Rouke stood next to a bar that dominated the room and defined the rustic aesthetic of the tavern. It appeared to be made of a fallen winewood and was so large that the inn must have been built around it. It spanned the length of the room, and the top had been sawn and sanded to make a flat tabletop along which many patrons sat. They were taking advantage of the knobs and valleys of bark that remained on the trunk of the old leviathan as foot, drink, and pipe rests. The entire surface Sloane could see had been sealed with some type of lacquer that brought out the best colors in the wood, while imparting on it a bright sheen that reflected the many lamps around the room. He spoke with a round, balding man who wore a white shirt with rolled-up sleeves. A massive, bristling beard that claimed almost all of the man’s face below the eyes threatened an assault against an advancing bald spot. Small eyes peered brightly from below a similarly bushy brow. A used hand towel draped over one shoulder. That, and his constant swiveling gaze, proclaimed him the owner or manager of the inn.
Erik stepped up beside Sloane. “We secured two long tables next to the hearth.” He pointed to the side of the room opposite the mass of dancing people. “I will see to your meals.” The last he spoke loudly so those piling in behind her could hear, then he turned and maneuvered through the crowd toward Rouke.
“My Lady.” Kinsey took Erik’s place beside her and beckoned as he stepped past to clear a path. The milling patrons moved aside easily for him, and he patted some on the shoulder with a familiarity that bespoke his trips through this area.
Sloane looked again at Rouke and Erik as she followed Kinsey, and found the same ease of interaction between the two men and the barkeep. Even the barmaids gave them warm smiles and giggled as Rouke made expressive gestures, most likely immersed in the telling of some tall tale.
Sloane relaxed as the warmth radiated from the giant hearth and began to wash away layers of cold. Thankfully, she shed her heavy cloak and settled into a cozy corner. Mouth-watering savory smells drifted from the kitchen doors as they banged open and closed in a constant stream of hands bearing trays of steaming soups, hunks of bread, and interesting cuts of meat. Rich brown gravy appeared to be a key player in much of the fare that marched past the group, and she felt as well as heard her stomach rumble. Master Kinsey appeared to have been correct about the food at the very least, if it tasted anything like it looked and smelled.
“By Eos, I could eat a whole cow.” Marcella threw her cloak on the table and plopped down across from Sloane.
“Might as well, you already look like one,” Meagan said, as she stepped up beside Marcella and received a sharp elbow to the stomach. “Hey!”
“Shut it. Or I’ll do worse.” Marcella’s eyes did not touch on her younger sister but the steel in her voice silenced any reprisals. Meagan sat with a loud thump next to her sister and placed her chin on both fists, a determined frown painted across her face, but a mischievous light still danced behind her eyes.
“We’ll all do better with a little something to eat,” Sloane offered.
“And some dancing, I would think,” Chancellor Tomelen said as he approached the table, meticulously folding his leather gloves and outer cloak. His comment was spoken loud enough for all the girls to hear, but his eyes remained on Sloane’s twin. “Perhaps I could have the first with Princess Sacha, if I may be so bold?” He offered a hand after setting his fur-lined cloak in the spot he had claimed at the long table.
Sacha had just made her way around the table, and froze in the act of sitting beside her sister. “I... Yes, of course.”
“Go on. Take your time, and have fun.” Sloane took her sister’s gloves and cloak. She found the chancellor’s fascination with Sacha quite amusing, and she took advantage of every opportunity to promote its continuance. “I will save some food for you.”
Sacha flashed her teeth. “How kind of you, sister.”
“Think nothing of it.” She grinned back with true mirth and chanced a quick glance at Kesh to see if he had caught on to any of their exchange.
If he had understood or taken offense at the exchange, he was masterful in his maintenance of polite interest. She didn’t think it would matter even if he had caught it. His self-confidence would prevent him from feeling mocked. His interest in Sacha had grown considerably after she had saved his life and healed the wounds he sustained during the ambush. The damage to his face would have left permanent scarring if Sacha had not intervened with magic. The image of his wounds closing, as if by their own doing, would forever be imprinted in Sloane’s mind. Sacha had collapsed in a heap after performing the miracle, exhausted by the battle and the ordeal of using her power. All who witnessed the act had gained new respect for the princess, and her reputation amongst the traveling party had grown with each discussion of the day’s events.
