CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
ALYSSUM
Ihad come to the conclusion that there was no activity superior to sinking into a piping hot bath after a day and a half of fleeing one’s kingdom.
In fact, if I thought I had any say in the matter, I might never have left that tub.
If it weren’t for the overwhelming curiosity regarding my upcoming conversation with Winnie, I might’ve decided instead to die a warm, lazy death slowly transforming into a dried plum in the embrace of marvelous water.
Even as I washed my body and hair of caked dirt and dried blood, the liquid never muddied.
The water remained just as purple and divine, smelling faintly of white roses and some herb I couldn’t identify.
I wondered absently how much of this life-changing experience was due to Catrin’s infusion before deciding it really didn’t matter and allowing the thought to float away.
In the end, I had become as clean as I possibly could, and the heat of the water had begun to fade.
It was time to leave the safety of my new favorite tub and continue the rather unfamiliar process of readying myself for the day without assistance.
As I dried my body, combed and braided my hair, and chose an outfit from Milo’s delivery, my mind couldn’t help but stray to Nora and what her day might look like without a princess to wait on.
I wondered if she was worried sick and missing me, or if she was experiencing freedom for the very first time, too.
The clothes Catrin had loaned me were far simpler than anything I’d ever worn in Lunamor, and I was grateful for it.
No longer dressed as a Hollow—or a princess, for that matter—there was a possibility I might even avoid drawing undue amounts of attention to myself.
I had trouble imagining it. Whether I was in Lunamor with my undeniably Soran features or Grenythwood wearing Hollow attire, I had never not been the victim of narrowed gazes and hushed murmurs.
My whole life had consisted of attentions lingering on my hair and eyes.
Of whispers and rumors and everyone keeping me at arm’s length.
Only when I cloaked myself in Sentinel’s grey had I managed to blend in.
It was an immutable reality of my life as a Treaty Princess, but not as Lyssa Denan, the niece of Master Herbalist Catrin, who recently relocated from Sor after extensive study conducted under Lunamor’s King’s Scholar, Bjorn Elvadir.
Fortunately, aside from Catrin, only Milo had been on the receiving end of my Hollow lie.
With his promised concealment, no villager would have reason to suspect I wasn’t exactly who I claimed to be.
Still, Milo’s words permeated the fortress of calm I’d attempted to construct around my heart.
Why was he incapable of keeping a secret?
And if he couldn’t lie on my behalf, was he capable of remaining silent on the matter entirely?
Catrin hadn’t told him the truth of my identity—and now I understood why—but if he contradicted our story even slightly…
“Stop it,” I chastised myself as I awkwardly tightened the laces on the back of Catrin’s dress.
There was no use allowing the voices in my mind to bicker about matters entirely out of my control.
I inhaled deeply through my nose, closing my eyes and allowing my lungs to fill, before exhaling gently through my mouth.
I envisioned the tension melting from my shoulders and pooling to the floor, where it would no doubt be mopped up by a chambermaid.
Finally, I opened my eyes to fixate on the dress Catrin had chosen for me.
It was a plain linen dress the color of a storm cloud, its dark hue contrasting heavily with my pale skin and too-light hair.
Aside from the leather lacing in the back fitting the bodice to my form—which I was very proud to have tightened and tied all by myself—it had no adornments.
It was long-sleeved, floor-length, and the neckline was cut in such a way that it swooped lower than I was accustomed to, but not immodestly so.
I drew a finger across my collarbone, all the way to my partially exposed shoulder, a small smile pulling at the edges of my lips.
Just another villager, same as the rest.
After securing my boots, which were not obviously Hollow in appearance and would be obscured by the dress regardless, I was ready for the day.
As I nervously adjusted my ash-blonde braid over my shoulder, I made note of the hesitation bolting my feet to the floorboards.
But I knew better by now—there was no amount of overthinking that might render my discomfort powerless, so I swung open the door to my room and stepped into the hallway without a second thought.
I palmed the rough-textured walls as I descended the spiral staircase, measuring my breath to disallow my nervousness further foothold.
