by Claire Frank
“Yes, yes, my dear. Busy as ever.” He dropped her hands and gestured at the pier behind his back. “We’re nearly full this evening, but we have room for you, of course. We always have room for our favorite guests.”
Daro strolled over and shook hands with the innkeeper, exchanging pleasant greetings. Cecily left her husband to arrange the details of their goods with him. Their wagon would be stored for the night and loaded on the riverboat in the morning. With a wave, she beckoned to Edson to follow her to the inn.
The wooden planks of the pier creaked under their feet as they walked out over the water. The inn was several stories high, a patchwork of floors and small balconies that looked as if it had been built up over the years in a haphazard fashion. Soft lights glowed in many of the windows and although it shared the tilted character of all the East Haven buildings, it was in good repair. Cecily and Edson pushed through the large wooden door and were greeted by the smells of cooking meat, wood fire and ale. She found a fairly private table at the edge of the room and gestured for Edson to take a seat across from her.
He slid onto the bench and looked around the room. “I’ve never been in the Float before. Never had the coin.”
Cecily smiled. “It’s one of my favorites. The food is good and the rooms comfortable.”
Edson looked around again. “To a kid like me, this place is downright luxurious. But isn’t it a little, I don’t know, ordinary for you?”
She furrowed her brow and pursed her lips. “What makes you say that? Do I put on such airs?”
Edson shrugged. “No, not like that. But the way you’ve been explaining all about Halthian court manners, I get the feeling you’re used to a certain level of comfort.”
Cecily cocked her head to the side. “Comfort and costly elegance are different things. I lived long enough amongst the nobles in Halthas. I chose this life.”
His face reddened a little. “Of course, that’s not what I meant, Miss Cecily.” She was briefly pleased that he shifted to a more formal address when he thought he was in trouble. “I’ve never been to Halthas, and people out here, well, you know, they tell all sorts of stories about the important folk – kings and lords and ladies. Meeting you, I’ve just never been able to figure out how it makes sense, you being a noble, but being, well, you.”
“I’m just me, Edson.” She shrugged a little. “I grew up in Halthas, I went to the Lyceum, and I fought in the war. I guess I’m not much like most of the nobles. I probably never was. But this is who I really am.”
Daro appeared and sat down next to Cecily. He nodded to the serving girl and she brought three mugs of ale. “Our things are in order. The riverboat will be off in the morning.” He took a swig and set his large mug down, sloshing a little out onto the table. Cecily wiped the drops away with her hand.
Edson looked around again, drawing Cecily’s attention to the rest of the room, which had gone quiet since Daro’s entrance. Heads turned in their direction and quite a few people openly stared. Sighing, Daro took another swig of ale and looked firmly down at the table.
Cecily wanted to stare right back, but she tried to ignore the eyes. Edson looked around in confusion, then leaned closer to his companions. “What’s everyone staring at?”
“Us, I suppose. Daro is a bit”—Cecily paused—”distinctive.”
“I never asked for this,” Daro said. Cecily sighed. She hated when his mood turned. It would take her a while to coax him back to sociability.
“It is you!” A man’s voice carried across the room. There was no mistaking whom he was addressing. Cecily gripped her mug a little harder as the man made his way across the busy room. Dressed in bright colors, he wore a long red cloak that marked him as a traveling minstrel. He was the last person Cecily wanted to see at that moment.
He approached their table with his head held high. “The heavens truly smile on me this night,” he said, loud enough for the room to hear, and bowed with a dramatic flourish. “I travel far from my home, the great city of Halthas, and yet I have the privilege of encountering heroes of the realm.”
“No such heroes here,” Daro growled without looking up.
Cecily’s eyes darted from her husband to the minstrel. She hoped he would take the hint and leave them alone. The minstrel smiled broadly and her heart sank a little. Apparently, he lacked the sense to walk away, or was too enticed by the boost to his reputation his little display might bring.
