34. Little Hills & Trees #2
Torren nodded and tucked into his food. Unfortunately, Cypress had never been a big fan of mutton—or lamb, for that matter. Though it had been a long time since she’d gone without eating, the prospect now seemed almost preferable to eating this stew.
Cypress sighed and took a tentative sip of the broth. It was alright, but not good. Cypress decided she would take a bit of the vegetables and the meat with every bite. Hopefully, the flavors would balance themselves out that way.
She noticed Torren looking at her out of the corner of her eye, but was saved from having to explain as the –only slightly– familiar face of Ellisar waltzed up to their table, and pulled a chair out for himself.
The iridescent wings Cypress remembered were nowhere to be seen, but his blond hair was braided back the same way, and he wore similar clothes to the first time they’d met.
“Ellisar, my friend,” Torren greeted, and raised his glass.
Ellisar bowed his head and returned the greeting. “It has been too long.”
Cypress opened her mouth to ask about the fair folk camp when Torren grabbed her thigh under the table and squeezed. Instead, she merely said, “It’s nice to see you,” through gritted teeth.
Torren waved down one of the barmaids who circled through the room with trays laden with drinks.
When one came to their table, he said, “A drink, please, for my friend.” Then, before she walked away, Torren asked Ellisar, “Have you eaten today, my friend?”
“No, thank you, just the drink, please.”
The barmaid nodded her head and walked away. Cypress didn’t miss the inquisitive look the girl sent the pair of men, and around at their belongings as if she were cataloging information.
Cypress couldn’t help but think back to her early days at the Keep, and how she was often questioned about what she noticed and observed about visiting dignitaries and nobility–the girl likely was doing the very same, just under the name of the inn’s owner.
Cypress stayed silent while Ellisar and Torren chatted about nonsense. The weather, this year’s crop, and the joust that she had won. The pair seemingly chatted about everything and nothing all at once while they waited for the barmaid to return with Ellisar’s drink.
Even after the glass was delivered, full to the brim with deep purple wine, the pair still talked about nothing of consequence.
Cypress almost couldn’t stand it anymore.
She knew, though, that there was a reason.
Torren hadn’t given his name to the barkeep.
Their appearances were slightly altered, though not severely.
Only just enough to not be a match for the wanted posters Cypress saw on the way in.
The way the barkeep and the girls circled the room, Cypress knew that not much could be said within these walls without being overheard in one way or another.
Still, she didn’t know why Torren and Ellisar would be sitting in the middle of it all for so long, talking about…
nothing. Nothing of consequence, anyway.
Finally, when the lamps had been dimmed and the tables all but cleared, Torren and Ellisar rose from their chairs, Cypress with them.
“We’ll have the carriage ready by morning,” Ellisar said, giving Torren the slightest of nods.
“Thank you, my friend. Now, I think it’s time to tuck these weary bones in for the night.”
Cypress had never heard Torren utter such a strange sentence. Again, though, she stayed quiet and let Torren lead her up the stairs with an arm across her shoulders.
Unfortunately, though, the upper level of the Inn was not quiet.
Cypress tried to ignore it, but it was impossible. Nearly every room had the distinct sound of pleasure echoing from it. Men grunting, groaning in pleasure, women screaming in ecstasy. The slaps were too distinct to be anything else.
“Have you brought us to a fucking brothel?” Cypress hissed quietly, with her arm still slung around Torren’s waist.
“Are you too proper for this type of establishment, Duchess?” Torren drawled and looked down at her through half-lidded eyes.
“I didn’t say that,” She said and gave him a dirty look.
"What is it then?"
“Is it so wrong to want a warning when I’m being dragged into the upper levels of a brothel with a shameless rake who wants to share a room with me?” Cypress countered and dug her fingers into his side.
“Fair enough, lass, fair enough,” he laughed, then pointed with his chin at an open door and the thankfully empty room. “Looks like this will be us,” he said, and led them into the room.
“Is there some sort of signal that would indicate we do not wish to be disturbed?” Cypress asked and looked around.
Thankfully, the room was clean. The mattress was decently large, though bare. Because of the lack of bedding, Cypress could also tell that there weren’t any stains or lingering…fluids on the mattress.
There was a fresh pair of sheets folded on the edge of it, along with a thicker quilt on the trunk at the foot of the bed.
To the side of the room was a small vanity table with a mirror and a porcelain bowl with a matching jug of water, and a small chair neatly tucked into the vanity.
“Are you planning to have your way with me, Cypress?” Torren asked as he shut the door and turned the lock.
Cypress couldn’t swallow past the lump in her throat.
He looked so… good in the dim lantern light. The golden rays of flickering firelight caught on his cheekbones and danced along his jawline.
When had he gotten so close?
“I meant so that other people don’t come in,” Cypress said and squared her shoulders.
Torren only grinned and then took a step closer to her, so their chests nearly touched.
“You didn’t answer the question,” Torren said huskily, grey eyes that were so like a stormy sky jumped all over her face, and lingered on her lips. “But, I think the lock will do, Lass.”
Cypress couldn’t speak past the way her heart pounded in her chest for several moments. “I claim the mattress.”
A wicked grin spread across Torren’s face when he said, “Aye, and I’ll take the other half of that big, comfy bed, Lass.”