Chapter 4 #2
“There’s enough here for a room and breakfast, though,” Bart said thoughtfully.
He tossed the coins in the air and caught them in a meaty fist before leveling a discerning look at Bastion.
“Tell you what. I’ll sell ye a horse first thing in the morning.
Whatev’r yer errand, yer better off here instead o’ dead in a ditch. ”
Bastion stared at Bart, weighing his options. The wisdom of the innkeeper’s words warred with the inexplicable significance of the Acari pendant hanging against his chest.
“Fine.”
“Excellent!” Bart’s lips disappeared beneath his mustache in a wide grin. “Triss here will take ye to yer room. Do ye want yer food sent up?”
Bastion took one look at the pretty blonde raking her eyes over him and said, “I’ll come back down.”
Upstairs, Triss led him to a comfortable room and passed him the key. She gave him a charming smile as she followed him inside and stoked the fire. Bastion dropped his pack on the ground with a wet thump and promptly shed his boots and cloak. Then he unbuckled his sword and threw it across the bed.
When he turned around, Triss stood with her hands clasped, the fire crackling brightly behind her.
“Can I get you anything else?” she asked sweetly.
“No.” Bastion leaned against the open door. “Thank you.” A month ago, he might have entertained the unspoken offer, but now he had no interest.
“If something comes to mind…” Triss said, her expression coy. Then she sauntered into the hall, and Bastion closed the door.
In a matter of minutes, he’d stripped and used the basin of water on the side table to sponge off.
Then, he dug through his bag for his spare shirt and pants.
The Acari pendant swung from his neck. He considered it as he dressed.
Thinking it might draw unwanted attention, Bastion took the necklace off and shoved it deep into his bag before hunger got the better of him.
His hand paused over his sword. Leaving it would ensure he stayed anonymous. However, now that he knew Cypress Shoals had virtually no military presence, he would feel better with it at his side.
He buckled his belt, donned a new pair of wool socks and his boots, and left the room, eager to follow his nose.
The stairs deposited him near the short side of the bar.
Bastion claimed a stool on the corner, where he had a good view of the room.
Bart brought him a pint of something sweet and frothy, which Bastion sipped.
Triss arrived shortly after, sliding a large bowl of root vegetables and seared meat across the counter.
The sharp aroma of rosemary and melted butter made his stomach growl.
Bastion was hungry enough to inhale it, burned mouth be damned.
A plate followed, laden with buttered and herbed rolls and apple tart topped with caramelized sugar.
Once his hunger quieted, Bastion assessed the room. He abhorred the idea of waiting until morning to set off, but if he had to be grounded anywhere, Bart’s inn was a pleasant enough place to spend a night and plan his next move.
Firelight flickered on the wall opposite the bar, where half a dozen men with grey hair and knobby hands sat in well-worn armchairs around the hearth.
A handful of Yvri were scattered throughout the room.
Two of the women danced with other partners while the rest mingled with onlookers.
Among them was the male he’d seen in the square.
Their eyes met, and they acknowledged each other with cool indifference.
Bastion turned his attention to the corner where a man and woman sawed on their fiddles.
They played with such animation that their cheeks were bright and their hair tousled.
On the dance floor, the soft trill of feminine laughter ebbed and flowed with the music, while locals leaned across tables to swap stories.
The front door opened with a blast of damp, cold air, and Bastion glanced up, but through the crowd, he couldn’t see who’d arrived.
From the way Bart greeted them, he assumed it was a regular and returned to his food.
He picked up the tart, crunching through the caramelized sugar topping.
It was so good he had to stop himself from swallowing it whole.
Out of the corner of his eye, Bastion saw the Yvri in the room turn their attention toward Bart.
The innkeeper pointed in Bastion’s direction and started toward him. Bastion swiveled in his seat, tensing for a fight. He expected the unfriendly man who’d given him directions, or maybe the soldier from the garrison himself.
It was the Yvri healer, and she was soaking wet.
“Goddesses above!” Bastion exclaimed. “She needs a blanket!”
He jumped up and ushered her into his seat. Before he could bound up the stairs, she grabbed his wrist, and he damn near went cross-eyed. Her palm against his inner wrist sent a flurry of vague emotions–concern, urgency, relief–surging into his mind, and he completely forgot what he meant to do.
Triss appeared with a blanket and draped it across the healer’s shoulders. The Yvri began a series of complicated gestures, her face animated as she looked between Bastion and Bart. Bastion shook his head as he watched her, confused. Then Bart responded, making similar signs with his hands.
Her expression tightened, and Bastion was riveted by the determined set of her mouth. Even drenched, she held herself like a noble, drawing more than a few appreciative glances from nearby patrons.
“Ulla here’s been looking for ye,” Bart said. “Says ye helped in Windwick. She has information about the pirates behind that attack.”
“How do you know about that?” Bastion asked, incredulous.
Bart quirked his head. “She told me.”
Ulla began to gesture again, her hands forming signs with such speed that Bastion barely had time to register one before she was onto the next.
“But…” Bastion began, speaking to Ulla. “How did you get here?”
She watched his mouth as he spoke and frowned, then held out her palm like she meant to shake his and wiggled it towards him. Bastion arched an eyebrow at her.
“You swam?”
She nodded, and something in his mind fell into place. The next question was out of his mouth before he thought to phrase it more politely.
“Are you deaf?”
She smacked his shoulder, as if to say, obviously, before she returned to signing.
Her rapid movements were so large and expressive that Bastion had no time to feel self-conscious.
Bart nodded every so often. When she finished, his chest puffed up, and he let out a long sigh.
Then he leaned over the bar, motioning Bastion closer.
“She came across their ship when she returned to the sea,” he whispered, his voice dropping to a low rumble.
“She took the opportunity to investigate and learned that there’s more than one crew sweeping the coast, hitting as many of Lord Kyrith’s vassals as they can.
They’re drawing his forces away intentionally, so they can steal something from Moonwatch. ”
All the blood in Bastion’s body plummeted to his feet, leaving him cold with dread. It was worse than he imagined. The pirates weren’t just raiding villages. They were planning to rob the commander of the Royal Navy.
Another blast of cold air swept through the inn, and Ulla leaned around her neighbor to look toward the door. She faced forwards abruptly, hunching as worry creased her mouth. She signed smaller now, keeping her motions contained to the width of her shoulders.
Bart’s brow flattened. He stood to his full height, and his eyes darted to the door. Then he met Bastion’s bewildered expression and whispered, “Some o’ their crew just walked in.”