“Ah, Master Daro, don’t be so modest! The realm owes you and your lovely wife a debt of thanks! Please, allow me to perform a song in your honor. It is the very least I can do.” He bowed again and turned to address the crowd in the room, tossing his cloak over his shoulder. “What say you? Shall we have a ballad of our heroes?” Many of the patrons began to clap and the minstrel flashed a wide smile.
“Why should we?” came a voice from across the room. A middle-aged man with a balding head and a full beard slammed his mug on the table. “Caused enough trouble, that lot.” Most of the room went quiet, save for a few grumbles of agreement from the others at his table.
The minstrel’s hands flew to his face in a dramatic gesture of surprise. “Good sir! These people are heroes! Surely a mere song is far less than they deserve.”
The man stood. “Nothing but trouble. I figure if it wasn’t for them and their friends, we never woulda had a war in the first place. New king,” he said, nearly spitting out the words. “New king and a pig’s eye, not gonna get you nothin’. Shoulda left things alone.”
Cecily groaned inside. Some called them heroes; not everyone agreed. She knew there was little point in trying to convince malcontents that the former King Hadran had been a vicious murderer. The details seemed to matter little. She looked up at Daro. He traced the lip of his mug with a finger.
The minstrel was going on again about their virtue and heroism. “Why, Master Daro himself, he saved many who would have perished in the fires of the Madrona Massacre! How could one fault such heroic efforts?”
“Here’s what I’m thinkin’,” the man said as he walked closer to their table, exaggerating each stride and striking his boots hard on the floor. “I’m thinkin’ this lot put one king on a throne, why don’t they go kill him now and put me up there? What say you to that? I’d do a damn fine job of it too, if I say so.” His friends at his table laughed. The man kept walking and stopped in front of the minstrel.
Cecily wanted to stop this before it went too far. “You shouldn’t speak about that which you know nothing,” she said, only loud enough for the man to hear. “We’re not here for attention. We’d just like to sit and eat in peace, so if you’ll kindly take your seat.”
The minstrel was attempting to regain control of the situation. He flipped his cloak and raised his hand, but the man cut him off before he could begin. “I’ll not take orders from the likes of you. What’re you still doing with this Imaran beast anyway? The way I hear it, you come from noble blood. Maybe you’re headin’ to the city to have a bit of a thing with the king on the side, eh? That’s why Rogan’s king, folks! This little lady had a romp in a stable and rewarded him with a crown!”
Cecily’s eyes narrowed and her mind darted quickly through a list of unpleasant things she could do to him. The sound of a chair scraping on the floor stopped her and she saw Daro slowly get up from his seat. He stood a head taller than both the minstrel and the heckler. He straightened his back and glared at the man with an icy stare. “You will not speak to my wife like that,” he said, his tone low and even.
The man paled slightly but stood his ground. “I’ll take my seat when you folk move on. You’re not welcome in this town.”
Daro stared at him, unblinking. The man looked back at his friends and two others stood and walked over to join him; both men fingered knives at their belts. One side of Daro’s mouth lifted in the slightest smile. Cecily recognized the look of his body relaxing, his arms loose at his sides. He wasn’t one to charge into a brawl, but he was ready to coil up and spring at the me
n.
The room had gone still. The other patrons leaned away, and a few even scurried to the outskirts of the room. The innkeeper stood near the door, wringing his hands. Edson stayed in his seat and darted nervous glances between Cecily and Daro.
Cecily desperately wanted to avoid a fight. Reasoning with these men was not going to get them anywhere, though, so she decided to take a different approach. She stood, her movement slow and deliberate. The minstrel moved aside and watched with his mouth slightly open.
Cecily lifted her chin and took a step toward the men. She brushed Daro’s arm with her hand, hoping to keep him back. She knew the second Daro made a move, the men would attack. “You would do well to keep your ignorance to yourself and refrain from speaking ill of others,” she said, her voice carrying across the room. “I suggest you do as my husband asked and take your seat.”
The man in the center rested his hand on the hilt of his knife. Cecily Reached with her Wielding Energy and applied Pressure, a tight grip on the man’s wrist. His eyes went wide, and he snatched his hand away, shaking it. She gripped tighter, keeping her eyes firmly locked on his. The two men next to him furrowed their eyebrows in confusion. One drew his knife and Cecily grabbed his wrist with Pressure, tightening it so his blade dropped to the floor.
