Chapter 13 Tobias #2
Shouting rang through the air. Four of the soldiers had drawn their swords, forcing back a fast-forming crowd, while a fifth clutched the collar of a scrambling man with long brown waves tumbling down his face.
“My name is A-Aharon Zigel,” the man stammered, hands raised in surrender. “I’m just a shop hand.”
“You bear a striking resemblance to the Artist,” the soldier spat.
An older man shoved his way through the crowd. “My son is no traitor!”
“Harboring a fugitive is a crime punishable by—”
“He isn’t even of age! Only eighteen, just a boy,” the father said. “He couldn’t possibly have fought in the Sovereign’s Tournament.”
Grunting, the soldier released his grip, sending the boy staggering. “The Artist has singlehandedly killed six armed patrols. If we learn you had any involvement . . .”
Six armed patrols? The number was four just the other day. Bitterness swirled in the pit of Tobias’s stomach. It seemed branding him a fugitive was not enough to sully his reputation. He headed in the opposite direction, glancing both ways before weaving through the street.
Hooves clomped in the distance. A man on a mare trotted not far ahead, a large pack on his back, two more on his horse’s rear—a traveler passing through, perhaps in need of lodging.
An inn. Tobias followed the man’s lead, keeping a fair pace behind him.
Rows of vendor carts lined the street, but all he saw were the placards posted to their fronts, each one bearing his name.
The traveler came to a stop, hitching his horse at the side of the road.
Before him stood sun-bleached walls, two, maybe three stories high, with a wooden door and painted sign warped with age.
An inn, finally. Tobias looked once in each direction, searching for crested helmets and silver spears. Finding none, he headed inside.
The door to the inn squealed behind him.
Patrons sat at tables eating pungent stew and sipping wine and beer.
An older man with a full head of grey hair stood behind the bar wiping down plates with a browned rag.
Perhaps he was a hand or the innkeeper himself.
Tobias pulled up a stool, and the man spoke without looking up from his work.
“What are we ordering?”
“Do you have a room available?” Tobias asked.
“You want a room, you order up.”
Tobias dug through his purse and dropped a coin on the bar top. “Beer.”
The man swept up the coin and left a chalice in its place, sending foam splashing onto the wooden surface.
Tobias opened his mouth to speak, but the keeper disappeared into a backroom with an armload of plates.
Tobias brought the drink to his lips but stopped short.
My cowl. Growling, he set the chalice aside. A beer he couldn’t drink. Wonderful.
A woman plopped onto the stool beside him.
She was tall and shapely with pale brown skin and a mane of tight curls a shade or two darker.
He rotated his chalice between his fingers, feigning indifference, but the pestering feeling of topaz eyes bore through him, and his shoulders went rigid beneath her unyielding gaze.
“A wayward traveler.” Her full lips were quirked into a smile. “All by our lonesome, are we?”
“That’s how I prefer it,” he said.
“No one cares to be alone, and those who claim as much are usually the most in need of company.” She swirled a fingertip across the bar top. “What brings you to our humble town?”
“A room and a bed.”
“Ah. I can provide both of those and quite a bit more.” Her voice was velvety, each word a caress. “And you’ll find I’m very well-versed in all matters of comfort.”
A courtesan. He should’ve known by the strings of yellow and coral beads pouring down her cleavage, the bangles on her wrists, and the jewels weighing down her ears. The grey-haired innkeeper returned, and Tobias flagged him over. “Sir? A room?”
The man grumbled something under his breath before disappearing again. All the while the woman watched Tobias with a probing gaze.
“My keep is just along the way.” She cocked her head toward the door. “Far cleaner and more welcoming than anything you’ll find here. Plus the perks of a warm body at your side to fulfill your needs, whatever they may be.”
“I appreciate your efforts, but I’m passing by for a place to sleep. Nothing more.”
“Are we not the sort who fancies primal delights? Or are we nursing a broken heart? I assure you, my keep has something for everyone.”
Sighing, Tobias pinched the bridge of his nose, and the woman’s eyes drifted from his covered face to the bow on his wrist.
“Promised! Congratulations.” She scanned the nearby tables. “Are they here? One partner or two? Perhaps more? If this is your reservation, allow me to ease your concerns. I’m very skilled at pleasing many at once.”
“I’m not interested.”
“Am I not your preference, perhaps? That can be easily assuaged. My keep has any desire you can imagine. Pleasure awaits you no matter the form.”
