'm a hedge knight. And he didn't stop me, he stopped him."
I pointed at Talen, who was now snuggling contentedly against Olmun's leg, the boy barely taller than the cub.
"I can help you take him in," Olmun said, his eyes carrying a shrewd, calculating glint that reminded me of every street rat I had ever met.
"And why would you do that?" I asked, raising a brow, a helping hand was welcome, but I had learned long ago that trust was cheaper than a broken sword in places like this.
Pocket-thieves and opportunists were common as flies around tourney grounds.
"Throw me the coin you had for Doyle, and I'll take you in," he offered.
I smiled at the little bargainer. "I do not need a way in right now. I need someone to look after him while I see to my business around the city."
"Five silver, then. I'll see to him proper," he said enthusiastically.
"Two, and you make sure he doesn't run off or chew through someone's stall."
"Three, or I walk away and you find someone else for your bear," he countered with a smug grin, his long auburn hair blowing across his face in the breeze.
"Fine. Three it is." I pressed the coins into his small, calloused hand.
Olmun pocketed them quickly and pulled me away from the main gates, leading us along the curving outer walls.
Highgarden unfolded in breathtaking detail as we walked: walls so high they seemed to brush over the trees, every parapet adorned with climbing roses in full bloom, red, white, and gold.
Fruit trees lined the approaches, their branches heavy with early summer pears and cherries.
Small Lords and ladies on fine palfreys trotted past, their silks bright as banners, while smallfolk hawked honeyed figs and spiced wine from colorful carts.
The air hummed with life, laughter, the clang of distant forges, the sweet strum of a harp from some hidden garden.
He led me to a small smithy tucked against the outer wall, its forge smoke curling lazily into the sky. The structure extended outward like a stubborn growth on the city's flank.
"Here?" I asked, doubtful.
"Yes, yes. Bring the steeds too."
Pastel and Gilde had to duck their heads slightly under the low lintel as we entered the dim, sweltering space.
The blacksmith, an old, broad-shouldered man with arms like knotted oak, gave Olmun a rough nod, which the boy returned silently.
The smith eyed me warily but said nothing, returning to hammering a glowing strip of iron on his anvil.
Sparks flew like angry fireflies.
Olmun pulled aside a heavy draped tarp in the corner, revealing a large, cleverly concealed hole broken through the base of the castle wall.
It opened into the narrow, winding streets of the outer slums on the city side.
"Does the city guard know of this?" I asked as I guided Pastel and Gilde through, their hooves clopping softly on the packed earth.
"Some do," Olmun shrugged, "but they do not care much for it. Long as the bribes flow the other way, the holes stay open."
I stepped through after my horses, Talen tugging eagerly at the rope towards a vendor flowing with apples.
The slums of Highgarden were no less vibrant than the grander quarters, just closer, smellier, and more alive.
Laundry hung from lines strung between leaning timber houses, children chased each other through puddles, and the aroma of stewing onions and fresh bread competed with the sharper tang of unwashed bodies and horse dung.
I handed Olmun the lead rope. "Keep him safe. I'll find you near the smithy by dusk."
The boy nodded, already scratching Talen's head again with the easy familiarity of someone who had befriended half the stray cats in the slums. "He'll be fat as a lord when you return, ser."
"Don't feed him anything," I said sternly, pressing a strip of jerky I had lifted from a vendor's cart that morning into Olmun's hand.
"What if he goes hungry?" Olmun asked, eyes widening with theatrical fear. "Would he eat me?!"
I fixed him with a hard look. "Get him an apple if he grows too restless. But try to steal him from me and I'll feed you to him for supper myself. Understood?"
Olmun swallowed, nodding vigorously as he pocketed the jerky. I gave Talen one last scratch behind the ears, the cub leaning into it with a contented rumble, then turned and led Pastel and Gilde deeper into the thronging streets.
The weight of my purse and the distant promise of tourneys ahead lightened my step somewhat, but Highgarden's beauty felt almost mocking after the gate trouble.
Perhaps the curse on my luck with new places was only beginning.
It seemed gates were the problem.
I spent the better part of the day wandering the outer wards, letting the city wash over me like a tide of color and noise.
