Chapter Five #2
And with that, she reached into her cloak, pulled out a few coins and plonked them down on top of my open ledger before shuffling back to the inn. When the door swung shut behind her an uncomfortable silence settled in her wake, broken only by Fischer’s soft, wet snores.
???
I had an endless list of chores, yet I kept finding myself staring at nothing, teeth worrying at my lip.
Madame Bracken had gotten into my head, and I could not focus.
Because I couldn’t stop wondering why I was the only person they hadn’t interviewed, and whether it had something to do with what happened the other day – what the Captain saw.
Because I kept asking myself if it was that he knew what I was; the wrong kind of creature, an entirely different hunt.
But mostly because she was right.
I might have indulged in the occasional scowl, threatened Fischer’s extremities a few times, and pressed the Captain into the vaguest promise of re-housing some of his men at some point, after Yule.
But when it came down to it, I’d been so focused on keeping my distance from the Kingsmen – from the Captain – that I’d let them away with treating my home like a boarding school.
What had I actually done to stand up for my family’s one and only legacy? For Sorcha?
For my Flame?
At times, I’d shoved it down so violently I was almost afraid it would snuff out completely.
My magic had become skitterish and unpredictable; it had withdrawn further than I’d ever imagined possible, but flared as though preparing to lunge clean through my bones whenever Captain Caelan got too close.
Now, at the raucous laughter spilling from the dining hall where the two platoons were sharing lunch, it had slipped away into the dark space I’d carved for it.
Hiding like a frightened beast, leaving my chest cold and hollow.
Perhaps it showed a little too, for when Sorcha peered around the doorframe of the dining hall and caught my eye, her lips pulled back in a grimace.
A few moments later, she was ferrying a cup of milky tea into the main tavern.
She set it down on the bar beside me and gently pried the unused cleaning rag from my hand.
“Not quite the Yule Eve we’d imagined, is it?”
There was something in her voice that cut through my scattered focus with cold precision. A tightness. I turned my head, frowning – and my mouth fell open on a gasp.
“Sorcha!”
Her apron was streaked with blood.
I whirled and grabbed her by the shoulders so I could look her over. She was shaking, her cheeks flushed and eyes overbright. Fire flickered between my ribs. “What happened?”
Sorcha shrugged me off and tried to wave dismissively, but immediately winced at the movement. I took her hand gently in mine, and when she tried to pull back I held firm to her forearm.
“He’s just drunk, Roz, it’s nothing I can’t handle —”
I wasn’t listening, couldn’t hear her through the deafening noise between my ears, the roaring of a rising fire.
Her fingers were laced with bloody rivulets, a dark red mess smeared over the back of her small hand.
I stared up at her, simmering rage filling my lungs so rapidly I could barely breathe out the words; “What did he do?”
Sorcha gave a stuttering shake of her head. “I took care of it.”
“What. Did. He. Do.”
Her lip trembled, but she set her chin and took a long, steady inhale through her nose.
“He thanked me for serving his lunch,” she said, then paused reluctantly. “And asked if I might provide other services, too. Then he pulled me into his lap.”
She shuddered and brushed her hands over her hips like she could still feel his touch, but shook her head again when she caught me eyeing the unconscious gesture.
“He’s a cretin, but I handled it.”
“Right,” I gritted out, staring past her at the dining hall entrance.
“Roz, no, don’t risk —”
But I was already moving, already out of reach before she could stop me. I stormed for the dining hall and threw open the door.
It was so chaotic in here that nobody even looked up at my dramatic entrance.
A pair of grown men tussled like puppies in a corner while others laughed and egged them on.
Of those seated, half watched the fight over the backs of their chairs, blindly reaching for the large dishes of fruit on the table behind them and scooping up messy handfuls, berries rolling off the edges of the platters.
The wide-eyed newlyweds sat rigidly side by side halfway down the table, flinching in unison when the soldiers either side of them leaned over their place settings to gleefully sling insults at one another.
One large, bearded soldier sat balanced on the back legs of his chair, head tilted back in a hearty guffaw.
His dusty boots were propped up on the table just a handspan from Madame Bracken’s place setting and her scowl twisted her papery brow so tightly that I vaguely worried she might kick at his already teetering seat and leave me an awful mess to clean up.
I would have intervened, if Captain Caelan hadn’t glanced up the moment I stepped fully into the room.