“We don’t want a fight,” she said, keeping her Pressure grip solid. “And you don’t want to fight us.” She kicked the knife across the floor and it skidded to a halt near the wall. She squeezed them both with Pressure again and held them until they both winced.
Daro put his hand on the small of her back. Cecily held their gaze for a moment longer before she dropped her Pressure grip and turned to take her seat. Daro followed, deliberately turning away to dismiss them. The men shuffled away, their faces flushed, and left through the front door rather than returning to their table.
The tension gradually melted from the room. The chatter of conversation rose in a low crescendo and the bustle of activity resumed. The minstrel backed away a few feet from their table and scanned the room with a neutral expression. Cecily caught his eye and gave him a hard stare. Don’t even think about it. He cringed and went back to his seat.
Cecily glanced around. Most of the patrons had gone back to their food and drink, but a few still turned their way. No one else had joined in the threats, but no one stood up for them either. The people here seemed to be indifferent, at best.
“Bloody minstrels, can’t ever keep their mouths shut,” Daro grumbled. He rose from his seat and walked to the stairs without another word. Cecily sighed.
Edson shifted in his seat and scratched his head, his eyes still darting around the room. “Does this happen a lot?” he asked.
Cecily shrugged. “No, not a lot. But this isn’t the first time. It’s hard to know what the mood of a place will be. More often than not, the crowd cheers and calls for the song, and then sings along.” She chuckled to herself. “Once they tried to hoist us up in our chairs and carry us around the room. Daro hated that just as much.”
“Not sure how they’d lift him anyway,” Edson said with a grin. “But, and sorry if it isn’t my place to ask, why does he get so upset?”
“The war wasn’t what most people thought. It wasn’t all glory and honor and heroics. We didn’t make Rogan the king. He was king by right, after Hadran died.” She deliberately said “died,” rather than “was killed.” It somehow made the whole thing seem more honorable. “Daro didn’t want to be involved, but we did what we felt was right. Now he just wants to be left alone.”
The innkeeper came to their table, bringing their dinner himself. “My dear, please accept my apologies for the, uh, incident. I cannot thank you enough for ending it peacefully. My inn is not a brawling tavern. I’ll see to it those men aren’t welcomed in my establishment again. They had no right!”
“Please, Mr. Fielding, it’s all right, truly,” Cecily said, her voice gentle. “Sometimes these things happen.”
“Be that as it may, there will be no charge, of course. And Master Daro, will he be joining you, or would you like his dinner sent up to your room?”
“I believe he would prefer to dine in his room this evening. If you would be so kind as to send mine as well, it would be most appreciated.” Cecily smiled.
He nodded and waved frantically for a serving girl. “Yes, yes, that will be fine. Come Betsy, this will be going to the large room upstairs. Hurry, on with you now.”
Cecily rose and left the innkeeper to arrange for their dinner. “Edson, we’ll expect you up early to help with the cargo, but you’re welcome to enjoy the Float tonight if you wish.” He smiled and nodded. She guessed he was relieved he wasn’t being banished to his room for the night. The minstrel had taken to the small stage and begun to play a soft melody on his lute as Edson dug into his dinner.
Bloody minstrels indeed, Cecily thought as she alighted the stairs. She knew Daro would be in a foul mood. No matter, she knew plenty of ways to draw her husband out of a bad mood. She paused on the stair as the minstrel’s song grew louder, his voice added to the strumming of his instrument. On a whim, she quested out with her Awareness and brushed the strings of his lute, then Reached and broke one of them with a quick snap. A discordant twang cut across the room as the minstrel almost dropped his instrument. He fumbled to keep it in his hands and looked around in surprise. A few patrons laughed into their drinks.
Cecily smiled to herself and went upstairs to join her husband.
