The Traveler’s Offer
The Traveler’s Offer
Standing before me was the unmistakable blue robes of a Traveler. The guard—who was actively avoiding my eyeline—placed a simple wooden chair next to the execution block before making a swift exit.
So he had seen me. Fuck.
The moonlight cast a soft, pale light around us and I hoped it wouldn’t illuminate the flush lingering in my cheeks.
I detected an earthy scent—pine—from the stranger and wondered if he’d come from the woods outside Illica’s walls where the Traveler community gathered and lived. Maybe he’d journeyed straight from the Hive itself.
He moved gracefully, settling in slowly as he raised his hands to lower his hood, revealing obsidian tresses and striking, steely blue eyes. “These aren’t the accommodations you’re accustomed to, are they, Lady Ashford?”
Certainly not, I quipped to myself. “No, Lord Traveler. And I prefer my maiden name. Bergmont.”
“Oh, my apologies.” Two hands emerged from his sapphire sleeves, palms up, gesturing for forgiveness.
The cloaked figure sat back and crossed his legs, revealing black riding trousers and matching leather boots.
“Of course they’re not, because what sane person would keep an execution block at the foot of their bed? ”
Something between a snort and a laugh escaped me. Heat crept into my cheeks and I clasped a hand over my mouth.
Nothing about my situation was lighthearted or humorous, but his observation was valid. The logic of it snapped me into a state of lucidity I hadn’t realized I’d lost.
He chuckled as a cautious smirk crawled up one side of his narrow jaw.
Whether he was amused or concerned by the disgusting noise I’d made, I couldn’t decipher.
With one remaining day of my life, first impressions didn’t matter, but I was curious of his thoughts on the rumored sorceress in front of him.
Seven weeks in the keep had taken their toll. My once sun-kissed skin now paled from imprisonment. The plain dress, one of my last worldly possessions, now hung off of my disappearing frame. This version of myself was a shadow of who I was before my arrest. Physically, mentally, emotionally.
He cleared his throat and pointed to the block. “Is this some kind of mental warfare?”
While his head was turned, I stole a glance at his full lips. My voice cracked slightly as I admitted, “No, I—I was practicing.”
“Practicing?” The Traveler’s eyes were alight with curiosity.
I wasn’t sure why I told him. Could I admit to someone I just met that after a life of doing everything wrong, I desperately wanted to get this one last thing right? No. I couldn’t admit that to myself, let alone this attractive stranger.
Instead, I nodded. It was answer enough.
“Hm.” His head tilted, accentuating the cut of his jaw.
As Hollis’s wife, I’d met—and even hosted—a handful of Travelers.
Most were forced into the nomadic occupation as a product of an undesirable family name or to pay off enormous debts.
The work as a glorified goods escort between humans and our blood-thirsty neighbors of the Hive was dangerous but—according to the Crown—a necessary service.
The vampires controlled the gem mines of the Irriset Mountains after all.
The Crown traded their subjects—laborers—for the priceless gems adorning their garments and jewelry.
As such, committing to the life of a Traveler could clear the largest of debts and often forgive the most devious wrongdoings.
But this Traveler was noticeably different.
It was the little details that betrayed him.
His posture was too relaxed. He seemed rested.
Travelers were notoriously on the move and a signature as recognizable as their blue robes was dark circles under their eyes.
Even a freshly bathed Traveler never had hands as clean as his.
But this man’s features, including his striking gray-blue eyes, felt out of place. He was a handsome mystery.
His thumbs circled each other, clasped in his lap. “So, you’re not interested in my offer then?”
I held back a scoff at the offer to deliver me to the Hive—the offer I had no intention of hearing, let alone considering.
Without pause, I responded, “I’ll go to the axe tomorrow.”
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “You’re that determined to meet death?”
“I’m determined to have control over my death,” I corrected, standing a little taller as if my posture could convince either of us I was confident in my decision.
“Control.” He rolled the word on his tongue and assessed me with narrowed eyes. “Interesting.”
“What’s interesting?” I scoffed.
“Well, most people are at least curious about the Hive.” He sat back again and rubbed the stubble on his chin. “But not you.”
I shifted my weight as my resolve wavered.
I was curious. Who wouldn’t be? I lived my entire life craving table scraps of gossip regarding the Hive to the North.
Ruled by the famously fearsome Rhazien Kyrell, it was the death capital of Atoris.