Highgarden lived up to every song sung about it: streets lined with flowering trellises where roses of every shade, deep crimson, soft blush, golden as sunset, slung to whitewashed walls and wooden beams.
The air was thick with their perfume, mixed with the sharper scents of spices from Tyrosh and Lys, fresh-baked honey cakes, and the earthy tang of horse dung trodden into the cobblestones.
Merchants bellowed their wares from stalls overflowing with bolts of Myrish lace, Dornish oranges piled like small suns, and casks of wine that gleamed invitingly in the sunlight.
Women in simple wool dresses haggled fiercely over pots of preserves and lengths of ribbon, while small boys darted between legs like minnows, their nimble fingers relieving purses of the unwary.
Guards in green-and-gold livery patrolled in pairs, their armor clinking softly as they chased after the bolder cutpurses with half-hearted shouts. No real malice in it, Highgarden was too prosperous, too merry, to bleed over every stolen copper.
Yet I kept one hand near my sword hilt all the same.
"That's a fine animal you got there, man," a voice called out.
A pale, wiry fellow approached from the side of the street, a yellow cloth tied around his head like a bandana against the sun.
His smile was all teeth, too wide and too quick.
He reached out to stroke Pastel's muzzle, but the mare tossed her head and stepped back with a snort, ears flattening.
"Never seen such a beast walk these streets unless it belongs to a noble," he commented, lowering his hand slowly.
"He is a noble's beast," I replied, patting Pastel's sleek black neck. "Or used to be, at least. Now he rides for a knight."
The man's eyes brightened with feigned interest. "I'll throw in a gold dragon for him. What say you… Ser?"
"Ser Henri," I supplied.
"I am a trader of many goods myself—Alcree of Myr." He swept the bandana from his head and offered a shallow bow, revealing a head of thinning dark hair. "So, a dragon it is?"
I shook my head with a polite smile. "I'm afraid not, friend. As you said, he's a noble's beast, and he'll remain mine for quite some time. Many tourneys yet to ride in."
Alcree nodded, his smile never faltering, though something calculating flickered behind his eyes.
"Keep him well then." He turned to go.
"From Myr, you said?" I called after him, stopping him mid-stride.
"Yes," he replied, turning back with renewed interest.
"I have been there myself," I said casually, as if it were simple truth.
His smile faltered just a fraction. "You have? That's wonderful."
I stepped closer, lowering my voice. "Did you know the mark on your right hand, the little brand between thumb and forefinger means 'thief' in Pentos?"
Before he could respond, my sword was out and at his throat, the fresh steel gleaming cold in the sunlight. Alcree's eyes bulged.
"Unhand my coins," I growled, "or I'll make sure you never need another in this life."
"I do not know what you speak of—" he began, voice rising.
I slashed downward in a controlled arc, the blade slicing neatly through the crisscrossed laces of his tunic without drawing blood.
A cascade of coins spilled out, silver stags, coppers, and a few glittering foreign pieces clinking onto the cobblestones.
Passersby paused, some muttering, others hurrying on as if nothing unusual had occurred.
I stooped and retrieved two silver stags that were unmistakably mine, leaving the rest scattered. Most were pennies of little value, but one caught my eye, a heavier coin stamped with a unfamiliar sigil.
"Who did you steal this from?" I asked, holding it up.
"That is not yours!" Alcree yelped, lunging for it.
I kicked him squarely in the backside, sending him sprawling into the dirt with a yelp. "Neither is it yours."
I pocketed the piece for later inspection and watched him scramble to gather his scattered pennies, cheeks flushed with humiliation and rage.
"Just leave! Be on your business!" he shouted, dusting off his tunic, his two prominent buck teeth yellowed and gritted.
"I could call the guards on you," I said calmly, gesturing toward a nearby pair. "Make sure you lose a hand or two."
Alcree froze, then sighed heavily, scratching at his scalp in vexation. "What is it you want?!"
I sheathed my sword and studied him.
He was quick, slippery, and clearly knew the streets well enough to work the crowds without immediate arrest.
"I am in severe need of a man who knows his way through Highgarden."
He blinked, caught off guard.
"Huh? And… that's me?"