“Has our cousin finally found true love?” Bella whispered as she sat down on the other side of Marcella and watched Sacha being led to the dancers at the opposite end of the room.
“I seriously doubt that.” Leanne leaned in after taking a seat beside Sloane. “She loves another. Still.” She gestured to the dance floor where the chancellor and Sacha began to jump and spin with the rest of the frolicking couples. “And that man has become no more than a puppy.”
Meagan laughed and Marcella gave her a playful nudge. “A lesson well learned, little sister. All men are dogs, though puppies are the worst of the lot.”
Sloane chuckled along with her cousins at the dodgy remarks that followed but found herself drifting from the conversation. By the end of the month, she would be a queen. Queen to the people in this very tavern, and thousands more like them. I hope to do them justice, she thought, while looking around the common room to observe the farmers, carpenters, and fishermen. All enjoying themselves as they sang, laughed, and enjoyed the respite from their labors.
All but one.
Sloane blinked as her eyes stumbled upon the motionless... Trapper? It was hard for her to tell the person’s occupation. A mercenary, perhaps? The dense fur cloak could not hide the mismatched plate and chainmail poking out from underneath. A man-at-arms of some type seemed more plausible. With a little more scrutiny, she was able to make out the worn hilt of a broadsword protruding from the cloak as well, providing a resting place for a thick, callused hand, leading Sloane to believe the living statue was male. The face lost in the depths of a dark green cowl left her no other clues to guess the stranger’s gender. She would have missed him entirely if not for his lack of movement amongst all the commotion, and for the fact he had appeared to be studying her group. More specifically, Sloane herself. The dark recesses of his hood were pointed in her direction, and she caught the barest glint of reflected flames in his two shimmering eyes. The man stood suddenly and made his way toward the door.
Sloane turned to Sir Brier Harristone, who had taken a seat at the end of their long table. “Excuse me, Sir Harristone.” Sloane motioned toward the retreating stranger. “Can you tell me to what profession that gentleman by the door belongs?”
Harristone turned to see the stranger just as he walked out of the tavern. “You don’t give much warning to a man, Princess.” He laughed. “But from what I saw, I’d say a mercenary. There is plenty of work for those types in these times.” Brier scratched his chin. “Or a bounty hunter, perhaps. Most of the fighting has been further south, after all. Not too much work for a mercenary in this part of the country. Bandits do work along the rivers with frequency, much to my regret.” His brows came together in a look of concern.
“No country is without some banditry, Sir Harristone.” Sloane reassured the man. “Thank you for humoring my curiosity.”
His face brightened. “No trouble at all, Princess. No trouble at all.”
Sloane looked back to the closed door and shook her feeling of paranoia. It’s probably nothing. After leaving the main road a week before, no one could know of their location. Besides, Kinsey had told her their journey was not an advertised event. The governing body of Waterfall
Citadel had made sure to downplay the whole affair until her actual appearance in the capital.
“Thank Eos!” Marcella clapped her hands, interrupting Sloane’s thoughts. “I’m starving.”
Erik, Kinsey, and several barmaids brought trays filled with steaming bowls of stew and large cuts of smoked meat, rousing Sloane from her worried contemplation. Rouke trailed behind, laden with pitchers of foaming ale and loaves of dark bread.
“You’re my savior, Master Kinsey.” Marcella winked at him as she took a bowl. Sudden color rose above his beard line, and he hesitated in his passing. Young Meagan rolled her eyes but made no comment. The others, however, cut eyes at one another and whispered, sharing devilish grins.
