CHAPTER THIRTY #2
I stilled as she took the cloak from my arm and threw it over her shoulder, only to grab her jacket by its collar so that it unraveled before me.
It was deep brown in color, a bit worn, and quite long—it would easily brush the tops of my boots.
It had a wide collar and engraved silver buckles took the place of buttons or ties.
It appeared to be made of thick animal skin with an inner lining of fur, and even without trying it on, I knew it would be much warmer than my cloak.
“It’s beautiful,” I said to distract myself as Vayen leaned forward and lowered the coat simultaneously, aligning my hand with one of the jacket’s sleeves.
I inhaled sharply when the tips of her warm fingers brushed against my inner arm, the cause of an involuntary flinch.
Vayen froze, the burst of emerald in her eyes swallowed by blackness as her gaze flitted up to me.
“Are you okay?”
“Yes,” I managed, even as warmth assaulted my cheeks. “That tickled a bit.”
“Sorry,” Vayen said as she continued pulling the jacket up my arm more carefully now.
When her fingertips didn’t brush my skin again, I quickly added, “I don’t mind.”
Vayen’s lips pressed together, and I imagined she was doing her best to avoid laughing at me. With half the coat on, she stepped to my back, repeating the process with my other arm. She adjusted the jacket over my comparatively narrow shoulders, each action tender in its own right.
Why did I say that out loud?
I tripped over my words, trying to explain. “I just meant—tickling isn’t always so bad, is it? I find it can be soothing.”
I couldn’t see her, but I knew she was close from her radiating warmth. Something about her proximity summoned an unwelcome hum in my lower belly. Her sudden breath on my neck as she mumbled, “I’ll keep that in mind,” certainly didn’t help.
“I—what?”
But the spell of the moment had broken, and Vayen left me standing there, cloak in hand, more perplexed than anything else.
I truly did not know what to make of her.
Or what to make of the scent of her enveloping me.
Woodland rain, and moss, and… I couldn’t place the final note, even as I pressed my nose to her jacket’s collar and inhaled.
Whatever it was, I liked it. More than I should have.
With a quick shake of my head to right my mind, I removed my mother’s pin and placed it in my pocket before tossing the cloak onto my bed and sealing my bedchamber door.
I followed after her, entirely absent the persistent thoughts of lovely scents and left-cheek dimples.
We made our way down the dark hall, barely lit by iron sconces whose candles needed replacing.
Even from the top of the spiral staircase, the eerie silence of the tavern was poignant.
Normally, the conversational hum of the common area was audible from here, but it was too early for that. Vayen and I were the only ones awake.
Her gait was hurried as she landed on the flagstone and capably made her way through the darkness. The chandeliers were lifeless, only the dying hearth providing a faint glow from the corner of the room.
I followed in step as Vayen pulled the front door open slowly enough that the bell never chimed.
As though a blanket of chill had been waiting to smother us, autumn’s bite wasted no time in its descent.
I suddenly was very grateful for Vayen’s insistence that I borrow her coat; my cloak would have been no match for the bitter air.
Mimicking Vayen, I closed the tavern door behind me slowly, my exhales visibly foggy in the early morning darkness.
By the time the heaving door clicked shut, she was already off, heading the opposite direction of Catrin’s shop.
I scurried after her, disappointed in how slowly my eyes were adjusting; I’d never seen this part of the village before.
And apparently that wasn’t going to change.
The stone posts stationed throughout Grenythwood Village remained unlit from the blood pit, and the moons had shifted in such a way that their moonlight merely flirted with the canopy above, unable to pierce through.
I could only just make out the buildings as we passed, their fuzzy outlines refusing to come into focus.
This seemed not to be a problem for my guide, however, who hastily proceeded as though sunlight bathed the road.
“Where are we going?” I asked in the face of her purposeful, determined gait.
“There’s someone you need to meet.”
“Who?”
“It’s better if I show you,” Vayen said, not once looking back at me.
I sighed, summoning a burst of cloudy breath against the cool air. “And then you’ll answer my questions?”
“You have my word.”
I didn’t know what to make of having Vayen’s word, though for some reason I pressed on, cradling the fragile hope that I might, at the very least, assuage some of my curiosity in the process.
It wasn’t long before the buildings guarding the road ceased, and we found ourselves navigating the very dark, very cold wood.
I didn’t enjoy traveling at night, I decided after some time.
The forest was a symphony of shadows, each one shifting unpredictably whenever a gust of frigid wind played with the more susceptible bushes and branches.
The tree trunks were close together here, their rough bark dampened by the growing wetness in the air.
If there were animals roaming about, they remained suspiciously quiet—only the sound of our boots slurping against mud puddles broke the deafening silence.
