Chapter 16 Neirin
NEIRIN
The woman’s anger stayed with me long after I left her by the stables. I finished my task of bringing crates into the inn, yet no longer did I take comfort in being outdoors or in the woodsy scent that hung in the air. With each breath I drew, her words weighed down on me more. Leave. Just leave.
Of course, I could not. Despite the strangest sense of push and pull the woman drew from me, there were other things at play, things greater than her and me.
Placing the last of the crates in the inn’s kitchen beside the stairs where Maerel had instructed, I stood and let my hood fall back.
Running a hand through my hair, I took note of the locks that stood up on end and frowned.
Maerel came from the split doors and placed soiled dishes on the tabletop. “Is that all of it?” She nodded to the stack of crates.
“Yes,” I said, huffing the response on a breath as I dropped my hand, forfeiting my negligent attempts at flattening the stray strands atop my head. The downturned corners of my mouth deepened. “Is my hair unsightly?”
Maerel narrowed her eyes. “Flattery lands me a better chance at your—”
“Nothing lands you a chance at that,” I quipped.
Maerel considered, then pulled the wine crate out from under the table and removed the last few bottles. Setting them on the table, she turned the crate upside down. “Right. Over here, then.”
I shot her a questioning look.
“Before the men at the bar start calling out for more drinks,” she said, impatience in her tone. Again, she gestured to the crate.
“Do you know how to trim hair?” I asked.
I took the offered seat, and she leaned in, bracing an arm on the table behind my head.
I narrowed my eyes, but she only winked and, searching beneath the tabletop, withdrew a dagger.
“You keep a dagger strapped beneath your kitchen table?” Oddly, I wasn’t entirely surprised.
“Among other places,” she said.
“You did not answer my question,” I pointed out. Thoughts of the willful innkeeper taking a dagger to my head further shook my nerves. I sucked in my lips. Was a tidier appearance truly worth it?
She huffed. “Well, anyone could do a better job than you’ve done.”
I made a low, disgruntled huff but objected no further. As she worked, my thoughts swirled from my brother to the woman with the cinnamon hair, to the certain price on my head, and then back to Harlan’s fate should I not discover the threat at play before it was too late.
“Do you always scowl?” Maerel asked. A clump of my hair fell to the floor.
“Just around you,” I retorted, rolling my shoulders.
Maerel scoffed. “Stop fidgeting.”
I stilled. And, sitting atop a crate in a kitchen and being mothered, a pang of homesickness struck my heart.
If Nyana were here, she would give me guidance.
I missed her. “Maerel,” I said, hesitant.
“Women are—” I sighed, letting my vulnerability show was discomforting.
As were the unrelenting thoughts of the woman from the festival. “They baffle me.”
“All women baffle you, or one in particular?”
A clipping fell to my nose, and I huffed a breath to dislodge it. “There is only one that matters.”
Pausing from her work, Maerel tilted my chin to her. “You are a difficult read, Lark.”
I scoffed, and her eyes lingered on my lips just a moment before she dropped her touch.
“Perhaps you should scowl less.”
Amusement drew a faint smile, pulling at the corner of my lips and lightening my sullenness.
Maerel sighed heatedly. She brushed her thumb at my cheek and faintly bit her bottom lip. “Yes,” she said, voice heady. “More of that.”
Though I held the half smile, it was not real.
I lowered my gaze so as not to give myself away.
No, Maerel was not Nyana, and her counsel, in truth, left me with little more guidance than I’d come into the conversation with.
While I appreciated the gesture, my heart thrummed with a dull ache as I longed for the gentle words and comforting embrace of the woman who had raised me.
I mulled over the ever-pressing swirl of unknowns—how to understand the woman from the festival, what to make of our bond, how to ease myself of her distraction, or if I should listen to the magic that connected us and pursue her.
All added to the frustration in my already burdened mind.
Overhead, the sun beamed in a cloudless sky. I lifted my face, drinking in its warmth. The heavy inn doors behind me shut, and I let out a breath. In my right hand, I held a list of items Maerel needed from the market. Somehow, I’d become her errand runner.
Beyond the inn’s small courtyard, a wagon pulled by two black horses rolled along the main road.
