Chapter 29: A New Reason

Finn walked home with an empty scabbard at his hip.

He had considered carrying it in his hand so the missing sword would be less obvious, but somehow that felt worse. At least this way, from a distance, there was a chance someone might assume the weapon was still there.

That chance disappeared the moment he reached the farm.

Rowan noticed first. He was carrying a basket toward the house when Finn came up the road, and his gaze immediately dropped to the empty scabbard before slowly returning to his face.

Finn straightened. "I’m back."

"You are."

Finn smiled as brightly as he could.

"It went pretty well."

Rowan’s eyebrows rose slightly, but he said nothing.

His gaze drifted toward the scabbard again, and Finn’s smile weakened under the silence.

Eventually, Rowan nodded toward it. "Did the sword come home separately?"

"No."

"I see."

There was no laughter in his voice, which somehow made Finn feel worse.

His mother stepped outside a moment later and stopped as soon as she saw him. Dirt covered most of Finn’s clothes, grass was tangled through his curls, and several fresh scrapes ran along one forearm.

"What happened to you?"

"I’m fine."

She was already walking toward him. "I can see that."

Finn allowed himself to be pulled toward the house while she inspected the scrape on his elbow.

His father appeared in the doorway shortly afterward and took in Finn’s condition with one long look before his attention settled on the empty scabbard.

"The sheep?"

Finn lowered his head slightly.

"Yeah."

His father sighed, but there was no anger in it. "Did you get hurt badly?"

"No. It teleported me out like you said."

"That part worked, then."

His mother looked between them. "Teleported?"

"The first floor is protected," his father explained. "He can’t die there."

Her expression changed immediately.

"You knew this?"

"I found out this morning."

"And you didn’t tell me?"

"I was going to."

"You let him run off first!"

Finn quietly moved farther into the house while his parents were distracted, and Rowan followed him to the table.

"How bad was it?" Rowan asked.

Finn glanced toward their parents to make sure they were still talking. "I almost won."

Rowan looked pointedly toward the empty scabbard.

Finn let out a sigh. "I learned a lot."

"That sounds more believable."

Finn sighed and sat down. The loss bothered him more than he wanted anyone to know.

The sword had belonged to their grandfather, and although it was old, rusted, and probably worth almost nothing to anyone else, Finn had carried it into the dungeon believing it was the beginning of something important.

Now it was lost to the dungeon because he’d thrown it at a sheep. Somehow, that became more embarrassing every time he thought about it.

Rowan sat across from him, his eyes quietly inspecting him.

"You can get another sword."

"It was Grandfather’s."

"I know."

Finn traced one finger along the edge of the empty scabbard. "I should’ve been more careful."

"You probably should have." Finn looked up, but Rowan was smiling slightly. "But you’re alive."

That helped more than Finn wanted to admit. He managed a small smile.

Their father eventually came inside, followed by their mother, who was still clearly unhappy about learning the protected-floor rule after Finn had already left.

She immediately began cleaning the scrape on his arm while Finn tried not to wince.

"You’re nineteen years old," she said. "I know I can’t keep you in the house forever, but that doesn’t mean you need to make it difficult."

Finn looked toward his father, who wisely decided not to involve himself. Once his mother finished wrapping the scrape, she moved away to check the pot over the fire.

Finn remained at the table while his father sat down nearby.

"You still want to go back?"

"Yes."

The answer came quickly enough that his father studied him for a moment before speaking again.

"Then maybe I should start looking for a wife for you before you get yourself eaten by something worse than a sheep."

Finn stared at him for a moment then burst out into laughter.

"What?"

"You heard me."

"I’m not getting married."

"You say that now."

Finn leaned back in his chair. "Rowan isn’t even married yet. Why should I be?"

Rowan, who had been drinking water nearby, lowered the cup.

"I’m working on it."

Finn turned toward him, eyes widening.

"What does that mean?"

Their mother laughed from across the room, while Rowan’s ears turned slightly red.

Finn looked between them until understanding slowly arrived.

"The baker’s daughter? It’s her, isn’t it?"

Rowan looked offended. "Why do you sound surprised?"

"I’m not surprised."

"You look surprised."

