Chapter 29 Jess
Idressed and sat on the edge of the bed, watching the rise and fall of Danym’s chest as he slept.
My hair was still wet from the bath, but I was restless and uncertain of what to do with myself.
Eventually, curiosity won out. I pried Danym’s shirt open and marveled that the hole left by the arrow had vanished, leaving only fresh pink skin in its wake. There wasn’t even a scar.
Relieved Danym was truly safe, hunger rumbled through me.
I exited our room, descended the narrow stairs, and stepped into the common room through which I’d entered when we’d first arrived.
Mouthwatering scents of savory meats drifted from the kitchen, and my stomach clenched at the prospect of its first hot meal in days.
When we’d first arrived at The Crow’s Nest, the common room had been empty and quiet, a stark contrast to the crowded affair unfolding before me.
Most of the tables were filled, and the room roared with laughter, music, and the clanking of utensils.
A jubilant fire crackled in the massive stone hearth, somehow making the enormous room feel warm and cozy.
At the opposite end, a handsome young man dressed in chestnut leggings and a festive patchwork vest played catchy, upbeat tunes on a mandolin.
A group of teenage girls clustered around his stage and squealed with delight as the music rose and fell.
I had attended countless balls at the Palace, replete with the finest musicians and entertainers in the land.
I’d tasted food crafted by renowned chefs who traveled from all corners of the known world to serve their masterpieces to the monarchs of the Spires.
I’d even traveled from one end of the country to the other with my parents, touring towns and villages, sampling whatever made them proud.
And yet, this humble tavern was unlike anywhere I had ever been, unlike anything I’d ever seen.
None of the people appeared wealthy or particularly refined.
Their clothing was simple, and the lack of teeth in many mouths spoke of even simpler lives.
Still, they appeared so happy, so content.
I marveled at the comfort I felt in the place, at how it suddenly felt like home.
I chuckled at how ridiculous that sounded. I was a princess. This place could never be home. Still . . .
The innkeeper paused from flitting about the room and made straight for me.
“Young miss!” She grabbed my arm and pulled me through the crowd toward an empty table near the fire. “Sit, sit. Looks like you cleaned up real nice. Real nice indeed! Now, let’s get ya something to eat. Sorry to run, but we’re very busy.”
The woman scurried away before I could speak, leaving me alone at a table for four.
I leaned back and enjoyed the warmth of the fire.
As I scanned the room, I realized there was more than a random scattering of patrons laid before me. Near the stage were teenage girls who appeared to already know each other.
At the far end, several tables were pressed together, barely containing twelve massive men in worn, rough-spun shirts and thick leather trousers.
Most had sleeves rolled up, revealing faded tattoos and crisscross patterns of scars, both new and old, a sure sign of lumberjacks who spent much of their time wrestling limbs and trunks.
The conjoined table was a blur of pitchers and mugs as the serving girl tried to keep up with the thirsty men.
In the opposite corner, three Constables in their olive cloaks spoke quietly. They leaned forward, their eyes never focused on one place, always roaming about the room. They reminded me of how the men of the Privy Council would huddle and scheme in the Throne Room.
Thank the Spirits I’m out of that awful place!
In the room’s center, a few tables were occupied by several families.
The adults laughed and ate at one table while a pack of rowdy youngsters entertained themselves at the two adjacent.
One of the children appeared to be my age, but the rest couldn’t have been more than ten.
Every few minutes, one of the adults would turn and half-heartedly address the chaos stirring within their brood.
The children promptly ignored the admonishment.
Those seated at tables near the fire were older, reminding me of my Nan before she died. An ancient man, bent from seven or eight hard decades, sat peacefully holding the hand of his silver-haired wife. Her face was leathery and creased but held a beauty that warmed my heart.
The old couple ate quietly and chatted even more so.
I watched, transfixed, as the man’s face brightened each time he looked up and caught his wife’s eye.
“They’re here almost every night.” I startled, turning to find the innkeeper standing beside me, staring in the same direction.
“Been coming here longer than I’ve owned the place—and that’s a good thirty years. Makes your heart full just watching them, doesn’t it?”
She sighed loudly. “Anyway, here ya go, miss. Beef stew, cornbread, some roots and greens. Oh . . . and a mug of ale to wash it down. Let me know if ya need anything else. My boy’ll bring ya more ale as ya empty that one.”
