Chapter 36
Roderick Bryson
Roderick and Anya ordered ale, wine, and two of the house special, then settled into a knotty pine table by the bar with a view of the setting sun. Warmth emanated through the window.
Anya was positively giddy, eyes flitting about the hall like a child in a sweet shop.
Folk around them were playing dominoes, cards, and some sort of gambling game with dice.
A thick haze of peppermint smoke hung in the air.
He felt the ghost of a cigar on his lips and had to resist the muscle memory in his fingers.
“Have you never been to a tavern before?” Roderick asked with a chuckle, raising his voice over the din.
Anya took a generous swig of her wine before answering. “A few times, but I had to wear a cloak and keep my head down. It takes the fun out of the atmosphere when you’re the brooding stranger at the bar.”
“You? Brooding? Never.”
Anya huffed. “I’m going to brood if our food isn’t ready soon.”
“Then let’s talk strategy to distract you.
” He rolled out the map, holding it flat with each of their drinks.
“Unsurprisingly, we are in the northern part of Aquillas. They apparently couldn’t spare us the decency of having a passage in the south.
” He pointed to the town of Traansa on the map, then squinted at the legend.
“Can you estimate how far Solenergi is from here? I can’t read the legend in this light. ”
Anya leaned over, peered at the legend in the corner of the map, then traced a long, delicate claw over the mountains.
“I would say about three days’ journey.”
Roderick straightened. “Then forget that book! We can work for Juniper tomorrow, buy some rations and be on our way.”
“But what if their rulers won’t trade with us?
Or mana stones can’t cure the illness? We need a back-up plan.
It would be best to not have to rely on the generosity of Aquillas should we find ourselves in the same position in the future.
And I refuse to go back to Valeria wondering if that plant is the cure. ”
“Technically, it’s a fungus.”
“Now you get smart?” she retorted, trying and failing to keep her lips from tugging into a smile.
“Only with you. I think it rubs off,” he said, slipping his hand over hers. He fiddled with the ring on her forefinger, spinning it a few times before weaving their fingers together. He caught her eyelashes flutter, then grow heavy as she finally gave herself over to the simple touch.
“Three days,” Anya murmured, staring down at their hands. “I thought we would have more time.”
“For what?”
“This. Learning about Aquillas, meeting its people…” Her eyes darted up, fingers tensed. “Oh, that was terrible to say, please don’t think ill of me, I want to get back to the children as quickly as possible. But I’ve enjoyed being…how do I put it—”
“Ordinary?”
“Yes,” Anya said with a smile. “Exactly.”
How could he tell her she was anything but ordinary? And in the most wonderful, extraordinary way?
“Two pannu kakku,” the server said with a little hint of a singsong voice. “The best in Aquillas!”
He reluctantly released her fingers. Hunger bested heart for now.
The way Anya’s eyes lit up at the food made him smile. It was a large, flat cake piled high with blueberries, powdered sugar, and maple syrup. He took a bite, falling headlong into his childhood at the custard-like texture of the center. Throw some pears on here and he was home.
“Roderick? Are you all right?”
“Hm?” He swallowed the bite he’d been savoring far too long. “Oh. Yes. It’s this food. It reminds me of home. Before.” A melancholy smile tugged his lips. “My mother made the best pear custard.”
As soon as the words left his tongue, Anya bit her lip and tapped her claws on the table. Was she nervous? She hadn’t been a second ago.
“Is there something—”
“What are your parents like?” she asked hastily, stuffing a too-large bite into her mouth.
He thought for a moment. “My father is cold. I suppose he always has been, but it truly came out after the Gathering. I can’t blame him for that.”
He swallowed the lump in his throat. “My mother has always been quiet, kind and patient. But she withdrew even more after the Gathering. I think she was afraid to love me more than she already did. Like one day she’d wake up, and I’d be gone, and if she kept her distance, the pain wouldn’t be so bad. ”
That was how it had always been for him—folk he loved with all his heart keeping him at an arm’s length. Hedging their bets. Guarding their hearts. He could dress it up however he wanted, but at the end of the day, it meant the same thing:
Loving you isn’t worth it.
Now it was his turn. Anya would inevitably leave him. Even if she embraced him now, she’d eventually return to Eteross, marry someone of much higher status than he, and live happily ever after.
He was bound for heartbreak. So why couldn’t he do it?
It was easy, right? A mere spar of hearts.
He knew the defense. Look away when she smiles.