Everyone at the two tables were served and Sloane found the food to be as good as promised. The locals began to mingle with their party and before they were halfway into the meal, many conversations had sparked to life. What was in store for the rest of the year? Were taxes to increase because of the rumored Wildmen attacks? Would the Wildmen make it this far north? All topics of interest, but most were issues Sloane lacked specific knowledge of. The rest she knew too much about.
The night had started late, though, and the patrons began to make their way to their homes before Sloane and her companions had fully finished their meal. By the time Bale reentered the hall to inform her that the main force of Pelosian soldiers was camped in a space behind the Rapid’s Rest and sentries had been posted, the common room had cleared to a desolate few. Rouke and Erik retreated to the exterior at a nod from Kinsey, to see to the Basinian men-at-arms, with Bale’s eyes following them, suspicion painted on his bluff features. Here and there, servers took a moment or two of ease and ate a light meal before they began the process of putting the room to rights for the next day.
“Well, my friends and family.” Sloane stood, attempting to ignore the stiffness and resistance of her body, which had become accustomed to the warmth of the hearth and the settling effect of the rich food. “I do believe it is time for me to retire.” And find solace in the soothing waters of a hot bath.
Kinsey wiped his hands on a dark green napkin and got to his feet. “I’ll show you to your room, Princess.”
“Thank you, Master Kinsey.” Sloane shot Bale a quelling glance when he opened his mouth, presumably in some protest. The return to civilization had apparently heightened the soldier’s instinct to protect them. His face was perturbed as he shook his head slightly.
“Your pardon, Princess. I must have at least one of our own with you as well,” Bale said, eyes firm. “I’m certain our friends can be trusted, but your safety is my responsibility. I would insist on watching over you myself, but I must question the prisoner.”
Sloane began to protest, but in light of all that had transpired, one more escort seemed a small price to pay to assuage the man’s feelings. Grimacing in distaste over the questioning of the prisoner, she nodded in assent to the captain and gestured for Kinsey, who had halted his rise at the exchange, to continue. Bale gestured for Garrick and Soren to trail behind Sacha and Sloane.
“Bardon!” Kinsey called loudly toward the bar. The heavy beard appeared in a rush from the kitchen, accompanied by the rest of the men. “We need our rooms.”
“Aye, Kinsey,” Bardon said, a smile twitching below the thicket of whiskers. “Right ya are.” He turned, kneeling out of sight behind the bar.
Sloane and her bodyguard followed Kinsey as he neared the location where the innkeep could be heard clanking about. “Actually, Master Kinsey, a bath is what I require first. I cannot imagine attaining any true rest in my current state.”
“Yes, I remembered your comment earlier. I’ve had water prepared for you and the accompanying ladies,” he said.
“‘Savior’ does seem to be the appropriate word for you this evening, Master Kinsey. Thank you for your prudence.”
His cheeks colored at her words. “Not worth mentioning, Princess.”
Bardon resurfaced from under the bar. “Here’s keys for you an’ yer group, except for the lady here and her sister,” he said, nodding to Sloane. “The fancy gentleman at the table there got their key already.” His thatching-like beard jutted toward Kesh, who remained sipping from a goblet and talking at Sacha, who wore a patient expression.
Kinsey frowned. “I see. Much thanks, Master Bardon.”
“Yep. Pleasure. Tubs are in the back.” Bardon jabbed a thumb over his shoulder, indicating the door on the far side of the bar between the stairs.
“Well, it seems I’ll get to my room later. Good evening, Master Kinsey.” Sloane turned, trailed by Garrick, and headed to the back of the tavern where her steaming oasis awaited.
Sacha watched Sloane make her escape through the heavy wooden door behind the bar. Kinsey came back to the tables, several painted iron keys in one hand. “I have keys for everyone, and baths have been drawn for you, ladies.”
“So kind of you, Master Kinsey. Thinking of our needs the way you do,” Marcella purred.
The poor man, Sacha thought. There was no escaping Marcella once she had her eyes set on someone. In Pelos, her persistence was legendary. Sacha would have to find some way to deter her from the pursuit; her cousin was too high-born to continue with such games.