We locked eyes, his lips still lifted in laughter from whatever Brennan was saying at his side.
In one brief, suspended moment, it occurred to me that this was the first time we had so much as made eye contact since the incident.
His smile slid slightly – then flared to life in time with the sudden flicker of warmth in my chest, my magic rearing from its hiding place without warning.
The sensation made me stumble midstep, but that shock was a fuel to my anger and I recovered between one step and the next, striding around the table to arrive at the Captain’s side, hands planted on my hips. Some of the soldiers nearby chorused a low ooh at my obvious wrath.
Fucking schoolboys.
The Captain ignored them and turned his head to me, unphased.
“Afternoon, Rosie.”
He smirked, and my magic gave another little jolt, stealing my breath again.
Stop that.
“Your deputy is a menace. I want him out.”
The Captain huffed a short laugh while the men around him jeered.
“You think this is funny?”
He gave a slow blink, not quite rolling his eyes.
“I think that is funny.”
I followed the angle of his nod to the opposite corner of the table, where Fischer clutched at one cheek with both hands; even from here I could see a dark bruise blooming up between his fingers, blood dripping down his jaw.
The Captain jerked his chin at the doorway to the tavern.
“Your cousin throws a hell of a punch.” He took a long sip from his tea and glared out broadly at the table of soldiers. “She could teach some of these useless creatures a thing or two.”
“Isn’t that your job?”
Another swell of jeering, and some of the men shoved playfully at the scowling, bleeding brute, one of them prying his hands away so I could see a purpling mark in the vague shape of Sorcha’s fist. Pride stoked at my gently crackling Flame as I watched Fischer squirm and swear, and for just a moment, I let my magic rise into a steady, consuming fire.
“It’s not good enough,” I decided.
The Captain’s low laugh slowed, and he tore his eyes away from the struggling, beet-faced deputy. He considered me, and seemed to come to some conclusion, the twitch of his scar the only sign that he was suppressing a smile.
“And what would you have me do, Rosie?”
“Rosaleen.”
He inclined his head in lazy apology. I matched it with a lazy shrug.
“I want him out.”
Despite the nervous thrum wracking my body, my voice was low and dangerous even to my own ears.
Yet still he said nothing for a long moment.
Just stared at me as I struggled not to shift under his gaze, and willed my magic to behave.
He drummed his fingers on the table and I swore the cadence of it echoed the racing of my heart.
“Fischer,” he called finally.
The soldiers around the deputy ceased shoving at him, and he stilled like a startled animal, eyes wide as they found the Captain’s grim smile.
“Pack your bags, Deputy. You’ll be heading back to Kingsborough this afternoon. You can hand in your cloak at the castle.”
“Hand in my cloak? Captain —” Fischer spluttered in a reedy, pleading voice.
The Captain ignored him.
“Anything else?”
It wasn’t until he fixed that brisk gaze on me that I realised my mouth was hanging open, and hastily snapped it shut.
His brow rose, eyes steady on mine. The unwavering eye contact set my magic shifting uncomfortably beneath my panicked pulse.
I had to look away for a moment, and when my roving eyes found Madame Bracken’s, she offered what I could only describe as an encouraging scowl.
Put your foot down.
I squared my shoulders.
“Yes, actually.”
I stepped back and gestured at the room; rings of dark tea staining the oak table while the stack of coasters remained untouched in the centre of the table.
Berries burst underfoot were smeared in streaks and bootprints all over the floor.
Spilled soup had cooled in sticky globs dotted across both the flagstone and tabletop.
“I’m an innkeeper. Not a stable master. This is my home and I want your men to show an ounce of respect for it. Not to mention for their fellow guests.”
Madame Bracken grinned savagely, but the newlywed bride whimpered, her husband sliding down in his seat to avoid attention. The Captain’s brows twitched minutely upward, but I ploughed on.
“And no more daily laundering. If you’re going to spring double the guests on me, they can share their bedding. Or better yet, they can wash their own reeking sheets. I’m not a laundress.”
“No, most certainly not,” the Captain drawled. He paused and leaned back in his seat, let his gaze drift over me until my Flame shivered. “You’re an innkeeper. I heard you loud and clear.”
I thought I caught an odd inflection on the word innkeeper, almost a note of skepticism. It’s just his accent, I told myself. So, I shoved my paranoia down and gave a curt nod.