8. 7
The smell in the Flight of Fancy was what I imagined the underbelly of a large ship to have, when its sailors had been travelling for many weeks and its swabbers were less than diligent.
The men certainly resembled sailors in their lack of manners and brash voices, though none were dressed in line with that profession.
They were mostly merchants, it seemed, all of whom should have understood the correct application of soap.
I tipped my head down and pulled my cloak over my head, finding my way to the quietest corner and a crooked table the rest of the room had avoided.
I sat on the padded seat, and realised that the foul odour of the Fancy might not be its people, but its floors and upholstery themselves.
No one else seemed to mind, and I tried to ignore the sour stench as I scanned the room.
Robar was in here somewhere. I knew that, because I had followed him in myself.
I had been quite proud of my ability to spot him as he left his father’s residence, and trail him here.
He had looked over his shoulder just once.
Without an alley to drop into, I’d been left with no choice but to duck my head and hope for the best. He carried on.
If he had noted me, he clearly did not see me as any threat, nor recognise me as any betrothed of his.
There were so many groups of men, young and old alike, crowded onto the benches, that I struggled to pick out his exact honeyed curls.
My view was not helped by the barmaiden who stopped before me, hand on hip. “What’ll it be?”
I blinked. “Sorry?”
She looked at me like I was a child, with a crease forming between her brows. “To drink. Eat?”
“Oh,” I said. I needed to calm down. Attracting attention was the last thing I wanted to do. “Yes. I’ll drink something. Do you have wine?”
She looked as confused as I was. “Yes, miss, we have wine.”
I smiled and held up a finger. “One wine, please.”
She shook her head. “What do you want? A cup? An oenochoe? Red? White? Cheap, or the good stuff?”
I blinked as the questions poured over me: a pail of cold water to my stupidity. “Cup, I think. Red? Whatever is easiest?”
She sighed and held out her hand.
Oh, yes. My blush grew to the roots of my scalp as I fished for the purse at my side, shaking the coins I had left into my hand. Four silver, and three copper. I looked at her hand with a modicum of uncertainty.
She cleared her throat, her eyes flashing with something. “That’ll be two silver.”
“Oh, right. Yes.”
I placed the two silver into her hand and she snapped it shut, walking off without a backwards glance.
Phew. That interaction alone was enough to have me wanting to run through the nearest door.
I returned my other coins, feeling the slim weight of the pouch.
We had always had enough wine to go around, I had no idea it was that expensive.
Another reason to get back to Ekris as quickly as possible.
“She’s taken you for a fopdoodle, there.”
The smooth voice came from my right, and I spun my head to the noise.
A man sat in the corner. His hair was dark as Davian’s but his skin was olive instead of brown, likely Craeteran or Meldoran.
His eyes were uncommonly blue. His clothes were well-made and richly tailored.
They were tight to his slim figure, though intentionally so, and his right ear had a golden loop through it.
I stared at it as I struggled to form a reply.
“What?” I responded, inelegantly.
“A fopdoodle.”
“I heard that. What do you mean?”
“Wine costs a copper, love,” he said, with a wink.
If I could have been any more embarrassed, my hair itself would have gone red at that moment.
But because I was already at my capacity, my cheeks simply burned out with a radiance only a copious amount of wine could have replicated.
I wished I were drunk, for then I might have had an excuse for my idiocy.
“Though, if you’re in the habit of handing out money for nothing,” he said, letting the words sprawl into the tumbling voices around us.
“I am not intentionally in the habit,” I replied.
The barmaiden came back, one hand sloshing with two mugs of ale, and the other holding my cup of wine. She placed it down before me, carefully ignoring my eyes as she moved away. I still thanked her.
“What’s a fopdoodle like you doing here, then?” the man asked.
I tensed, taking a sip of the wine. I didn’t want to engage in conversation. No one was even supposed to know I was here. I swallowed. Ekris’ Love, that was terrible wine. It only made the embarrassment sting harder.
“First time in the big city?” he pressed.
Honestly, since leaving Ekris, Dytho did feel like an entirely new place. More unfriendly, more expensive, with threatening men around every corner.
“Something like that,” I said, offering him a scarce nod.
He grinned as I looked away, scanning the room again.
“A word of advice,” he started. I couldn’t help but look at him as he tapped his mouth pensively.