Finn thought about it. He really wasn’t. Rowan had volunteered to buy bread for years. Their mother could mention they were running low in the morning, and somehow Rowan would be halfway to the village before anyone else had finished breakfast.

Finn had always assumed his brother was simply unusually responsible about bread. Apparently, there had been another reason.

"How long?"

Rowan glanced toward the ceiling as though calculating.

"A while."

"Years?"

"That doesn’t matter."

Finn smiled. "You like her."

"Yes."

The answer came so plainly that Finn stopped teasing.

Rowan leaned back against the wall. "I’ve been putting money aside."

"For what?"

"Courting."

Finn frowned.

"That costs money?"

Three people looked at him at once. Finn immediately felt like he’d asked something stupid.

His father answered first, glancing over at their mother.

"Yes."

"How much?"

"Depends."

Rowan rubbed one hand across the back of his neck. "Gifts. Taking her somewhere occasionally. If things go well, eventually I’ll need enough to offer something more serious."

Finn was lost in thought. Their family wasn’t poor enough to go hungry, but there was rarely much money left after the harvest was sold and everything necessary for the farm had been paid.

A good year meant replacing worn tools or repairing something before winter. A bad year meant making old things last longer. There wasn’t much left for courting.

Finn looked at Rowan more carefully.

"Is that why you haven’t asked her yet?"

"I have competition."

Finn immediately frowned.

"Who?"

Rowan laughed. "Why? What are you going to do?"

Finn didn’t know, but he already disliked whoever it was.

"A few men in the village are interested. One of them works with his uncle at the mill, so he earns more than I do."

"That’s unfair."

"That’s life." Rowan didn’t sound bitter when he said it, which somehow made Finn dislike the situation even more.

His thoughts returned to all the adventurers gathered outside the dungeon earlier.

They had carried armor, potions, supplies, and equipment that probably cost more than anything Finn owned, and some had talked about dungeon rewards as casually as if they expected to make money every time they went inside.

Finn had always known adventurers earned money, but until now he had connected the dungeon almost entirely with becoming stronger and eventually doing something heroic.

He hadn’t really considered what those rewards could mean at home.

As the idea settled in, he sat a little straighter. "If I clear the dungeon, I can make money too."

Rowan looked at him.

"People get treasure for beating the boss, right?" Finn continued.

"Yes."

"And they sell it."

"Usually."

Finn glanced toward his empty scabbard. Losing his grandfather’s sword still hurt, but the dungeon no longer felt like something he wanted to conquer only because becoming a hero sounded exciting.

If he became good enough, he could actually help his family. Their father watched his expression change.

"Don’t start making plans with money you haven’t earned."

"I’m not."

Finn paused. "I’m making plans with money I’m going to earn."

Rowan laughed, but Finn ignored him.

He pictured himself defeating the sheep, reaching the barn, opening one of the treasure chests the other adventurers had been talking about, and bringing something valuable back to town.

If he earned enough, maybe Rowan wouldn’t have to spend another few years saving whatever little remained from each harvest.

The possibility seemed so obvious now that Finn looked across the table at his brother.

"I’ll help you."

Rowan blinked. "With what?"

"The baker’s daughter."

That silenced the entire room. Finn continued before anyone could stop him. "I’ll make money from the dungeon, and then you can use it to court her."

Rowan started laughing.

"I’m serious."

"I know. That’s why it’s funny."

Finn frowned while their mother began smiling near the fire and his father shook his head. Rowan eventually leaned across the table and ruffled Finn’s already messy curls.

"You should probably figure out how to beat one sheep first."

Finn pushed his hand away.

"I almost did."

"You threw your sword at it."

Finn froze. "How did you know?"

Rowan’s smile widened.

"You just told me."

Finn realized his mistake as his mother laughed from near the fire and even his father looked like he was struggling not to join her.

He sank slightly lower in his chair. He had lost the sword, lost to a sheep, and apparently lost the ability to keep embarrassing details to himself.

Even after the laughter died down, the thought of helping Rowan remained.

Finn looked toward the empty scabbard resting against his leg and knew he would need another weapon before he could return, but that didn’t change his decision.

The next time he entered the dungeon, he would have more than one reason to win.