Chapter 10 #3
When we finish eating, we must look exhausted, because she hands us each a key and leads us up to our rooms. Mine is right off of the narrow stairs. In the hall, I finally try to hand her my coin, and she curls my hand back into a fist.
“The Masks have tormented our area for too long. The faces they’ve collected … are not just from travelers.” Her eyes glisten. Do immortals cry?
I should shut my mouth, take this favor, and go into my room. But nothing is ever given freely. I duck to peer down the stairs, expecting to see my sword gone. It’s not. It’s standing upright, just where I left it.
My eyes sweep over the slender hall, searching for some sign of danger. My pulse races, awaiting the trap. The betrayal. But there’s no one there.
Xara just stares at me, brow raised.
Finally, I just spit it out. “Why are you being so kind to us?”
She frowns. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
I motion to myself. “We’re mortals. You’re … not.”
“Ah.” She smiles knowingly. “Not all immortals are Masks waiting in the trees, Aris. Just as not all mortals are looking to loot my inn, the way some tried two Questrals ago.” Her eyes flash with a whisper of irritation.
It’s gone in a moment. She looks me over.
“I don’t know you. I don’t trust you. But I trust metal.
A sword like yours is drawn not just to the strength of one’s abilities …
but to the strength of one’s soul.” She tilts her head.
“Now, that strength might be good … or evil.” She shrugs.
“But this world has enough rot in it. I choose to see the good first, and the bad only when I have to.” She nods toward the door behind me.
“Enjoy your stay. I’m downstairs, if you need anything. ”
Before I can say a single word, she turns to leave. By the time I blink, she’s already down the stairs.
Her words cycling through my mind, I finally step into my room.
It’s small but warm, with a bed brimming with thick blankets. My eyes nearly water with gratitude, seeing them. A fire is already burning in the corner. And I discover, with soul-melting relief, that there’s a bath.
I take my time scrubbing my skin, then each item of clothing. The king is a bastard, but I’m grateful for the new clothing, especially the extra undergarments I grabbed before leaving. I hang it all up to dry near the hearth.
Then I slip below the sheets, and groan. My body sinks into the mattress. I’ve never been so tired in my life. My exhaustion hits me all at once, my muscles going slack.
Through half-shut eyes, I stare at the crackling fire. Memories flash of other flames, all-consuming, killing, destroying flames.
“I’m here,” I whisper to the goddess who set those fires. “I’m on your side now. There are no gates between us.” I watch the flames flicker. “And when I reach you, you will wish you killed me too.”
I wake up on the floor, tangled in my sheets. They’re stuck to my skin by a film of sweat. I take a panicked breath, nearly choking on the fabric, before kicking them away, gasping.
The nightmares. They haven’t stopped.
At least, it means I actually slept deeply last night.
There’s a knock upon the door, and I jump.
Xara. “There’s food waiting downstairs,” she says through the wood, before the floorboards creak as she moves on.
I take a quick bath, braid my hair into its two that converge in one, pin it up, then slip my dried clothes back on. They’re warm thanks to the hearth, and I wriggle my toes in my boots, relishing the feeling.
Pack over my shoulder, I step out of my room, not expecting someone to be right there, filling the hall with their wide shoulders, passing by at that exact same moment.
I smack right into them, then stagger back, falling—
Right down the stairs.
Or at least, I would have, had a hand not fisted the front of my shirt, keeping me on the ledge. A massive hand, with thin, dark tattoos curling down every long, pale finger.
Shit.
I look up. And up. Into the darkness of a hood.
“Are you actively trying to find your death?” a voice spits out.
I swallow, grateful for the shirt I’m wearing below the one crumbled in his hand, that’s currently keeping my markings hidden. “It certainly seems like it.”
And he hasn’t saved me yet. I’m still leaned back at an angle.
If he were to let me go, I would fall and break my neck on these stairs.
Xara might be an immortal, but if I screamed right now, I doubt she could reach me in time.
That fact alone should probably make me more agreeable.
Pleasant, even. He probably wants me to beg him to pull me back up.
But I’ve already begged him for mercy before, and I’m not doing it again. I just lift my chin in defiance.
His head tilts.
Then he loosens his grip, sending me lurching back just an inch, and I gasp. My heart sputters.
My eyes narrow. Bastard.
On instinct, I reach behind me, blinded by the need to at least injure him before he drops me, because apparently, yes, I am actively trying to find my death. But my fingers brush my empty scabbard. There’s nothing there.