“You have ears and eyes for a reason. If you’d been a touch more perceptive, you would have seen the gentleman two seats ahead of you pay a copper for his wine. ”
“Is that advice, or are you insulting my intelligence again?”
He smirked. “I’m not insulting your intelligence, fopdoodle. More your general awareness.”
I sighed and raised my cup. “Cheers to that, then.”
He toasted me in the air, and we both drank. He was an interesting looking man: all angles. A wide forehead, a narrow chin. Almost lizard-like in features, and the comparison was only aided by his darting, bright eyes.
“Do you want to sit beside me?” he asked. I froze, and he raised a hand. “I will not bother you, fopdoodle. Two loners sitting at the edge of a room draws attention. A couple draws less. Whomever you wish to find will be much less suspicious if you sit beside me.”
I stared at him, my embarrassment renewed. “Am I that obvious?”
He smiled. “Yes.”
“Fine,” I said, and I stood up, scooting around the side of the stool to sit on the edge of his booth.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
“Annie,” I replied.
“That’s the truth, isn’t it?”
I narrowed my eyes on him. “Yes.”
He chuckled. “Another word of advice, Annie.”
“Don’t tell strangers my name?”
He clicked his finger at me. “You’re learning.”
“What are you here for, then?”
“Why, a drink of course,” he said.
“You don’t want to draw attention either. That’s why you invited me here,” I said.
He smirked. “Well done.” Then he took a drink of his ale, leaning back. “I’m here to check on an investment.”
“I see,” I replied.
With the insulting man beside me briefly subdued, I took my chance to scour the room again. It did feel a bit safer doing so from the false image of two people at a table. I was bolder with my glances, and the wine was a helpful prop.
Then, I saw him. The back of his head at the bar.
Having some sort of heated conversation with the man behind it.
The barkeep held out his hand, and Robar, his honey locks bouncing, waved his hand and shook his head.
Eventually, the man behind the bar grimaced and shrugged, passing him three full mugs of ale.
Robar turned, and I caught my breath. He was a beautiful man, all soft features and boyish smiles.
He didn’t wear his best smile now, only a tight-lipped one as his friends hollered.
I didn’t mind, though, as I could fool myself that his best smile was reserved for me, and that maybe I would see it again.
Part of me believed he knew he was missing something, and I found evidence in his uncertain smile, in the way he cast his eyes around the room as if looking for someone.
He might not be certain of what he had lost, but if I could present myself to him at the right moment, maybe he would remember.
He would look at me as he had that first night in the House of Love, when I pulled back my veil.
He had gasped once, and I would hear it again.
My stomach tightened and I forced myself to look down, and take another drink of wine. The man at my side had leant back into the shadows, and seemed far more at ease in the Fancy than I did.
“What’s your name?” I asked him.
He gave me a slow smile. “You ask me that after I just advised you to give every stranger a fake name?”
I took a sip and thought about that. “Well, it will still be interesting to see which name you pick.”
He studied my face. “And why is that, Annie?”
I blushed. In Ekris’ service, it wasn’t uncommon for us to choose new names for ourselves. I never had, but I remembered Talia’s words. “The names we choose are a reflection of how we see ourselves.”
He shook his head. “You think like a fairy. I could just as easily name myself George and it would give nothing away.”
I shrug. “I suppose that suggests you don’t see yourself as a George.”
“I suppose.”
I glanced over the tables at the man who was nearly my husband. The back of another tall head blocked my full view of his face, and I caught glimpses here and there of a brown eyebrow or a hand raised in toast. It was the most I had seen of him in a while, and I lapped up the scraps.
Minutes later, Robar stood again, wielding his empty ale cups. This was it; he was back to the bar, or leaving. Again, I saw that stress on his face. It emboldened me. Let me be his salve. Let him see me as he once did.
I drained my cup, and the man beside me raised an eyebrow.
“Pick a name, then,” I prompted.
“Must I?”
“I am going to leave the table. It would be nice to know who I have spent a half hour with, and to whom I owe the rudeness,” I said. “Make one up. Just not George.”
His eyes flashed, and he studied me for so long that I had quite decided he meant not to reply at all. Then he drained his own cup. “Vasile.”
“Vasile,” I repeated, tasting it as I admired the painting of a drowning woman in the corner above his head. I had not noticed it before.
Vasile was a common Meldoran name, and also the name of a Craeteran river to the far north of Dytho.