With each step, I became more enveloped in the gentle hum of conversation punctuated only by a woman’s raucous laughter and the sputtering of sparks from a log thrown into a hearth.
I chewed unthinkingly on my lower lip, peeking around the corner from the final step so that I could get a proper look at the Ugly Tankard before it was allowed a proper look at me.
My lips parted in surprise. When Catrin had brought me through, it hadn’t yet come to life—she mentioned that the tavernkeep had been away, and only planned to return that same day.
Aside from a barmaid who seemed to have expected our arrival, we hadn’t seen another living soul.
The hearth and candles had been unlit, the wooden chairs had rested precariously atop the tables, and I hadn’t been able to properly assess the tavern’s atmosphere.
Not to mention the fact that I had been substantially more preoccupied with locating a safe place to rest than much else.
In my exhaustion, I had wondered whether I was the sole inhabitant of the Ugly Tankard; perhaps the name had dissuaded villagers and visitors alike.
One might have thought there was a more favorable tavern and inn located within Grenythwood Village, but Catrin and Berig were friendly with the tavernkeep, so this was their preferred location to send uninvited crossers unceremoniously dropped into their laps.
But I could see now that was absolutely untrue.
I had met the Ugly Tankard when it was cold and lifeless and unready for the day, just as I had been.
We had both since undergone something of a transformation.
Hazy sunlight wilted in from both the skylights and the rounded windows haphazardly strewn about the walls. I had been right after all—not much sunlight made its way through the massive trees of Grenythwood Forest. It was barely enough to distinguish day from night.
Iron chandeliers peppered the vaulted ceilings, bathing the tavern’s inhabitants in a flickering glow that shadowed their features.
Several villagers were engrossed in conversation while others stared off into the distance, enjoying a private meal.
The high ceiling with its exposed wooden beams offset the flagstone flooring and rock walls painted burgundy.
The walls were lined with tapestries and paintings, none of which appeared to match in shape, size, or color, and yet together somehow created a cohesive disarray of atmosphere.
My attention drew to the stool-lined bar where a tall, fire-haired woman stood beside a gargantuan barrel.
Her red hair was pulled to the very top of her head in a large bun that hadn’t succeeded in taming the wisps floating around her face.
She wore a matching sleeveless blouse and trousers, both in a rather loud shade of marigold yellow.
Her thick, tanned arms were corded with muscle, and as she emptied the barrel’s contents into a pair of tankards with ease, I wondered how many heads she had crushed beneath those calloused hands.
She handed the now-overflowing tankards to a pair of brown-cloaked men at the end of the bar, her toothy grin accompanied by a swift nod.
“Keep ‘em coming, Winnie,” one of the men said.
She only grunted in response as she wiped her hands on the thick leather apron tied around her waist, and it was then that her dark blue eyes met mine.
My lips parted with a gasp, and I found myself moving towards the bar as if my feet were no longer attached to my body.
“You must be Lyssa,” Winnie said excitedly as she clasped her hands together.
“You… your eyes…” I palmed the polished wood of the bar, leaning forward to get a better look.
This was perhaps not the most polite way to greet a tavernkeep, but I couldn’t help myself.
Her eyes were a dark, startling hue, how I imagined the ocean might look before sunlight lost its foothold.
They were decidedly blue, but held none of the not-so-subtle glow that signaled the blood of Sor.
“Yeah, must have a bit of Soran somewhere down the line, I reckon. Nothing like yours, of course, but blue all the same.” Winnie leaned forward onto the bar, batting her eyelashes towards the nearest chandelier with a dramatic flutter.
The heat of sudden embarrassment, warm on my cheeks.
“Please forgive me; I must have lost my manners in the Threshold.” I outstretched an arm, perhaps a bit more forcefully than was necessary.
I wasn’t quite used to the customary greeting, but as Winnie’s larger hand grasped my own and gave a good shake, I could not control my own hesitant smile. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
“The pleasure is mine. Your aunt came to speak to me once she got you settled.” Winnie continued resting her elbows on the bar, those dark blue eyes flitting towards the front entrance whenever a small bell rang throughout the tavern.
“She mentioned you crossed in a bit of a hurry and you’ll be staying a while. ”