“Shall I escort you to your room, Princess?” Kesh leaned in with a grin, quite ignoring the soldier Bale had assigned to that very task. He produced a small iron key from his vest pocket. “I took the liberty of getting the largest suite for you and your sister.”
Of course, she had her own troubles to work out. Marcella’s issues would have to wait. Affixing a polite smile on her face that she hoped didn’t look too forced, she took his proffered arm and rose. “Thank you, chancellor, I would be delighted.”
“I must say you, are an excellent dancer, Princess Sacha,” Kesh began as he guided her up the stairs, Soren trailing in their wake. “I look forward to such pleasantries with you in the future. Waterfall Citadel has most exquisite ballrooms and the wine is even more so.”
“I’m sure it’s quite wonderful, Chancellor—”
“Kesh. Please, call me Kesh.”
“Oh, yes, I forgot. Kesh. I’m sure it is a wonderful place, but for now rest sounds more appealing to me than anything else.” She hoped her false smile would seem sincere as she put out her hand for the key.
“Your pardon, Princess.” He cupped her hand with both of his and pressed the key into her palm. “You must be exhausted after this harsh week of travel.” He stepped closer, his eyes focused on hers.
Sacha yawned deeply and pulled her hand away from his, using it to cover her mouth. “I am so sorry, Chan... Kesh. How rude of me, I must be truly exhausted.” She jammed the key into the lock and twisted. Thankfully it clicked open on the first try. “Good night, Chan... Kesh.” She slipped into the slim opening and turned to shut the door. Over Kesh’s shoulder she saw Soren smirking as he closed a large hand on the blinking noble’s shoulder.
Thank Eos. She leaned her forehead against the door, listening to the voices of the guard and Kesh receding as the chancellor was hustled down the hall. Something would have to be done about the man’s affections before the situation got too far out of hand. She had noticed his partiality before leaving Pelos, but after the ambush, his feelings had apparently gone quite beyond fond. She had hoped to have time to formulate a plan to divert Kesh before reaching the citadel, but his advances were becoming more blatant, much faster than she had anticipated.
Something shuffled in the room behind her.
Sacha froze.
The movement stopped.
She turned her head to peer over her shoulder. The only light in the room came from the moon through the window. She had been too preoccupied to notice before, but now, she realized not a single candle had been lit. Opening her mind to the Shamonrae, she began to draw arcane power into herself, while searching the darkness for threats.
A searing light burst before her eyes, banishing the darkness and blinding her before sh
e could shield her eyes. The sound of shuffling feet came from several directions—all of them coming closer.
“Kesh!” she called out, stumbling back against the door. She rolled to one side, turning her face from the blinding light.
Her sideways movement ended in a jarring stop as she smashed into some unmovable object. Strong hands seized her by the hair and arms. She was wrenched from the ground. More hands raked her face in an attempt to shove a damp cloth in her mouth.
Panic swelled in her chest and she fought to keep in control of her thoughts. She shook her head violently to avoid the groping hands that held the soaked cloth, but her struggle stopped as the grip on her hair tightened, tearing her scalp painfully. Still unable to see through the burning spots in her vision, she grabbed blindly at the closest thing within reach, which appeared to be one of the assailant’s arms, and released all of her stored power.
The sound of crackling electricity filled the room. Her captor’s restraining hands went rigid and the smell of burning flesh fouled the air. Muted mewling sounds escaped the throat of her assailant as he thrashed, his vocal cords arrested in the flow of current.
Sacha’s heart stopped. The flow of power she was releasing had flowed back into her through the hands that held her. Trapped! The stored power rushed out, emptying from her like water from a cup, and try as she might, she couldn’t halt the flow before the vessel was empty.
Images of Rylan and Renee flooded into her disillusioned mind. Renee, I’m so sorry. The memories of her family began to diminish as consciousness faded from her convulsing body. She and the hazy figures that held her collapsed in a heap, the smell of burning hair and cloth layering over the smell of unwashed bodies.
Dark Fate: The Gathering (The Dark Fate Chronicles Book 1) Page 20