“How was your bath, my lady?” Aeron waited outside the door to her room, leaning casually against the wall. The small hallway flickered in the dim glow of the oil lamps on the walls.
“It was fantastic, thank you.” She dug a brass key from her robe pocket. Public baths were a new concept to her and Rodem was filled with them. One was even next door to the inn, and to her relief was for women only, although, that hadn’t stopped Aeron from trying to weasel his way in.
“I could have made it magnificent.” He grinned at her.
She opened the door to the room, ignoring his comment. A round rug of purple and gold covered most of the stone floor. Several oil lamps lined the walls that filled the room with a warm glow. The sweet smell of the flowery, vine covered façade of the inn drifted in through an open window on the other side of the room. The inn itself felt as old as the city, made of the same sandstone as many of the other buildings, with colorful tile mosaics covering most of its walls. Old, quaint, but beautiful and relaxing.
“Aeron, I feel your talents are wasted on me.” She held up one of her shirts that were set out to dry on top of the bed.
“Ah yes, the prince has captured your heart after all.” He plopped down on the bed, sprawling out across it casually. He propped his head up on an elbow and fingered her dagger lying next to her clothes.
Claire remained silent. He wanted to talk about something, so she’d just wait until he wanted to start.
“Claire, I am sure you know why I came here.” He looked up at her; those deep blue eyes were filled with as much seriousness as she’d ever seen him muster.
She sighed and dropped her shirt on the bed. “I have a hunch, yes.”
“Then I will be direct.” He sat up. “You must say farewell to the General tomorrow.”
Claire’s chest tightened at the thought. She’d been putting it off, thinking about what to say to him. “Easier said than done, Aeron.” Her eyes remained on her clothes, examining them a little too closely. They looked rattier than she remembered.
“Look, I am not saying that you have to say goodbye to him forever. Just for the time being.” He smiled up at her. “Besides, you do have a fiancé eagerly awaiting your return back home.”
“I do not.” She flung her shirt at him.
“Thank you for the gift, mon lainí.” Aeron smiled, holding onto the shirt. “I know it is hard. That is why I never get too involved with anyone, I am afraid.” He laid back on the bed to stare up at the ceiling, which was painted a dark cerulean and filled with tiny gold stars.
“So, you’ve never been close to anyone?” she asked, suddenly feeling sorry for the elf.
“Define close, my lady.” He wriggled his eyebrows at her.
“Honestly, are all you elves so closed off?” She sat on the edge of the bed, closed her eyes, and breathed in the sweet smelling, cool air. “I really don’t know what to say to him.”
“I am sure you will think of something.” He rose up off the bed. “I just want you to consider one thing.” He leaned in close to her. “For whom do you think he really has feelings? You or Miss DuBonte?”
Her gaze dropped to the floor. She wasn’t so sure she wanted the answer to that question.
Aeron left the room, closing the door behind him quietly. Even if she did promise to meet him at a different time, somewhere, someday, she didn’t know if she could keep it. Who knew what the elves had in store for her?
Tired, but unable to sleep, she swung her feet over the side of the bed. Perhaps a walk could help clear her mind. She tied the robe tight around her. Surely no one would notice at such a late hour of the night. She cracked open the door and glanced down the hallway. Empty. The excitement of sneaking out buzzed inside of her as she tip-toed down the dark corridor, the oil lamps snuffed out for the night.
She crept lightly down the steps into the lobby. A small café filled one side of the ground floor with booths lining the right wall. A long desk lined the left wall, the clerk absent, leaving a brass bell to call for his services.
Movement caught her attention out of the corner of her eye as she made her way to the front door. Farron sat in one of the booths, his feet propped up on a chair pulled up next to it. He set a bottle down on the table in front of him and looked up at her.
She paused for a second, then hurried through the door before he could stop her. What was he doing there all alone? Keeping watch? Drinking his sorrows away because of his lost love? In any case, it wasn’t her concern what the elf did in his free time.
The street was empty and at that moment she was thankful she had picked an inn a little out of the way. Pink and purple flowers bloomed along the vines covering the façade. A full moon provided ample light, splashing the city with its silvery glow.
Claire stopped on a small bridge a few paces down from the inn and leaned on the stone railing. She closed her eyes and listened to the tiny creek trickling by underneath.