Fuck. It’s in the floorboards.
I hear a huff of cruel mirth—and maybe shock—above me.
Heat prickles my cheeks, but I don’t drop my gaze, refusing to show an ounce of fear or shame in front of this monster. This monster that currently has my life clutched in his fist. His grip tightens again, long fingers slipping down my chest.
Just when I think he’ll finally let go, he slowly pulls me up, inch by inch, right toward his hidden face to say, “Careful. You just might find it.”
Then, he shoves me back onto the landing, and passes me by without a second look, taking the stairs in a flash. The front door opens and slams closed.
Asshole.
Asshole … who saved me.
Why?
I shake off the question. He likely didn’t want to get his boots dirty with my blood, which would have no doubt formed a puddle at the bottom of those treacherous stairs, had I fallen.
And he’s right. I do need to be more fucking careful, I think, as I finally start down the steps that were nearly just my end.
As promised, there are plates of cooked eggs and meats waiting below, spread out across two tables. Sun shines through the dust-glazed windows. Most of the warriors are gone, but some are still milling around the door.
I stop midway down the stairs, watching as they each take turns trying to lift my sword. They’re twice my size. Their arms are thicker than my head. I watch them groan and strain, and I tense—then nearly laugh, which seems absurd, since I almost just died.
I clear my throat, and their eyes shift to me.
Yeah, bad idea. I go still, remembering the best way for them to claim my sword is to kill me.
But right at that moment, Xara walks through the tavern and says, “It’s a bit early in the day to wound your egos, isn’t it, boys?”
Those boys look like they could rip the limbs off a person with little effort. But amazingly, they begin to disperse, after mumbled apologies and goodbyes to Xara.
I slowly turn to face her, and I know that she can feel me looking, but she doesn’t meet my gaze.
I step down the rest of the rickety stairs, toward the spread of food.
Three glasses sit full of violet liquid. I sniff one, then take a tentative sip. It’s sweet, with a slightly bitter aftertaste.
“Berries,” Xara says. She frowns at my pale face, as if she can see the lack of nutrients in my body. “Drink it. You need it.” I do. I finish it all, then, once it’s replaced, I empty a second glass.
I finally motion toward the door. “Did you know you were housing a monster?” I ask.
She blinks at me. “The mortal in the hood?”
I nod.
She lifts a shoulder. “He was nice enough. Came just after you did. Was surprised to see him in one piece. Cleaned up after himself, which is a rarity, unfortunately.”
I scowl. Just when I’m about to tell her about how awful he really is, the stairs creak. Zane. His eyes immediately go to his ax, still buried in the floorboards. His shoulders melt with relief.
Then, he says good morning and starts unceremoniously eating everything.
Kira surfaces not long after, still wrapped in one of the blankets from her room. She turns to Xara, who’s behind the bar, wiping glasses with a rag. “This is the softest fabric to ever exist.”
Xara smiles. “A friend knitted them for me, from Arladan goat fur.”
Sensing our confusion, she says, “It’s a place in the north. Cold, white, vicious. The goats grow the softest coats.”
It isn’t on the map. And, as much as I want to know all about it, the quest must come first. I reach into my pocket and slowly bring out the crushed parchment. I gingerly smooth it out on the table. “We’re here, right?” I point to the illustration of the village.
Xara stops her movements. Her eyes widen as she walks around the counter.
“Where did you get that?”
No use in lying to a woman who has housed and fed us for free. “The Tower of Knowledge.”
Xara carefully takes the paper. “The God of Travels had most maps destroyed … This much land covered …” It’s the second time hearing about this god. Why ruin maps? Xara gently traces across the markings. “Yes. You’re in Westwere.”
“We’re trying to get here,” I say, pointing to the Beast Tree. Her mouth tightens as she nods.
“What is it?”
“What do you know about the Beast Tree?”
“That creatures can be claimed, like swords.”
Xara studies me for a moment. She works her jaw.
“It’s tradition for the heirs of Great Houses of Starside to visit the tree when they come of age.
Their blood is filled with old magic, you see.
Their connection to this land is deep-rooted.
It’s a great ceremony … but it hasn’t happened in decades.
The heir goes to the top of the tree … and jumps.
“The fall is hundreds of feet. The only hope of survival is if one of the creatures catches you. But there are no guarantees. There are very few creatures willing to bond … and few who have survived the hunters.”
“Hunters?” Kira asks.