A moment later, a couple of children ran by, laughing joyously, entirely devoid of troubles.
I envied that. Though my hood was drawn, apprehension still weighed on me at the prospect of being out in the open.
I crossed the cobbled path, stopping at the wall that bordered the inn’s courtyard. Broken iron hinges set into the stone suggested the presence of a gate at one time.
Following the road, I kept to the shadows to draw less attention to myself and turned right at the corner. The market ahead was busy, bustling with men, women, and children moving about the stands and shops. Unease hummed through my veins.
I frowned, addressing Maerel’s list. Where to begin? The sooner I completed my shopping, the sooner I could return to the inn. Working the bar would be my best chance at securing transport of a letter to Harlan.
It had been three days since I arrived in Elrune and two days since I last saw the woman in the pastures.
Each time the front doors to the inn opened, I raised my eyes with hope despite knowing the distraction she caused, but the woman never came.
Neither did a huntsman. It was time to begin devising another plan.
The nearest stall to where I stood displayed a variety of cheeses.
It was as good a place to start as any. If I kept my eyes down and my hood drawn.
When I approached the stand, a portly man stood to greet me.
I didn’t raise my eyes to see his face. He wore a beige tunic and a long red jacket with buttons.
The rich color of the jacket told me his stand had done well, or perhaps that was the intention of the outerwear, and it was only a facade—he’d splurged on one piece of clothing to give an air of importance, of superiority over others who sold similar products at the market.
“That’s a gruyère,” the man said, gesturing. “It’s one of my best sellers.”
Drawing the cords of the coin purse Maerel sent me with, I read the price list laid on the table flat before me, searching for “gruyère.” I didn’t have the slightest knowledge of the value of cheese or whether his prices were reasonable.
I’d never worried about money in the past, but now I was spending earnings that were not my own.
Hesitantly, I handed the coppers over and selected one of the pale wheels.
The man seemed too eager as he took the coins from my hand. Perhaps I should have bargained.
Moving through the market with my eyes trained on the stone and boots of shoppers as they passed, I worked down the list until the basket Maerel lent me was nearly full.
Leaving the bakery, a voice caught my attention, and I turned toward it. A few shops down to my right, the cobbler spoke to someone in front of his store. His eyes met mine, and he raised his chin. A challenge. I held his gaze. Would he pose a problem?
The last item on my list was an order from the apothecary next door.
The doorbell chimed when I pushed through, and a man at the front counter offered an unenthusiastic greeting.
The shop smelled of earth and spices, and along the walls, shelves displayed an eclectic arrangement of containers filled with different ground powders and crushed leaves or dried flowers.
Plants hung behind the counter, drying. The space was cozy, homey.
Light streamed in from three windows, one at my back facing the market and two along the right wall.
The side windows were tucked into alcoves that looked out to a garden and beyond that, the front of the stables.
I crossed to the man at the counter. His hair was braided at the side and tied up, and when he studied me, I couldn’t shake the feeling I’d seen him before. Swallowing, I set a slip on the counter that Maerel gave me with the shopping list. “I’m picking up an order.”
The man knelt to pull a basket from behind the counter. He sorted through the items, reading tags. “Here.” He handed me a packet as he stood. “Seven ferres.”
Figuring medicine wasn’t something to be bargained over, and eager to be done with my shopping and free from the unplaceable familiarity of the apothecary, I handed over the coin. He grunted his thanks.
Just as I turned to leave, the doorbell rang and the storekeeper lifted his head, frowning. “Where’s Evera?” he asked.
“She hasn’t returned yet?” a voice behind me replied.
I gathered my items, not wanting to be in the middle of their conversation.
“No, I thought she was with you.”
I turned; in the doorway stood the cobbler. I set my jaw, and his eyes narrowed briefly before he looked past me.
“I left her some two hands ago,” Ruairc said, using the common way of telling time in more rural areas where there were no bell towers rung at the head of each hour by a timekeeper.
I reached the door, and as I pushed it open, a memory fell over me. The bell above the door rang, marking my departure, and I stepped outside.
The man at the counter … I recognized him from when I awoke in my monster’s form. He’d stood beside Ruairc, and he’d carried the same voice as the man who rode home with—
Evera.