“Can’t sleep?”
Slowly, she opened her eyes; she had a feeling he wouldn’t just let her stroll out of the inn like that. Farron leaned back against the rail and set the bottle on top of it.
“Something like that.” She leaned her elbows on the handrail and focused on the stream. “I promise I’m not running away.”
“I hope not, given your attire.”
“Well, no one was supposed to be out.” She shot him an unhappy look. “And if you came just to make fun of me, then I think you should leave. I have enough on my plate already.” Tightness gathered in her shoulders.
“I know what you’re going through better than you think.” His voice was unexpectedly soft.
Claire looked up at the elf in surprise. She’d figured he would object to what she was feeling, given his dislike of Bren. Her interest piqued, she straightened up and waited for him to elaborate.
He ran a hand down his face and glanced at her. “You just have to ask yourself, what’s more important to you: love, or your mission?”
Why couldn’t it be both? Besides, it wasn’t really her mission anyway. She may have agreed to go on it, but that was to find her mother. “It’s not that easy, Farron.”
He turned to lean on the rail with his elbows. “Love is never easy, Claire. Yet we all still search for it like fools.”
Her jaw dropped a little. “That was very insightful for you.” She smiled and nudged him playfully on the arm. “Don’t tell me that you’re actually a big softie under that hard exterior? There goes my whole image of you, right out the window.”
“Are you not the same, my lady?” He looked back at her.
She opened her mouth to say something but stopped. Perhaps he was right. “What is this anyway?” She grabbed the half-empty bottle and examined it; the liquid inside looked dark in the moonlight.
“Just some local spirits to ease the pain.” Farron smiled slightly as he gazed down at the stream.
She looked up at him. He seemed sad. Was that why he was drinking all alone before? Claire took a sip and cringed at the bitterness. “You always did have bad taste.” She set the bottle back down on the rail and knelt down to rest her face between the stone pillars.
It wasn’t all that bad traveling with the elves, and they had agreed to help her find her mother— for a little while at least. Perhaps when the mission was over, she could bargain with them to help her again. Of course, that would depend on whether or not they liked what she was. But would that mean she would be their prisoner for the rest of her life? On the other hand, if she were to run away with Bren, would he understand her situation? She had been lying to him the whole time and she didn’t really know him all that well either. If she told him about the mark on her hand, would he want to use her as well? She couldn’t hide it forever, after all. Not to mention she’d be on the run from the elves for the rest of her life. And anyone else who might want her, for that matter.
A heavy sigh escaped her as she weighed her choices. None of them seemed very appealing. She supposed there was no fairy tal
e ending for her.
Farron sat down with his back against the rail, the bottle gripped loosely in his left hand. “Rodem was another Elvin city, one of the oldest in fact. Back then, it was called Kardeia, the red city. And it was one of the first to fall during the Great War.”
Claire sat on her legs to face the elf, grateful for his distraction. “You’ve traveled a lot, haven’t you?”
“You can say that.”
“Had adventures, seen exotic places,” she said, wistfully. “I’m envious. I would dream of going off on my own journeys. The way my mother had when she was younger. When I was a child she would tell me tales about them, the places she had seen.”
“She never took you anywhere?”
She shook her head back and forth. “Oh no! She would never do that. ‘The world is a dangerous place,’ she would say.”
“It can be,” he admitted. “But it’s not all bad. It doesn’t seem fair that she would deny you that experience.”
“I suppose.” She smoothed her hands across her robe on her lap. “My mother… she had a whole life before me. But she rarely ever talked about it. She’d say, ‘Don’t do as I did’ or ‘Learn from my mistakes so you don’t have to.’ Her stories grew more and more infrequent as I grew older. Perhaps it was to shield me from something. Or maybe it was to discourage me from going on my own adventures.” She shrugged her shoulders. “She was always afraid of me leaving. Or going too far.”
“I’m sure when you find her again you can tell her your tales,” he said with a reassuring look. “Though, you might want to leave out a few things. The way you talk about your mother, I‘d be afraid for my head.”
As he should be. She couldn’t help but smile at that. “Have you been here before? To see the tournament?”
