Chapter 6 #2
I’m fascinated despite myself. Falcen’s hands, covered in gore only hours earlier, are surprisingly deft as they examine seams and test fastenings. He seems to have an eye for quality.
While Falcen inspects the garments, I notice two silhouettes shifting restlessly behind tall stacks of crates in a nearby alley. They flicker with agitation before the men they’re attached to vanish amid the hectic marketplace. I inch closer to Falcen, a knot of unease forming in my stomach.
“These will do,” Falcen says, drawing my attention away from the alley.
Falcen fishes in a small pouch at his belt and throws down ten tokens, which the vendor wisely accepts without argument.
He concludes the purchase, securing both the requested clothing and a provision sack filled for the journey ahead.
“We’ll regroup at the inn tonight,” Falcen says brusquely, not waiting for my response before prowling off.
I follow while Falcen cuts a path through the square, scents of spit-roasted wild hog and grilled pheasant making my mouth water.
He doesn’t slow his pace until we reach a quaint stone building hidden down a winding path beyond the town’s bustling heart.
Its whitewashed walls glow softly in the last rays of Lux’s sun.
The sign above the door creaks as it sways in the evening breeze, the painted image of a rearing horse faded but still discernible.
Falcen pushes open the heavy oak door, its hinges protesting with a groan.
The common room beyond is awash in warm, flickering light from the hearth and the soul-infused lanterns hanging from the rafters.
The air in here is as rich as the marketplace, with the scents of oven-cooked meat, fresh bread, and spiced cider making my nostrils tingle.
I almost faint at the sheer pleasure of smelling such ambrosia.
Conversations lower as we enter, the dozen or so patrons turning to regard us with expressions ranging from curiosity to outright fear. Falcen ignores the stares, striding purposely toward the bar where the innkeeper, a stout woman in a faded white bonnet, is polishing a pewter mug.
The innkeeper eyes us warily as we approach. Her focus lingers on the insignia adorning Falcen’s cloak before darting to me, taking in my ill-fitting attire and bedraggled appearance. Her lips purse, but she sets down the mug and offers a tight smile.
“Welcome, Resonant. How may I assist you this evening?”
Falcen rests his palms on the bar, his posture deceptively relaxed.
“We need a room for the night.” His gaze flicks to me. “And a hot meal, if you have it.”
I repress the urge to whoop! with joy. Honestly, he could offer me stalks of wheat, and I’d gladly scarf them down.
“We don’t often get Soulren of your stature in these parts. Is there any reason you’re visiting us this evening?”
The undercurrent of suspicion is clear. Falcen meets her gaze steadily, his expression giving nothing away.
“Our business is our own. We require lodging and sustenance, nothing more. I trust that won’t be an issue?”
The innkeeper nods, reaching beneath the bar and producing a heavy iron key. “We have one room left. Upstairs, last door on the left. I’ll have a bath sent up.”
She deliberately avoids my eye.
Falcen takes the key, inclining his head in a curt nod of thanks. He reaches into his pouch and pulls out a handful of tokens, placing them on the bar. “For the room and the food.”
The innkeeper’s eyes widen at the amount, but she quickly scoops them up and tucks them away. “Very good. We have a hearty stew simmering on the hearth. Will that suffice?”
“It will.”
Falcen addresses me by jerking his chin toward the stairs.
With a sigh that puffs my cheeks, I follow him up the creaking steps, my legs leaden with exhaustion. The promise of a bed, of being clean and warm and fed, is almost too much to bear.
When we reach the landing, Falcen unlocks the door to our room and steps aside, allowing me to enter first.
It’s this aspect of his personality that I find most perplexing, his random acts of good manners between his usual choice of gruff, rude syllables.
Avoiding his eye, yet feeling his stare on the top of my head, I cross the threshold, taking in the small but tidy space.
A single bed dominates the room, its frame hewn from polished wood and draped with a patchwork quilt. A basin and pitcher rest on a stand beneath the window, and a battered trunk squats at the foot of the bed.
One bed. Of course there would only be one bed. The gods clearly enjoy tormenting me.
Falcen closes the door behind us, the latch clicking with a finality that stiffens my shoulders.
The room suddenly feels much smaller with him filling it.
I move to the window, peering out at the afternoon sky. Clouds have puffed into existence, their mist obscuring Lux’s rays. But in the distance, I can still make out the lengthy bulk of the town’s outer wall, its defensive soul-glyphs shimmering.
Falcen moves around behind me, setting his pack on top of the trunk and unbuckling his cloak.
“I’ll take the floor,” he says gruffly.
