20. Aryn #2
She pushes open a wide wooden door, and a golden glow from the fire spills out to greet us.
Color is everywhere. Woven rugs cover the floor in rich shades of green, blue, and yellow, while throw blankets in every hue imaginable drape over the brown leather couches.
Hand-painted landscapes and portraits of items from around the farm hang on the walls.
It’s far cozier than I expected, and my shoulders relax another notch.
Over the fire, a brothy soup with thick chunks of vegetables bubbles in a cauldron. My stomach growls loudly, and Thulga turns to me with a knowing smile.
“Hungry?”
“We wouldn’t want to trouble you—”
“Stop being so polite, mister…” She trails off, realizing we haven’t introduced ourselves.
I place a hand on my chest before gesturing to the others. “My name is Aryn, and this is Cato, Cameron, Taryn, Lillith, and Ronan.”
“Well, it’s great to meet you all,” she says, planting a massive hand on her hip. “But back to my question—are you hungry?”
“We are,” I admit, “though we wouldn’t want to take advantage of your hospitality. We have our own supplies.”
“Ah, nonsense.” She waves a dismissive hand, then gestures to a long row of hooks on the wall. “Hang your coats there and get comfortable.”
My body has grown so accustomed to the cold that I’m already sweating in the warm room.
I peel off my outer layers, leaving me in a wrinkled sweater that’s probably a little ripe, and my tail stays wrapped around my waist underneath so it doesn’t get in the way.
After a quick translation, the others follow suit.
Thulga eyes our clothing with open curiosity. “Never seen shirts like that before. Don’t spend much time in the cities, though. If you need to clean anything, you’re welcome to wash up after dinner.”
“Thank you,” I tell her sincerely, already daydreaming about the prospect of somewhere warm to bathe.
She leads us to a long, rough-hewn table made of such solid wood it could probably hold an entire army. Grimhild sits at the head, his axe leaning against his thigh as he continues to glower at all of us.
“Where’d you say you’re headed?” he asks.
“Maelithryne,” I respond, nodding my thanks as Thulga sets a giant bowl of steaming soup in front of me. “Though our ultimate destination is Lyravelle.”
“Oh-ho,” she exclaims as she continues serving the rest of us. “You really are headed to the big city. That’s a long way to go on foot.”
“It is,” I agree.
Ronan leans forward with the most pleasant smile I’ve ever seen on his face.
It’s diplomatic, and I have to remind myself that his position in the military has forced him to wear this mask for most of his life.
“It’s been many years since we last visited the capital,” he says.
“How’s the political climate these days? ”
“Political climate?” Thulga asks as she drops into her chair, nodding at our bowls in invitation to eat.
Ronan obediently takes a bite, his eyes briefly rolling back at the hot, fresh meal after days on the road. Once he swallows, he continues. “We’ve been rather… removed from the rest of the world for a long time now.”
“Ah, I can understand that, sure,” she says as she glances out the window.
Ronan nods, his smile drifting into something more relaxed. “Are there any dangers we should know about? Open hostilities toward the Vaelor, or areas where our human companions might not be welcome?”
Thulga hums thoughtfully before taking a loud slurp of her soup. “Among civilized folk, she is well loved. There are some who oppose her. But that’s our history, I suppose. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that. Happens with all rulers.”
Ronan and I exchange a glance, and I clear my throat. “People opposed her rule?”
Her eyes narrow slightly as she examines me. “Don’t you remember how it was at the beginning?”
I give her my most winning smile. “As Ronan said, we’ve been quite removed for some time now.”
“You’d have to be in another world to miss all that drama,” Thulga snorts. I fight to keep my face under control, but Lillith chokes on her soup, telling me she understood at least part of the conversation.
Thulga doesn’t seem to even notice. “Well, Grimhild here always says I like to tell a story. When the Vaelor first accepted the title, most were happy. Couldn’t have gotten any worse for us than it already was, sure.
But some are never satisfied. They make it their purpose in life to be miserable, if you ask me.
There was a group who thought she had destroyed the crown and its history.
They claimed she brought on this eternal winter, and spread their hate to anyone who’d listen.
Called her a rebel queen with a fractured crown. ”
A smile tilts her lips as she huffs a quiet laugh.
“Rather than fight their words, she embraced them. The fractured crown became her seal, and boy, they didn’t like that.
It’s a symbol of peace now, though. If you see a purple flag with a cracked crown, you can count on that place being safe to stop. ”
“And if we don’t see it?” Ronan asks.