He shook his head. “Only passed through. And I can think of better things to do than to watch grown men fight each other for sport.”
“Like drinking away your sorrows?”
“Exactly.” He raised the bottle to her in toast before taking a drink.
“Fare, what happened to her?”
He was silent for a moment before he answered, “I don’t really know.” He took another swig.
Her eyes narrowed as she studied him closely. It seemed like he was telling the truth. Did she open up an old wound the night before? Maybe she could finally pry some secrets from him.
“What is it now?” He glanced at her, eyebrows raised.
Or maybe not. “Oh nothing. Just thinking the woman must have been incredibly unlucky to fall in love with you.”
“Maybe you’re right.”
She felt an instant pang of regret saying something so mean. “I’m sorry.”
He shrugged and took another drink from the bottle. “Can’t change what’s in the past, right?”
“No.”
“And how about you, my lady? Do you feel unfortunate as well, for knowing me?” He looked at her with the beginnings of his famous smirk.
Claire looked at the ground and smiled. “Well, most of the time I do. But, sometimes I feel like you’re the only one I can really talk to.” Her hands played with the cloth of her robe. “Until you say something smart, that is.”
A sharp burst of laughter filled the quiet street. “I think you speak of one of your skills, my lady.”
Heat rose to her cheeks and she crossed her arms as she glared at the elf. His laughter slowly subsided and the street fell silent again.
“Can I ask you something, Claire?”
“Sure.” Tiredness swept through her. Why did he have that effect on her?
“Why don’t you search for your real parents?” He looked at her, his eyes full of quiet pity. “Why just your adopted mother?”
The question caught her off guard. She had never really thought about it that way before. “I don’t know.” Her shoulders slumped slightly. “I never knew my parents. I guess I always figured that if they didn’t want me then, they probably don’t want to see me now.” There was a time, long ago, that she’d wondered about her real parents. If they were still living, why they had given her up, how Marion came to raise her. But over the years it just seemed to matter less and less. Occasionally there would be a pang in her chest, or her mind would wander, and questions surfaced. But there would never be any answer. Mother never really liked to talk about it. She gripped the robe in her hands, balling the material up tightly with her fingers.
“What if it wasn’t like that?”
She looked up at him. “What do you mean?”
“What if your parents didn’t want to give you up?”
“Far—” Claire stopped. Why would he ask her this all of a sudden? Didn’t she have enough problems to deal with? A silence fell between them.
“It’s my turn to apologize, I’m afraid,” he said as he rose and offered her his hand. “Come on, we can’t have you sleeping in the streets now, can we?”
She took his hand and let him pull her up to her feet. “I don’t think sleep will come anytime soon, now that new worries plague my mind.”
“I am sorry, my lady,” he said. “I’ll let you beat me up now if that will ease your worries.”
“No, I think I’ll save that for another time,” she said with a smirk. She wouldn’t let him off that easily. He’d get it when he truly deserved it and she could give it her all.
But it had raised her spirits. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet, Claire. I live in fear for when the day comes that you’ll take me up on the offer.”
“No,” she said in a more serious tone. “Thank you. For everything. You didn’t have to help me, but you did. I’m not really sure why you are, but I am thankful.” Before she could think, her hands grabbed the front of his shirt and drew him down so she could plant a light kiss on his cheek. Her lips lingered above his skin for a second afterwards, wondering just what the heck she was doing. It wasn’t like she had anything to drink. “You can be really sweet at times, in your own way.”
The elf tensed, growing very still and quiet.
Quickly, she took a step back. “I’m sorry,” she muttered, her voice a little breathy. When she brushed past him, his hand caught hers, turning her back around to face him.
A series of emotions played across his face, but it was hard to pinpoint which exactly they were. None of them looked particularly happy. Pained, confused maybe. His mouth opened, but nothing came out. He just looked down at her for a few moments, his hand still holding on to hers. Finally, he said, “Good night, Claire,” and he let go.
When she reached the door of the inn she glanced behind her. Farron stayed on the bridge, leaning back against the railing with arms crossed and a sad smile on his face.
Perhaps she really had reopened some old wounds. If she had, then she was both sorry and glad that he had finally started to open up. Although, she wasn’t sure she’d like everything she would discover, either.