My eyes widened at the mounds of food laid across the table. The innkeeper barked a deep laugh. “If that Healer knows anything, your brother should be down before long and will want to eat it all himself. You’d better get started before he shows up.”
I smiled at the mention of Danym and thanked the innkeeper as she flitted away.
The stew was flavorful and hot, perfect on a cool night.
I didn’t recognize what root I was eating but savored the earthy beginning followed by a hint of spice.
I took a sip, expecting the infamous watery taste that seemed to plague the reputation of innkeepers throughout the Kingdom but was pleasantly surprised by the richness and depth of the fall brew.
The musician’s tunes took a romantic turn, transforming his loyal following’s squeals into dreamy stares and swaying shoulders.
I sat back again, pleasantly stuffed and enjoying the contentment that comes with a full belly, when Danym appeared in the doorway near the stage.
He scanned the room before settling on me and winding his way through the crowd.
A pair of the teenage girls noticed him, giggled, and stalked him with their eyes.
An unfamiliar wave of heat blazed through me, and I nearly leaped out of my chair before recognizing my own foolishness.
“Don’t hate me for my fans. Fame is such a burden.” Danym flopped into the chair beside me with a self-satisfied grin. He winked and flicked his hair dramatically.
I punched his arm before leaning across to give him a peck on the cheek. “Somebody sounds a lot better.”
“Feels like I slept for a week, but yeah, I do feel a lot better. I’m starving, though.” He grabbed a bowl and filled it with the now lukewarm stew, then loaded a plate with the last of the vegetables and cornbread.
We chatted about simple things, weary of weightier topics haunted by robed men and monarchs, both aware those were tales that would come soon enough. At one point, between bites of stew, Danym grinned up.
“Uh-oh. I know that look. What?” I asked.
“Me? I’m pure and innocent.” His mouth twisted into a lopsided grin as I snorted and rolled my eyes. “I’ve been meaning to ask about your horse.”
I cocked my head. “You want to ask about Dittler?”
“More about his name. It seems kind of . . . different. How’d you come up with it?”
“It is different—and very special.” I donned a serious, almost somber face. “It’s actually a sad story. He’s named for a pet I had as a little girl.”
Danym’s face sobered. “Go on.”
“My room’s always been in the back of the Palace, close to a door that leads to the stables. We have a large barn and fenced field out back, too. Growing up in . . . that place . . . could be really lonely. Until Justin was old enough to carry an actual conversation,
the animals kept me company and became my best friends. I had my own private door to their magical world.”
My eyes drifted and filled with memories.
“If I opened a window, I could hear barks and snorts all day and night. There were horses, cows, sheep, pigs, chickens, ducks, and I think we even had some geese in the garden pond. Oh, and there were always dogs and cats chasing each other. I had more fun behind our, um, house,
than I ever did in it. I loved that place.”
I sighed.
“My father spoiled us with new pets, especially for our name day. It became something of a family tradition. One year, when I was four or five, he gave me the cutest baby chick. He was so tiny, and his feathers were silky soft.
He had a streak of brown on his tiny forehead between his eyes that Father called his crown. He teased that he would be my heir one day, so I’d better take good care of him. Justin was still a toddler back then. Every time the chick peeped, Justin would point and squeal, ‘Dit, dit, dit.’ So,
I named him Dittler.”
I took a long sip of ale.
“Okay,” Danym said as I drank. “That’s kind of cute, I guess. Where does this turn sad?”
“I was getting to that part.” I set my mug down and cocked a brow.
“It was a few days after I got the chick, early in the morning, just as the sun was rising. I was half-awake, and all I wanted to do was sleep, but Dittler peeped and peeped. I reached down from my bed to get him out of his box. All I wanted to do was hold him, put him in my bed so he’d be quiet.
When I reached for him, his leg got stuck between my ring and finger. He squawked and squealed—jolted me right out of the bed, scared me to death. Without thinking, I yanked my hand away, pulling his leg with me, snapping it right in half. It was terrible. The more he squealed,
the more I waved my hand in the air. The poor little guy was flopping all around, leg juice staining everything he touched.”
Danym’s eyes twinkled as I finished my tale.
“Stop that! It was traumatic!” I feigned offense. “I couldn’t be around chickens for weeks!”
Danym lost all composure and a good mouthful of ale as he doubled over. Tears burst from his eyes. I fought back my own laugh, but other diners around us had overheard and were chuckling.
That’s when my own tears began to flow.
“Leg juice? Really? Is that a thing?” Danym spat as he gasped for breath.