TO WHATEVER END CHAPTER 3: ORDERS
The voices were familiar. He awoke to them each day; they told him he was still alive. At first, the constant chaos in his mind had threatened to take his sanity. Day after day, the grind in his head had worn him down, taking away his will. Until he’d accepted the chaos. He’d embraced it, owned it, made it a part of him. Now he couldn’t imagine living without it. It gave him something to hold on to; an anchor for his being.
He brushed back his long hair and tied it at the nape of his neck. His mask and hood sat next to his bed. He rubbed his bare face, feeling the night’s growth. He wondered what he would look like if he let it grow. Of course, that was a silly idea. Not shaving each morning was unthinkable. It was required.
He stood and left the mask on the table. He felt exposed without it, the air prickling his bare skin. His dark, windowless room gave him no indication of what time it might be; he guessed before dawn. He didn’t sleep much anymore. Closing his eyes was dangerous. There were too many voices in the dark.
He sat back down on the edge of his bed. There was little else in the room: a bed, just wide enough for him to sleep on, and a small table next to it. A normal room might have a window, a dressing table with a bowl of water for washing, hooks for hanging cloaks or clothing. This room had none of those things. Just the bed, the table and the chains.
His eyes flicked over to the dull silver fetters and his fingers clenched, turning his knuckles white. Four chains were bolted to the floor, manacles for wrists and ankles at their ends. He could remember the cold bite of the metal, his skin rubbed raw to bleeding. Absently, he rubbed his wrists. He hadn’t needed to be bound in a long time, but they kept them in his room nonetheless, a constant reminder.
He sat for a while in the dark and stared at nothing. He’d learned to embrace these moments of silence, cling to them. In the beginning, the silence had been his enemy. He’d paced around his room and walked in circles, trying to escape it. Now the early morning before they came for him was his time. It was the only thing left that belonged to him.
He dressed, pulling on the loose black pants and tugging the black shirt over his body. The soft fabric hung from his lean frame. He slipped his feet into his black boots and fastened the silver buckles.
Eventually, the door swung open, intruding on the silence like an unwanted guest at a dinner party. A servant came in and washed his face and hands, then shaved the stubble from his chin. He complied like a penitent child, sitting motionless and staring into nothing. It was easier this w
ay.
She left him to put his mask and hood on by himself. It slipped over his skin, close and warm. His breath was hot inside it, but he was used to the feeling of warmth over his mouth. It covered his face, the supple fabric clinging to the contours of his jaw, nose and forehead. A slit in the front allowed him to see. He adjusted the fit, pulling the mask into place so it didn’t intrude on his vision. It was a comfort, the pressure against his face and head. He had fought the mask in the beginning. He could no longer remember why.
The wait wasn’t long. He was never sure what would happen when they led him out of his room. He’d memorized the labyrinthine hallways, the numbers of doors, the turns to each place they took him. They could cover his eyes and he could still find his way. His heartbeat rose; it felt like rebellion somehow, knowing the hallways. He briefly wondered if he was supposed to know them, and what they would do to him if they found out. Surely they realized. He had been there so long. Not that he could say how long; his sense of time had long since disappeared. He kept walking, following his guide, and pushed thoughts of time out of his mind. Thinking about time always led to thinking about the before, and the before couldn’t exist anymore.
His stomach turned sour and his heart beat faster as the route became clear. One more hallway branched off to the left and he willed his guide to keep going straight. Don’t turn, please don’t turn. He didn’t want to go there, not today. A few more steps and he would know. His urge to flee was overwhelming, but he buried it, pushed it down with everything he had. Sweat dripped down his temple, soaking into his mask.
His guide walked on, straight. He let out his breath and the tightness in his back and shoulders began to ease. As they passed the hallway to the left, he forced his eyes forward. Don’t even look. It was easier that way.
His guide led him through a door into an open air courtyard at the center of the compound. A stone fountain crumbled in the middle, the water long since having stopped flowing. Ivy and moss crept through the cobblestones, nature working hard to retake the ruin. The cloudy sky was visible high above, towering over the sprawling building. He briefly wondered what this building had been, when it had been whole.