CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX #2
The ground beneath my feet was uneven, a patchwork of sunken puddles and straw.
Without Vayen’s warmth, the iciness of it all began to seep into my toes and bare fingers.
Fortunately, the tavern loomed at the far end of the marketplace with its too-tall silhouette and windows flickering in the candlelight.
It looked quite narrow compared to the other buildings, held up by dark wooden beams etched with more of those odd symbols.
The door was tall and skinny, and the tavern’s worn sign swung gently despite the stillness of the air.
Lanterns flanked its entrance, their flames licking at the sooty glass in an unnatural way that caught my gaze.
It wasn’t until we neared that I noticed the tree beside the tavern was not beside the tavern at all, but rather a part of the building itself.
The structure had been warped around the tree, enveloping one half of its trunk as though they had planned to grow together all along.
Reprieve was near, I reminded myself. A long, much-needed soak. Perhaps a warm meal. A bed made of more than moss and rock. And, if I were very fortunate, enough drink to quiet my suffering mind. So I decided the tree-consuming tavern was inviting and not at all ominous in its strange appearance.
I struggled to meet Vayen’s comparatively long strides, her pace only slowing when she began ascending the porch stairs. She cast a quick glance my way, I assumed to ensure I didn’t maim myself on the steps, before pushing her shoulder into the narrow door and pulling me inside.
I’d hoped to maintain the simmering of my rage, but the warmth that cocooned me against the wood’s frigidity sent a wave of ease melting down my spine.
The dark, amber atmosphere coupled with the scents of yeast and roasting meat did the opposite, instead summoning a gentle squeeze of my heart with its familiarity.
I really wished I were in Grenythwood Village.
This tavern, though decidedly a haven compared to where I’d been and where I was going, lacked the indisputable charm of the Ugly Tankard.
Winnie had poured herself into that building.
You could feel her essence in every mismatched tapestry, oddly shaped painting, and unwarranted splash of color.
But this tavern existed in opposition, only furnishing what was absolutely necessary.
The walls were dark and barren; there were no tapestries or paintings, banners or decrees.
The warped wood was marred only by the same strange markings I’d seen throughout town, now made large enough to cover each surface.
The tables, rough slabs of stone that could have used a proper mason, were uniformly spread in the wide open space and accompanied by wooden stools.
The bar was a long stretch of unpolished wood with worn edges, backdropped by rows of shelves showcasing dark bottles, their labels removed or worn away.
There were no windows on this floor, the primary light source coming from rusted sconces peppered throughout the main room.
If it weren’t for the weak flames of candles atop each table, I wouldn’t have been able to make out the faces of the patrons, most of whom cast a sparing look our way before quickly returning to their business.
The floorboards creaked as Vayen led me to the bar, her focus on the man who sat behind it, his own watchful eyes assessing us with more intensity than anyone had thus far.
When he shifted his weight to reach for something beneath the bar, I realized that he was not in fact sitting, but rather was particularly stocky in build.
I lowered my chin the requisite amount to study his face, training my features into a more neutral expression than the curious one that threatened to surface.
That stature immediately called upon my memory of Whick.
Not only would the top of this man’s head barely reach my shoulder, but he also had the same rounded nose, cushioned cheeks, and bushy eyebrows drooped low over black, decidedly non-Soran eyes.
He had a thick mustache, with tanned, leathery skin and black hair strewn about his equally as black tunic.
“Haize,” Vayen said with a nod.
“Vayen.” The man nodded back, his voice a deep gravel.
It was then those dark eyes flicked my way, starting first with my hair, then my eyes, and ending with my bound hands and the makeshift leash Vayen held.
There was no shock in his features; the man didn’t even blink twice.
His casual tone as he continued their exchange was maddening. “Passing through?”
“Unfortunately. I’m going to need two rooms for the—”
“I’ve only got the one,” he interrupted.
Vayen’s neck craned as she assessed the barely occupied tables before looking back at Haize.
I couldn’t believe she’d intended to let me stay in my own room, absent her watchful eye.
Did she really have that little faith in my ability to outwit her?
