11. The Cloaked Figure
The Cloaked Figure
Fintan
Never before had he looked at the city of Pirath with such relief.
The sleeping city was tucked behind the protection of the Blackwood Forest nestled deep in a valley.
Torches burned out as the sun peeked over the trees.
The last three nights were a success. Not only had they killed the two skaraks, but they had also found their dwelling grounds as well.
Fintan had spent the nights crouched outside, hiding in scratchy bushes and waiting for any wandering beasts to return home.
They had been rewarded with three more skaraks.
He cracked his back, stretching the tension and ache of the fight.
His tall boots were caked with mud. The stench of dying beasts clung to his burr-filled cloak to his great annoyance.
Their night activities clung to them like a glaze even after rinsing off as much as possible in a stream. A steaming bath and fresh clothes sounded heavenly as they made their way back to their horses.
“We can’t stay long,” Kaiden said.
Fintan grunted in agreement, too tired to speak.
They rode in silence as they neared the city.
Only a few folk busied the streets at this time.
Servants prepared for a long workday as they shuffled through the empty alleys spidering out like veins off the main thoroughfare of the upper and lower city.
Their hands were full of household items and trinkets.
Beggars stretched from their sleeping alcoves and gathered their small belongings on their backs.
What was normally a bustling corridor of carts, open shops, and idle chatter of merchants preparing their wares, was now withdrawn and quiet.
The town, usually alive and well lit, transformed into tight, palpable tension.
Fear of becoming Arkan’s next target left a dense, smoky haze like a funeral shroud which blotted out the sun.
Fintan spied a familiar tavern ahead. The building acted as an unsaid barrier between the upper and lower city.
The two-story log house was always a perfect stop in their travels.
It was not too grungy to be completely for the lower class and not too polished to be marked as upper city property.
Here, both poor and rich came to escape their responsibilities and perhaps forget the clear segregation of power and wealth.
It helped immensely that they served the best sopapillas he had ever tasted. The fried pastry was a sugared dough which melted in his mouth, paired with frosty cinnamon milk tainted with clear liquor. It was positively addicting.
“I’m famished,” he grumbled.
“Perhaps old man Gaius is already baking her favorite treat,” Kaiden said behind him. His stomach rumbled loud enough for both of them to share a chuckle.
Fintan made the long trek a few days before Cahira’s birthday each year, bringing her heaping delicacies to gorge on in sweet delight.
The familiar aroma now lingered in the air, almost coating the stench of skaraks as they neared the tavern.
The smell wrapped around him like a balm and he practically fell off his horse as he leaned into the incense.
“Looks like we’re in luck.” He grinned.
He pushed the creaky door open anxiously. His grin widened at the sight. The warm glow of fire heated the room. Night candles had been recently snuffed out. The wax, still warm, pooled into the trays.
Not a soul sat in the round booths or tables aside from the drunken musician who slept with one hand on the piano, and the other still holding his drink.
The street lanterns shone dimly through dusty windows, creating just enough light to brighten the room.
The shadows of night clung stubbornly to the far corners of tables and alcoves.
Fintan walked to the bar. His smile grew wider with the increasing aroma of sopapillas.
Kaiden stood by the windows, glancing out every so often. He rubbed at them, smudging the dirt into a circle. When they were clear enough of the glass to see into the streets he stood on watch.
“Anyone home?” Fintan called behind the counter.
His shout woke the poor musician as he jerked from his bench. His cup emptied at the jolt, spilling his ale entirely down the yellowed keys of his piano. He cast a withering glare at Fintan before using his vest to sop up the mess, salvaging his precious instrument.
“Apologies,” Fintan said.
“My, my, my,” an old voice crooned from the kitchen window. “Look what trouble the day has already brought me.”
Gaius stepped out, wiping his hands on his food-stained apron.
Hair the color of flour stuck up wildly on top of his head like he had been struck by lightning.
His weathered skin resembled warm leather and age fought to wrinkle it.
Fintan looked down at him when he spoke since he only came to his chest.
He wore a plain gray tunic pushed up to his elbows, brown pants and worn boots peppered with dropped wheat.
The apron held spices which poked out of deep pockets.
Fintan knew he moved through the kitchen so much he had sewn pockets to all his aprons, pulling the needed spices for whatever his recipe called for.
This morning he simply had cinnamon, nutmeg, yeast, sugar, dried berries, sliced almonds and crushed pecans.
“I haven’t missed a birthday, have I?” Gaius scratched his head. “I do believe hers is in the early spring.” A wide knowing smile broke across his face.
“Not today, Gaius. We had a few stops in our travels and they happened to lead us here.” Fintan crossed his arms and leaned across the counter. If he could fall in love with a smell, it would be this. Only one other scent was this alluring and she smelled of wild honeysuckle and the deep sea.
Gaius patted his hand like one would an excited child. “I’ve got a fresh batch coming out of the oven in a few minutes.”
Fintan wiggled his brows with glee. “Perfect. And to drink —”
“I know, I know. Spiked cinnamon milk,” Gaius said, turning to grab the cool pitcher.
He pulled two large mugs from underneath the counter and poured with impeccable accuracy.
