Chapter 3 #2
She ruffled his thick curls, pulling a strand of hay out of them, and gave him a smile before heading back toward the inn.
“And you’ve got dirt on your upper lip; make sure to wash it sometime!”
His muffled cries of protest were lost to the heavy winds gusting in from the sea.
Audra skirted around Mother’s mosaic, slipped through the front door, and headed straight for the stairs.
In a shocking turn of events, she was actually able to climb the three flights of stairs, traverse the entire length of the hallway, and close and successfully latch the door to her room without a single patron asking her for anything.
No demands for fresh towels, or a key to the nicest of the bathing chambers, which they kept locked for obvious reasons, or even inquiries for what time dinner would be served—even though it was posted in every room, every hallway, and on the wall in the tap hall … Not one thing.
Miracles did happen.
The familiar room was cramped, snippets of writing and drawings covering one wall.
Little animals made from paper lined crooked shelves, along with collected seashells, driftwood carvings, and a few of Emyre’s earliest clay sculptures.
An assortment of limp, overwatered plants lined the windowsill.
The room was a hodgepodge of creations, items, and oddities that she’d collected during her lifetime.
Unable to abandon her parents’ dream, and the inn, she’d moved out of the family quarters and into this room on her eighteenth nameday. It was the smallest room in the inn, on the top floor, right off the attic, but she loved it as much as someone trapped could.
This was the very room she’d been born in.
She crossed the space in three steps and slid open the window, hissing as the frigid breeze rushed into the room. Careful not to disturb the plants as she stepped over them, she crawled onto the roof.
Out here, she could no longer hear the ring of the guests’ bells, nor be distracted by the dozens of things left on her to-do list since she’d spent the morning protesting and trying to keep Eilissa out of trouble.
She unwrapped her slice of honeyed bread and bit into it.
She didn’t bother stifling her moan as she chewed happily.
This batch of flour was of a higher quality than usual, and she’d taken extra care—the loaf was soft and chewy, with just the right amount of flakiness on the crust. She’d really perfected the recipe this time.
The guests would love it; Mother would be proud.
She could take a few more minutes to enjoy herself out here before returning to her duties. Small moments stolen in the kitchen were nice, but she found true peace on the roof, where she could watch the ships, pretend to be on one, sailing far away.
Not many people lived full-time in Salt Hollow, but it was a perfect stopgap for trawlers, merchants, and sailors on their voyages to and from bigger ports. Because of this, the sad little village had more taverns than shops and more brothels than taverns.
Despite being born here in the inn, Audra herself was a child of one of those brothels, though she wasn’t sure which one.
The salty air nipped at her cheeks and playfully tugged her braids free from the ribbon that was failing at its one job—securing her hair in place.
Audra leaned forward, gazing down at the harbor.
Far below, knife-edged rocks protruded from a tumultuous winter sea so dark it resembled the night sky. One slip and the drop would kill her before the rocks ever pierced her, but she loved the thrill that shot up her stomach and into her throat any time she leaned over the edge.
It wasn’t long before her eyes trailed back to the harbor, and longing swelled within her.
She would give anything to be on one of those ships.
To book passage, sail out to sea, and arrive in another harbor.
One with shops filled with dresses sporting chiffon trains designed to billow out in the wake of their owners.
Cafés with cramped display cases bursting with frosted cakes, butter pastries, and brioche buns filled with berry compote.
She could try each one while sipping on rich, aromatic coffee, made sweet with milk and maple syrup.
She imagined this city of her dreams was home to a university, filled with young people with a thirst for knowledge and the desire to discuss more than the day’s market price of fish.
Imagine the wealth of knowledge available to them, she thought.
She owned a good deal of compendia and codices from her mother’s collection.
As she was now in charge of Emyre’s schooling, she was more recently familiar with them than she would have liked, but Audra preferred adventure stories, and those were more difficult to come by than apricots.
Occasionally, she got lucky, and a patron left a storybook behind.
When she was younger, she and Fiera would hide in the sea caves, a short stub of candle clutched between their hands to light the pages of naughty books Audra had pilfered from guests.
Audra shoved the last of the bread in her mouth, rejoicing in the sweetness of the honey with the tang of the sourdough.
She liked to imagine their laughter was still echoing through the deep caves—a continuous cascade, reminders of those carefree days. When they both thought this harbor would be long behind them by twenty-three.
Audra picked at a chipped tile.
It had been five years since she’d laughed with Fiera. Since the day her friend had joined the order of Nightlys, following Eilissa’s path into the Salty Serpent Brothel.
I’ll work for one night, Audra, that’s all. This one night alone will bring in whisps, and at least fifteen terras, maybe even a glyph.
Never mind that neither one of the girls had seen a glyph in their lives, even at eighteen. The circular iron currency forged in Ruscal’s capital city was practically a myth when you grew up in a backwater township like Salt Hollow.
She’d gripped Audra’s hands then, tightly between her own. Two days from now, I’ll have enough to book us both passage out of here.
She’d said it so fiercely, her brown eyes shining, her corn-silk hair fluttering around her, free as the wind.
And Audra protested of course. Being a Nightly was risky.
But Fiera insisted, and Audra hadn’t wanted to fight with her.
Fiera had had big dreams; they both did.
They truly thought they would be the only two girl children born from Salt Hollow brothels who would make it out of this rotten town.
But one of the sailors had gotten too rough with her. Fiera didn’t survive even one night.
So many ships left every day, yet her friend would never be on one.
They’d never even found the sailor. He’d escaped on a ship and never been brought to justice. Then again, what justice was there for those who worked in the brothel?
Mist swallow these dark thoughts. Audra preferred to remember only the good times with Fiera.
To not think about their promise that one day they would leave.
That tricky feeling that shadowed them both like a curse …
that despite their circumstances, they were destined for more than what life had dealt them.
And the truth was, Audra, though she still lived, wouldn’t ever leave either.
Her parents had taken her in, raised her, loved her as their own—and yet she secretly wanted to leave them, let their dream crumble around them.
It was selfish and wrong, but ultimately, her warring, inextricable desire, no, compulsion, to make her family proud won out.
Though in her worst bouts of despair, when that ache to run, to leave, coalesced inside her, threatening to spill out into action …
she always stayed. Ran the inn, kept the doors open, the rooms clean, the patrons fed and content.
Abandoning her parents’ dream, letting them down … It wasn’t something she’d ever do.
Her hope had been stripped to the bone long ago, buried alongside Fiera.
Audra drew her gaze from the vessels and looked farther out, toward the Mist.
Despite its name, it wasn’t really mist. And it had many names, depending on where on the Khaveahan continent one hailed from. Most were more nuanced, not as simplistic. But here in Salt Hollow, it was known simply by its appearance, which was … a wall of mist.
There were more rumors surrounding the Mist than in a palace court. It was said the vapors were poisonous; once inhaled, they would turn the blood in your veins to jelly. Or suffocate any who dared breach its perimeter. Or that it was a portal straight to Death’s living room.
Of course, no one really knew the truth of it, as none ever made it out to tell.