Or did she think I was too frightened to attempt an escape?
Either way, it would have worked marvelously in my favor if not for the blank look on Haize’s face.
“In this whole tavern,” Vayen started, leaning forward to rest an elbow on the bar, “you’ve only one available room?”
“It’s the busy season,” Haize said in that deep, rumbly voice I could almost feel in my bones.
I expected him to break into laughter, to cease the joke he had to be playing on Vayen, but his passive expression belied not one bit of humor.
I started speaking before I could stop myself.
“Please, Master Haize. In case you hadn’t noticed—” I lifted my bound hands for emphasis “—I’m in a rather unfortunate situation at the moment, and if you’re not interested in rescuing me, the absolute least you could do is not force me to share a room with this wretched woman. ”
Haize’s lips twitched—a suppressed smile, if I had to guess.
I couldn’t help but shift my gaze up to Vayen in the hopes that my little outburst had roused a more negative reaction from her, but those stony features were unreadable as ever.
If anything, she seemed even less pleased with the situation than I did.
“I’ll take a fucking broom closet if you have one,” Vayen said suddenly, the sheer desperation evident in her plea.
I let out an incredulous scoff. As if she were the victim. As if she couldn’t stand the idea of sharing a room with me. I wanted to shove her as hard as I possibly could, but I doubted she’d even stumble. And that only served to irritate me more.
“Don’t have a closet for you either.” Haize cleared his throat as he flattened his deceptively large hand to offer an iron key.
The entrance behind us opened, beckoning the windchill at our backs, and Vayen snatched up the key without further hesitation.
He looked quite pleased with himself as he situated atop a stool.
“Room seventy-one. And she’ll be coming by to see you. ”
“She will have to wait.”
“Won’t like that,” Haize mumbled, but Vayen talked over him.
“I’ll also need the room to be rootbound.”
I narrowed my eyes. Vayen had called Scholar Whick’s imbuement rootcraft, hadn’t she? Did that mean this stout man was capable of the same sorcery?
“I gathered,” Haize said as he surveyed my bindings again, causing my stomach to sink.
He turned his back to the two of us and approached the wall behind him.
I almost thought he’d reach for a bottle, but instead his focus fell beneath the shelves.
I squinted in the dim lighting, barely able to make out the hundreds of markings carved into the wood at his eye level—and that was when I realized it wasn’t a wall at all, but a wide section of tree the tavern had been built around.
To my amazement, Haize began humming just as Whick had, an impossibly low rumble emanating from his throat, and one of the markings on the wall began to glow.
I emitted the smallest of gasps, drawing my hands to my chest as I leaned forward to try and get a better look at the marking itself, but Vayen called out, “Many thanks,” by way of goodbye and pulled me to the wide staircase on the far end of the room.
“What is rootbound? Is it like rootcraft? And what are those markings? They were all over the town.” The words flew from my mouth as we made our ascent, though Vayen paid me no mind.
She clearly had no qualms being the sole decider of when I was worth responding to, and I had no qualms being engulfed by my annoyance as a result.
Luckily for my clenched jaw, I had other places to draw my attention while she refused to reply.
It wasn’t particularly easy to climb a steep staircase without the use of one’s hands, but I took every opportunity I could to lean on my makeshift leash in the hopes that it wore on Vayen’s patience and fortitude.
After several moments of listening only to our boots scuff the floorboards, I couldn’t help but ask the other question that plagued my mind.
“At least tell me who ‘she’ is.”
“What?”
“Haize said ‘she’ would want to see you. She who?”
“It’s none of your concern.”
I rolled my eyes, barely taking in the dark corridors we passed as we climbed farther up.
The soreness in my thighs and back, almost forgotten while discussing our accommodations, returned with a vengeance.
The comforts of the indoors were ultimately far more important than whatever woman sought out Vayen, so I held my tongue.
Finally, and with great effort, we reached the top floor of the tavern.
The corridor up here was cramped, with only three identical, unmarked doors on the right, and barren wall on the left.
There was no additional staircase or means of escape I could identify, so back down the stairs it would be, just as soon as I could manage it.