“Good morning to you as well,” Gaius called to Kaiden. “I’ll have eggs, ham and biscuits whipped up in no time.”
Kaiden offered a tight smile. He finally moved away from the windows and sat at a table cast in shadows.
“This should wipe the ever-creasing frown off his handsome face,” Gaius whispered in Fintan’s ear, giving Kaiden a pointed look.
Fintan held in his chuckle.
It was almost unfair he only saw Gaius once a year or whenever he happened to travel west.
“I think it might take a little more than a hearty breakfast to wipe his frown away,” he whispered back.
Gaius pushed the mugs across the counter and winked. “Never underestimate the power of food.”
Fintan shrugged. If anyone could turn Kaiden’s frown upside down with food it would be Gaius. He reached behind the counter picking up the tall bottle of liquor.
“For when the milk runs out.” He winked.
Tucking the bottle under his chin, he held the mugs against him and walked to the table. Gaius’s muffled words of “drink yourself to an early grave” only brought another smile to his lips.
Fintan chose his seat wisely as the warm candlelight washed over him. Perhaps it would chase away the cold seeping into his bones.
Kaiden rubbed his tired eyes and dragged the bottle to his lips.
Fintan eyed Kaiden, drinking deeply. “Easy.”
Kaiden huffed, finally setting the bottle down. A fourth of the liquor drained. The last few nights had taken a toll on them both.
“Gaius will bring water.” Fintan wasn’t sure who he was reassuring at this point.
As if saying his name summoned him, Gaius rounded the corner with a large tray in hand.
On Fintan’s side of the table he placed a plate of sopapillas piled high with slices of thick-cut bacon.
For Kaiden, as promised, thick slices of ham, and fried eggs with buttery-herbed flatbread.
Sugared peach slices slid between them and two glasses of water followed.
“Enjoy.” Gaius smiled.
“Thank you,” they said in unison, staring at the feast.
Gaius beamed, bowing ever so slightly before running back into the kitchen. The tavern door creaked open as people began filing in, no doubt drawn by the rumbling of their empty stomachs.
Fintan savored each bite of food he popped into his mouth.
In a few hours, the breakfast would turn to regular tavern food.
Milk, replaced with heavy ales and foamed beer, and the quiet replaced by a loud hum of drunkards.
An occasional fight was sure to break out and the sleepy-eyed musician’s tenor voice would fill the room as his fingers danced on the out-of-tune keys.
But for now, he enjoyed the quiet calm before the city shifted and came alive.
They sat in silence, cloaks drawn over their heads and weapons hidden, hoping to look like travelers or packers from the outskirts.
No one gave them a second glance. In fact, each new guest scanned the room, and chose to give them a wide berth.
Scared of their brooding presence or not wanting the shadows to cling to them, he didn’t know.
The right side of the tavern filled quickly while the left remained fairly empty. Some wandering souls sat at the small tables a few feet away. They ate in silence and filled their bellies with the pastries and breakfast Gaius brought out by the pans.
Fintan looked up over his sticky peach. His eyes traveled through the tavern watching the people go about their mundane lives. A small pain at the sight made him bite into the peach harder than needed. He wasn’t mediocre and he would never have a normal life. The gods had a different idea in mind.
The door burst open with a gust of wind.
The entire tavern turned at the abrupt entrance, and a stillness snaked through each person.
A small frame stood in the doorway. An unnatural wind whipped around the newcomer’s boots, clipping the tattered cloak.
Covered from head to toe, only silver strands of hair hung from beneath the shadows of the hood.
A loud tick of an iron-clawed hand echoed in the silence.
What the depths?
Fintan’s head whirled toward Kaiden but he had stilled. His entire body tensed, ready to fight in a blink of an eye. A slight shake of his head was the only indication he sensed Fintan’s concern.
Don’t move. He seemed to say.
The cloaked head turned toward their shadowed table and Fintan shuddered at the sightless eyes underneath. Kaiden had spoken of who they needed to meet but he never thought she would look so … well … just so.
Footsteps sounded as the figure walked down the steps slowly, savoring the fear in the room. The people had no idea who had walked into their tavern — into their city. Only Gaius had enough respect to clear his throat and nod in acknowledgment with a small glance at their table.
The cloaked head turned at the gesture and landed on them. There was a slight pause, and then quietly, the figure stalked toward their table.
Fintan dropped his last sopapilla. The dough turned to cotton in his mouth.
The scrape of a wooden chair grated against his ears. The iron hand left indents in the wood as the chair was dropped in front of them. The figure sat down, gracefully, like a wraith. Fintan swallowed, knowing full well everyone at the table had probably heard the gulp.
One tattooed hand reached up to push the cloak back, revealing milky eyes which seemed to stare into one's soul. A deadly smile played on her thin lips as she plucked the sopapilla from Fintan’s plate and bit into it with a hunger Fintan didn’t believe could be satisfied by a mere sweet.
“Hello, Prince,” she cooed.
Her voice was old and young, murderous and light. It sent chills down his spine and a flash of Kaiden’s heat warmed Fintan’s body to a light sweat under his arms.
“You must be Idalia,” Kaiden said.
Idalia smiled a terrifying grin. “The one and only.”