I blink at him, surprised by the offer. “Don’t be ridiculous. The bed is plenty big enough for us both.”
The words are out before I can stop them. Blood rushes to my cheeks as Falcen’s gaze snaps to mine. A muscle ticks beneath the skin of his cheek. “I don’t think that’s wise.”
I fold my arms, keeping my gaze steady despite my pounding heart. “And why is that? After these past two days, propriety is well out the window. Or are you afraid you won’t be able to keep your hands to yourself?”
Did I just bait him? Why am I baiting him? I resist clenching my teeth and grimacing with embarrassment. This man has done nothing but order me around, surround me with various Void creatures, and toss me into the deepest part of a lake. Why shouldn’t I bait him?
Falcen tenses. He takes one step forward, his large frame overtaking the small space between us. “I assure you, keeping my hands to myself will not be a problem.”
Oh, so he’s graduated to insults now.
I refuse to back down. “Wonderful. Then there’s no issue with sharing the bed. Unless you’re worried about my virtue?”
I arch a brow, injecting a hint of mockery into my tone.
Falcen scoffs, a harsh sound in the quiet room. “Your maidenhood is the least of my concerns.”
For some indiscernible reason, that statement hurts.
A knock on the door startles me. Falcen crosses the room in two long strides and opens it to reveal a serving girl bearing a tray laden with steaming bowls of stew, a loaf of crusty bread, and two mugs of what smells like spiced cider.
I’m reaching for the tray and tripping over my own feet to get to it, but Falcen holds up a hand. “I’ll take mine downstairs.”
The girl nervously curtsies her acknowledgment before setting up one serving.
Elite Soulren no longer require human food, though I don’t know how prevalent that knowledge is in the realm.
Perhaps Falcen likes to keep up appearances and nosh publicly to assuage any fears, but that doesn’t seem like him.
In the short time I’ve known him, Falcen enjoys putting the fear of the gods in people, especially me.
Perhaps he still enjoys mead, though. Or wine.
But also, why do I care?
Behind the girl, a boy lugs a large copper tub, his thin arms straining with the effort. Falcen steps aside to let him in, then assists in placing the tub in the room by plucking it out of the boy’s hands and lowering it like it carries the weight of a single mouse.
The boy watches, agog at the sight.
I can’t blame him.
“I’ll leave you to it,” Falcen says to me before leaving the room.
Too stunned by Falcen’s unexpected exit to move, I let the children finish setting up the tub in front of the hearth and fill it with buckets of steaming water hauled up from the kitchen.
Once they finish, they bob quick curtsies and hurry out without so much as a word.
I stand motionless for a long moment, my mind struggling to process the whirlwind of the day. The steam rising from the tub beckons invitingly, promising a temporary escape from the confusing tangle of my new reality.
I strip off Falcen’s ill-fitting clothes, leaving them in a crumpled heap on the floor. The air raises goose bumps on my bare skin as I pad over to the tub and gingerly dip a toe into the water. It’s the perfect temperature—hot enough to soothe my aching muscles without scalding.
A sigh that seems to come from my very bones escapes me when I sink into the water, then drag the tray of food closer, spooning large chunks into my mouth while the tension slowly leeches from my body.
I take my time washing, scrubbing away the grime of the past few days until my skin is pink and tingling. The soap provided by the inn is rough and unscented, but it’s a luxury compared to the harsh lye I’m accustomed to back home.
As I soak, my thoughts drift unbidden to Falcen.
His behavior continues to baffle me, vacillating between gruff indifference and unexpected acts of consideration.
Sharing his dry clothes, ensuring I have proper attire, and offering me the bed.
These small kindnesses seem at odds with the cold, pitiless Elite I first met.
Yet, there’s no denying the simmering tension between us, the way his presence fills a room and sets my nerves on edge.
The memory of his strong arms around me after fighting the hounds, the heat of his body seeping through his wet clothes, makes sweat break out on my forehead in a way that has nothing to do with the bathwater.
I shake my head, sending droplets flying.
Foolish thoughts. Dangerous ones. Whatever momentary flashes of decency Falcen might show, he is still my captor, my unwanted guide into a world I never asked to be a part of.
I cannot afford to let my guard down, to see him as anything other than a vicious Elite.
Resolving to keep my wayward musings in check, I finish my bath and step out, drying off and then dressing in the new clothing that fits me like a glove. How Falcen knew my exact size, I don’t dare guess.
But then I very quickly get bored.
It takes a quarter of an hour of tapping my fingers on the bed while I’m perched at the edge of it before I decide to go exploring.