Vayen’s pace was relentless. I wondered if that was by design, to ensure I never caught my breath enough to start asking the questions she had promised me answers to.
“How much farther?” I finally huffed out when my nose and cheeks began to lose sensation.
“Not too much longer now,” she said, though I doubted her honesty.
I shoved my hands into the deep, fur-lined pockets of Vayen’s jacket, hoping to ward off the cold from my numbing fingers, but I found more than my moonstone pin lying in wait.
Unwilling to temper my curiosity any longer, I clasped my hand around the object, only to be met with a familiarity that was wholly undesired.
I stopped walking, withdrawing and flattening my palm towards an errant shard of moonlight, though I already knew what I held.
Rowland’s ruby brooch. The one Catrin said was made with Hollow blood.
I stood frozen. I’d assumed Vayen wouldn’t notice until I called out to her, given her focus, but instead she halted immediately, casting me a furrowed brow. When her attention fell to my outstretched hand, her features smoothed over.
“Catrin gave this to you?” I asked, the fortress of my mind erecting its walls against the memories that threatened to resurface.
“Yes.”
“Why would she do that?”
“Because the person I’m taking you to asked to see it.”
I puffed out my cheeks in a strong exhale before tossing the brooch over to her. Despite the darkness, she caught it easily.
“You can keep it,” I said simply as I resumed walking forward. For all I knew, it was made with Rowland’s blood, and I would never, ever let any part of that man touch me again.
Vayen nodded once before guiding me deeper into the night.
When a singular flaming torch caught my attention and Vayen uttered the words, “We’re here,” I nearly wept with joy.
It was the second time in recent memory that autumn’s chill had managed to seep through my clothes, and I was quite done with it.
I had the growing suspicion that Grenythwood’s colder seasons were somewhat less forgiving than Lunamor’s—news I was not particularly thrilled by.
“Finally,” I groaned, pressing forward with haste.
The torch had dual purpose as a signpost, though I couldn’t make out the symbols scratched into the wood in this light.
I could, however, see the stone path it marked, which I followed eagerly with my eyes.
Not too far down the way, past an odd-looking fence that seemed to be made of hewn, painted rock, stood an even stranger-looking house made partially visible by the moonlight-bathed glade it rested in.
The exterior was imperfectly bulbous, as though two reversed, misshapen pears had been pushed together to make a building.
Its curved walls and mossy, mushroom-dappled roof gave the impression the home was one with the forest, though the stuttering glow emanating from those unevenly spaced windows betrayed its organic presence.
Further illuminating the house with an eerie, silver glow were large, transparent, teardrop-shaped apothecary bottles suspended from the window sills and affixed to the walls.
At first glance, with the intricate brass detailing partially obscuring their glowing contents, I thought they were lanterns.
However no discernible light source was visible within.
In fact, they appeared to be filled only with moss and flowers. Curious.
When a narrow, wooden door opened and a stout man shimmied onto the balcony jutting from the second level, my jaw nearly affixed itself to the forest floor in surprise.
Even without the northern Scholar’s dark purple cloak, I would have known the man who stood before me was undoubtedly Soran.
His luminescent blue eyes—so pale they nearly appeared white—were accompanied by coiled, muted-blonde hair pulled away from his face before descending his shoulders in roped locks.
Both of his Soran traits existed in stark contrast to his black skin, yet neither held my attention long, for even more startling than our shared origin was his accompanying stature.
My understanding of the Soran people was still in its infancy, but even I knew they were traditionally quite tall, with sharp, elegant features and unmatched grace.
This man existed as a striking distinction, his sturdiness and height reminiscent more of a barrel with legs than an elegant Scholar.
In the darkness, I could only make out a bulbous nose, swollen cheeks, and a shoulder span that rivaled Berig’s.
The leveling of his balcony appeared quite treacherous as he stumbled towards the railing, his attention never once landing our way.
Either the balcony was built poorly or the man was inebriated, and as he shifted his weight precariously and began adjusting the front of his trousers, I grew more certain of the latter.
His body was blessedly angled away from us, yet when a stream of liquid began splashing from his front into a puddle of mud below, I couldn’t help but avert my eyes with a gasp.
“Is he—?”
“Relieving himself? Unfortunately, yes.”
I whispered through my disbelief, “And he’s actually a Scholar?”
“Right again,” Vayen replied as she settled next to me on the path, our shoulders brushing up against one another. “At least, he was.”
“Under any other circumstance, I’d be quite pleased, but this—” I gestured wildly in the man’s direction without allowing my gaze to wander “—leaves something to be desired.”
Vayen snorted. “Just you wait.”