“With all due respect, I’d very much like to be alone.”
She eyed him over. “Very well. Apologies for prying. Men can be quite bashful, and I simply aimed to calm your nerves.” She hopped from the stool, straightening her maroon dress. “If you change your mind, I’ll be waiting by the back door. Discreetly, of course.”
She slipped away, taking the bulk of Tobias’s tension with her. Quickly, he lowered his cowl and took three long gulps of beer, relishing the sharp bite as it slid down his throat. The innkeeper reemerged, and Tobias covered his face. “Sir—”
The man held up a finger before bustling off yet again, and Tobias cursed into his cowl. Useless sack of shit. He sank in his stool, fingers digging into the bar top as he waited.
The front door squealed and slammed, and the din of voices hushed, replaced instead with the familiar clinking of metal.
Soldiers.
Tobias didn’t turn or dare a glance, listening as footsteps echoed behind him.
“Spare a moment of your time for questioning, as ordered by the sovereign,” a man said.
The back door was paces ahead to the left, sunlight beating against its clouded window. The soldiers scattered through the space, and Tobias slinked his hand down to the sword on his hip. If he could just get to that door.
“Have you seen this man? Average height, dark eyes and hair, of Thessian blood.” The phrase repeated behind him, a murmur stalking closer.
“That sounds like every goddamn ass in this town,” a patron said.
“Oh, piss off,” said another. Heart thundering, Tobias tightened his grip on his weapon, eyes trained on his escape route. How could he leave without notice?
“This is private property. You have no business here.” The innkeeper loomed in the corner of Tobias’s eye, shoulders squared. A soldier stood before him, and he raised his chin as if personally slighted.
“The sovereign commands—”
“I pay my taxes like everyone else, and I’m entitled to protect my property,” the innkeeper said. “What you’re doing is unlawful. You’re disturbing my patrons and interfering with my business.”
“Our orders come straight from the palace for the benefit and safety of Her Holiness, The One True Savior.”
“You’re turning our realm into a military state, hassling honest citizens, making them fear for their lives.”
“If you continue to dissent, I’ll be forced—”
“I’m well within my rights.” The innkeeper pointed to the door. “Now get out.”
The soldier unsheathed his sword. “Men,” he called out, and the rest of the unit rushed to action, pinning the innkeeper to the wall, wrestling his arms behind his back.
As the keeper struggled and shouted, patrons mobbed the scene, barking at the soldiers, tossing chalices at their helmets.
Tobias bolted for the back door and staggered into the shadowed alley.
“Hello again.”
The courtesan leaned against the plaster wall, eyes wide with surprise and lips pulled into a self-satisfied smirk. “I see we’ve had a change of heart. I’m very pleased.”
Muffled cries sounded from within the inn, and Tobias swallowed. “You should leave. Immediately.”
“Pardon?”
The door swung open, and a man barreled straight into Tobias’s back, sending him crashing into the courtesan. They toppled to the ground while the patron ran off, leaving Tobias to pull himself upright and help the courtesan to her feet. She gasped.
His hood had fallen, leaving his face on full display.
“You’re the Artist, aren’t you?” she said.
His throat went dry. “Quiet.”
“The sovereign’s put out a call for your head.”
Tobias grabbed the woman’s arm, pulling her into his chest and clamping a hand over her mouth.
The front door squealed in the distance, followed by a slam, and he pressed his back to the plaster wall.
One by one, soldiers marched past the alleyway, some wiping sweat from their brow, others cleaning blood from their swords. Once they disappeared, Tobias exhaled.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” he whispered, “but I need you to be quiet. Please, tell me you can do that.”
She nodded beneath his grasp, and he released his hold.
Spinning to face him, she slapped him across the jaw.
“Mother of—”
“You’ve got some nerve,” she spat. “You really think I’d rat you out to the bloody sovereign?”
Tobias faltered. “Excuse me?”
“Where is She? Where’s Her Holiness?”
“That’s none of your—”
“Is She safe?” The courtesan pointed an accusatory finger his way. “If you haven’t been caring for Her properly, I’ll smite you again, I swear it.”
Tobias opened his mouth, then closed it, then opened it again. “You don’t believe I’ve kidnapped Her?”
“Do I look stupid to you?” She flung her arms into the air. “Everyone knows about the Culmination. The theatrical declaration of love, The Savior rescuing Her Champion from certain death, then rescuing him again once he fell on his ass—”
“I didn’t fall on my ass—”