The Traveler’s Offer #2
This was not a game of cat and mouse. We were both feline—clever and nimble. I could tell this visit wasn’t going as expected, and he was rethinking his approach.
“Lady Ashf—Bergmont, I sense your emotions are running high with your impending sentence. I’ll do you the voluntary kindness of forgiving you for this small measure of hostility.” His stern tone was a direct opposite of his playful expression. A ruse, for eavesdropping guards maybe.
I rolled my tongue over the roof of my mouth. All right. Let’s play. “Apologies, Lord Traveler.”
We resumed our game. His cloak danced across the stone floor as he moved to sit.
“Wine,” he called as he crossed an ankle over his knee.
The door opened a moment later. A second hooded man, younger than my inquisitive visitor, entered with two golden chalices. In the dim light, the inky liquid looked more like blood than wine. A shiver pressed my spine.
“Thank you,” I said half-heartedly as I lifted the cup to study its contents.
“Take that with you when you go.” The Traveler pointed to the execution block, then locked his eyes back on me. “Lady Bergmont won’t be needing any more practice this evening.”
A strained grunt leaked from the second hooded man as he lifted and carried the execution block away. A seed of concern took root in me, as if the block’s presence in my cell rather than the courtyard ensured my survival.
My throat turned to dust as a new pang of fear rushed through me.
Then, the Traveler lifted his cup. “To your soul’s safe passage.”
I steadied my expression and returned the salute with a silent smile.
The cold metal of the cup met my lips. I held it there, taking a brief pause to smell for any toxic elements.
I found only the earthy notes of coveted northern wine.
No unmistakable iron tang of blood, no putrid hints of detectable poison.
The Crown wouldn’t appreciate their most prolific criminal passing away before my rendezvous with death, and the Traveler would have known that too.
His watchful gaze remained on me. Tracked me as I evaluated the liquid. Assessed me assessing him.
I took a large drink. Death would cradle me in a few hours anyway. The familiar spirit burned a sliding trail into my belly like a warm embrace.
Pleased with my decision, he continued, “Where were we?”
“Discussing the opportunity of life at the Hive.” My thinly veiled sarcasm sank to the bottom of my goblet.
He scoffed. “That’s right. For those with certain skills or talents, the community at the Hive can be gracious, generous, and welcoming.”
My muscles knotted at the word talents. He knew.
The Traveler squinted, recognizing the crack in my calm demeanor and the opportunity to strike. “It’s rumored you’ve honed a particular ability that could be of use to the Hive.” He sipped from his cup.
“What qualifies one to be a talented guest of the Hive?” I tested, giving him an insincere, close-lipped smile.
“Your ability to locate lost items,” he said with infuriating confidence. My false smile fell.
My reputation preceded me. Sorceress.
One hears the word and might think of flowing robes, a cauldron, a cellar filled with vials, an obscure collection of ingredients for potions. But me? I had a garden like any of the estates in Atoris, filled with vegetables and some medicinal herbs. Perfectly normal, in my opinion.
The claim was silly and undeserved for my mediocre dabbling. Could this mortal cell hold a rumored powerful sorceress?
What the Traveler had heard was a partial truth. I didn’t just have a knack for locating lost items. I had the gift of sight. Or the curse of visions, depending on who was asked.
My entrepreneurship started when a lady of the court shared in confidence that she’d misplaced a familial heirloom.
She feared that if her husband discovered it was missing, he would react violently.
I tried to calm the distressed conversation by offering a consoling touch, and like a lightning strike, a vision came to me.
I could see the dust-covered emerald broach as clearly in my mind as the distraught high-born woman in front of me.
My appreciative acquaintance offered generous compensation for the information, but instead, I only asked for her silence.
Unsurprisingly, rumors spread, and the unintended event evolved into a way to make extra coin.
I would take one appointment per week and ask for a minimal fee with the promise of a refund if the item couldn’t be found.
Only once did I fail. At a time when accuracy mattered most…
Lying to the Traveler would be pointless—especially now—but I didn’t want to over-embellish my accomplishments either. “I’ve located a few misplaced items.”
“A few?”
Dozens…technically.
I offered a small nod. My feet ached, and I wished he would wrap up this line of questioning.
“So, which is it? You don’t want to take the credit or are you hiding something from me?” he murmured before downing the rest of his drink.
Axe or Hive.
I sipped my wine to buy time. It was a death sentence for me either way. “If I did have such a talent, why would it be valuable to the Hive?”
A coy, close-lipped smile from my visitor spread across his sharp jaw. “You would be a protected guest…as long as you were useful.”
“As long as I was useful.” My mind hung on the last word; my fate would hang upon its definition if I chose the Hive.
“Correct.” He tapped his fingers against his empty chalice.
The idea of being an instrument, a tool, a pawn in yet another man’s schemes awakened an ember of rage in my gut. I would be damned if I continued to live only to kneel to those who would seek control over me.
“Well, it’s settled then.” I folded my arms over my middle, protecting the swell of anger in my belly. The Traveler’s eyes widened slightly as his posture straightened. “Because, despite what you’ve heard, I’m utterly useless.”
In the dim light, storm clouds surged across blue irises and a muscle ticked in his jaw.
“All right.” He stood abruptly. “It’s your—headless—funeral.”
My lip curled with his tactlessness. Disrespectful, inappropriate, horrid man. At that moment, I agreed with Hollis. Travelers didn’t deserve the title of lord.
“Enough. Please take your leave.” I gestured to the door, hoping he would make a swift exit after an extended stay. His tasteless and unnecessary comment soured my victory. I chewed my tongue to keep from hurling my empty goblet at him.
I’d had enough of men making overly-embellished promises.
Comfortable? At the Hive? Impossible. How could one be made comfortable when surrounded by constant death or fear of death? Even if I were deemed useful for a time, it wouldn’t be worth it.
From beneath his lifted hood, the Traveler growled, “You can ask for me anytime before you take the stage tomorrow. This offer is valid until the moment of your execution. I’ll let you return to your...prayers.”
With those final words, the Traveler departed.
I was alone with my thoughts and the sounds of scratching rodents making their nightly rounds in search of scraps.
What a depressing ending to my monotonous life story.
I slumped onto the hay bed. Despair and defeat descended over me as I replayed the Traveler’s words.
I closed my eyes and fought the curiosity pecking at the walls of my mind.
What could the Hive want with me? With my gift? To find something. But…what?