Step away when she sidles up. Ignore the silk of her hair, and the golden hues in her eyes, the way she gazed at the moon and brushed her cheek on his chest…
Anya clinked her fork down, jarring him from the morning’s blissful memory. “Can I ask you something else?”
“Of course.”
“How did your family escape the Gathering? Weren’t your names and species listed in the Church records? Their marriage, your new life blessing?”
“They were. Or are, I suppose.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “My name wasn’t always Roderick Bryson.”
Anya parted her lips to speak, then pressed them into a thin line. She was curious.
A little rush ran up his spine.
If he could tell anyone, it was her. Moreover, he wanted to tell her.
“Percival Toulouse,” he said, staring down at the blueberries left on his plate. “That was my name.”
“Percival,” Anya repeated. His heart nearly leapt out of his chest. He never, ever, ever in his near thirty years expected to hear that name come out of another’s mouth, let alone hers.
“Percy, my family called me.”
“Have you ever wanted to go back to it?”
“Back to being Percival?” He stared into his ale, focusing on the bubbles clinging to the sides of the flagon.
“Never. He—I’m the reason my granddad died.
Didn’t listen to orders, cried, hid. And he paid the price.
” Horror grew on Anya’s face as he told her everything in detail, from the Centarian hunters in the streets to the red-eyed girl in the alley.
He couldn’t stop. He’d never told anyone what happened that day, not even Millicent, but it kept spilling out.
“So when my father handed me the piece of paper with my new name, I decided to be different. And that’s how you ended up with an insufferable oaf like me. ”
“You’re not insufferable,” she said softly. Her lips ticked up in a sly smile. “Though you may be an oaf. I’m still deciding that one. But you do need another drink. I’ll be right back.” She grazed her claws over the back of his hand before striding to the bar and returning with two fresh flagons.
Seeing Anya in such an intimate, yet ordinary atmosphere made a hundred questions wash over him. He wanted to know every ordinary thing about this extraordinary woman. What was her favorite color? Song? Sweet? Did she have any pets? Or was it weird for a Lycanian to have a pet?
So, after clean plates and their third round, he started asking.
Twilight blue. If You Love Me, a folk song written by a Lycanian shepherd. Mulberry pie. No pets. Not weird.
“Stop grilling me!” Anya chuckled. “It’s my turn. What about you, do you have a favorite, um—” She pursed her lips as she thought. “Sandwich?”
Roderick nearly spat out his ale. “Sandwich? That’s the best question you have?”
“What? You were a peasant most of your life. Peasants eat sandwiches all the time!”
“That’s the most princess-y sentence I’ve ever heard.”
Her smile was hidden behind steepled fingers, like she was plotting a major political move. “Humor me.”
He debated for a moment, until his taste buds remembered his granddad’s “recipe.” “It’s strange. You have to promise not to mock me.”
She only replied with an intrigued brow.
“Fine,” he said. “Cheese.”
“That’s not stra—”
“—with mashed apples.”
Anya gagged.
“Hey, don’t judge until you’ve tried it. Besides, nobles eat far stranger things.”
“Caviar,” she said with a shudder, seeming to try and wash the memory away with a sweet bite of pannu kakku.
A Were lute player tuned up her strings by the fireplace, watched over by two wood-carved puffins. She pulled the first note slowly, then, with a practiced nod, the rest of the musicians joined in with flute, fiddle, pan pipe and more, until the tavern was bursting with a celebratory medley.
Tables and chairs squeaked and groaned as patrons quickly cleared a place to dance with practiced efficiency.
“Ordinary people dance,” Roderick crooned, offering her his hand. “May I?”
“I—I don’t know these dances,” Anya stammered, looking at the crowd.
Chants of, “hey!” and rhythmic claps and cheers rang in the tavern hall.
Roderick watched an antlered Elf jump high, land, then break into heavy, syncopated stomps and taps.
There was no need for drums here. The dance was bursting with bravado, like the way he’d see roosters woo hens in the streets.
Every part of the man’s body was expressive and fluid.
A woman joined the man, and he dipped his head and folded her into an embrace, spinning her to the beat. More couples flooded the clearing.
“With your brawn and my brains?” Roderick said with a chuckle. “I think we can do anything.”
“You’re the brains?” Anya laughed. “My, are we in trouble.”
“Let’s see how much we can get into then.” He scooped her up and carried her toward the dance, drawing a boisterous laugh from her chest.