Or so the rumors said, because that’s all I could claim.
“You,” he continued, gesturing to me, “know all you need to know.”
“I suppose I do.” My dismissal was softened by my practiced, melodic tone. The one I’d used countless times at court to appease an audience while making a graceful exit from tired conversation.
But instead of granting me an exit, the Traveler said, “Humor me. How is it you’ve come to be so well versed in the happenings of the Hive?”
Being married to one of the richest, well-traveled men in Atoris for over a decade. That’s how. Hollis had reluctantly hosted Travelers only when unavoidable and absolutely necessary. His bulbous features would twist into a pained expression anytime he had to address a Traveler as ‘Lord’.
“They weren’t born into their position, they were forced or volunteered. They own no land, hold no titles, and contribute so little. It’s preposterous,” Hollis would spout once the guests were out of earshot.
I contemplated my options, which consisted of say a lot, say a little, and say next to nothing. I settled for the truth. “Only through terrible rumors, my lord.”
His dark hair swayed as he tilted his head. “Mmm. Some of which are true, I’m sure.”
“The world is full of horrible truths, my lord.” The conversational chess game continued.
“Well said.” His crooked smile emerged again from beneath his dark stubble. “But horrible enough to choose death by the axe?”
A chill slithered through me as I recalled gruesome details ladies shared to pass the time while our husbands would handle business.
Slow torture. Gnashing teeth. Blood-filled halls. So much death, you could smell the decay from one hundred miles outside of the Hive.
“Yes,” I declared, trying to ignore the sweat breaking out at the base of my skull.
“Hm,” he grunted through flared nostrils at the end of his pointed nose.
A torturous silence settled between us. My restlessness and aggravation compounded in the tactical quiet. He had my answer. Why would he linger?
“Lord Trav—”
“What were—”
Our voices collided, but I yielded to his question.
“What were you doing? When I arrived just minutes ago?”
Heat pricked at my ears as the lie sprang from behind my teeth, “Sleeping, lord.”
“Oh? Curious.” His strong brow furrowed over his discerning gaze. “The guard said you weren’t decent.”
I was caught in a lie, and the delighted glint in his eyes suggested we both knew it.
“Praying. I was praying,” I recovered, pressing my toes into the unforgiving stone.
“Of course. How noble.” He kneaded his hands together. “What were you praying for?”
“My lord?” I tilted my head, genuinely taken aback by the question.
He stood, reminding me of his height advantage. Instinctively, I maneuvered farther away from him into the opposite corner. Like he was performing a dance, he circled behind the chair, stopping to place his hands on its back.
“What. Were. You. Praying. For?” Each word landed with a menacing, eerie weight. His stare pierced into me from across the moonlit cell.
I was a grown woman sentenced to die. I didn’t need to feel embarrassed for how I found comfort on my last day in the realm of the living. But I didn’t owe him truth either, not in this.
Lie. Lie to him. Say anything.
“Safe passage for my soul, lord. To the afterlife,” I breathed as a piece of the shaky foundation of my fib crumbled.
His full lips pursed. “Just a reminder, I can offer you safe passage as well.”
“To the Hive.”
“Exactly.” He leaned on the wall opposite me. The Traveler was tall and broad beneath his robes. Even from across the room, I tilted my chin to keep his gaze.
My face scrunched. This issue had been addressed. The question asked and answered. Why would he continue to press?
I arched my brow. “As I understand it, lives are not meant to be lived once a mortal enters the Hive.”
“That can be true. For some.” The Traveler was alluding to something…but what?
He withheld the information amidst more infuriating silence, testing my piqued curiosity. I knew better than to take the obvious bait, but I needed to know. Reluctantly, I inquired, “And for others?”
A satisfied smirk flashed across his angled features.
“For others…” The Traveler moved to the window and traced a finger along the sill. He clicked his tongue at the grime. “Others find the Hive to be a most welcoming and comfortable home.”
I sensed deception lacing his words. While Travelers’ robes were modeled after the traditional garb of holymen, they were not held to the same expectations of honesty or morality.
No, he could skirt the boundaries of truth.
Dilute accuracy. Contort facts. All in the name of securing a tribute to the Hive.
“As a slave.” A statement, not a question, flew out of me before I could consider the repercussions of the comment.
“As a guest,” the Traveler amended with upturned palms.
“As a meal.” My quick retort earned a delighted expression.