The White Hearth Inn was so named for the grand fireplace at its center: a gigantic furnace around which the entire tavern had been built. The front of the hearth, the part visible to guests, was framed in bleach-white stone (hence the inn’s name), with the mantle chiseled to bear the shapes of leaves, butterflies, and small flying quips licking nectar from petals with elongated tongues. With fresh wood on the flame, the hearth was blazing hot with a backdrop of loud pops and crackles, thoroughly warming the tavern’s common room for those seeking refuge from the cold. Red coals and cinders fallen loose off the logs had been pulled to the hearth’s hidden back, where an opening there served as the main stove for the inn’s impressive kitchen. For two hours or more the mouthwatering aromas of roasting meat on spits, baking bread and simmering stew had been wafting out from the front of the hearth, filling the common with all manner of delicious smells. Saraya’s stomach grumbled long before she came to notice she was hungry, for having been so deep in thought since her return, she forgot that the dinner hour was nigh.
“Quiet, you,” she ordered at her empty stomach, the cavernous sounds having disrupted her concentration. Sitting at the back of the tavern hall from the upturned barrel that served as her table, she had been watching closely all those who had entered the inn following her arrival. She had requested this corner place specifically so that she could be alone, much to the confusion of the innkeep. At first, the Tuh’luan male thought her still offended from earlier, from when he’d nearly kicked her out under the suspicion of magic talent. She had assured him that this was not the case however, and that she merely wanted some time alone to prepare for tonight’s performance. Thankfully, he had accepted her answer without fuss, even if it was only half the truth. Honestly, Saraya had wanted a better vantage by which to watch the dining hall, as well as to stay out of the way lest someone else suspect her of being a caster. The man who had hired her was bound to show up eventually, and she wanted to know the exact moment when he did. That man wanted her to find someone, but had given her no clues or hints as to whom. If Saraya was going to get through this trap without losing an ankle in its snare, then she was going to have to learn something from him that could help.
With the hour having now grown late, men and women, pale akiri like herself, colored, striped naviin, and dark-skinned tuh’lu all began coming through the tavern doors in greater number. A good half of the inn’s tables and chairs were already filled even as more people piled in, with those remaining being mostly claimed by laborers fresh off the job. Lumber appeared to be the Scar’s greatest commodity, with Meridia serving as a port town for shipping it up river. Nearly all of those who were coming in smelled strongly of pine and sap, their white linen shirts each stained gold by the drippings of bark blood, with flecks of wood chippings dusting every furred shoulder mantle and coat. Even those who looked to have no dealings with the city’s mills seemed to carry the scent upon their dress, causing the sweaty, forest odor in the inn to grow and thicken. Strangely, the mixing of pine, sap, meat, bread and pie wasn’t at all unpleasant, and even gave something of a spring-like feel to the tavern air. If nothing else, it succeeded in chasing the winter away with its warm illusion, leaving only the occasional whiff of river and fish to reveal the trick for what it was. The cozy atmosphere endured however, regardless of those things threatening to break it, and the haze helped ease Saraya’s looming anxiety.
With so many locals taking up space inside the tavern, the jester turned a greater portion of her attention to those strangers from the road. Those newly arrived in Meridia were sprinkled in among the city folk far fewer in their amount. As was to be expected, people were beginning to travel more now that spring was nearly here, and in a city like this there were a plethora of places that could put up a road-weary traveler. Upon her own arrival, Saraya had purposefully searched Meridia for somewhere like the White Hearth Inn: a place that served as a haven for locals more than it did for strangers. Other travelers would not be nearly as picky as she had been, nor have the need to search for so particular an establishment. For Saraya, however, knowing whom the inn serviced was absolutely necessary, as it would allow her to better work her craft if the need arose. Time abroad had taught her that locals were often open to having their daily monotony broken by the display of jester tricks, while those fresh off the road much preferred their evenings quiet. Having a split audience would only make her acts harder to appease, but then again, accepting the work of a masked stranger had made such things hard already.
If rumor was anything to go by though, stage fools and dancers had become a less common thing in Cambria of late, and so her presence would likely be readily welcomed. The White Hearth’s proprietor had suggested that any who proved to have such talent were snatched up by wealthier houses and inns, these merrymen paid to entertain for private families and guests. Saraya didn’t know how much of this was true, but she did know that she hadn’t seen a single street performer on her way to Meridia or since. It was possible that somewhere they still existed, earning an honest living at the behest of a wealthier inn than this. But she didn’t envy these performers, if indeed they had decided to trap themselves in a singular place, though she could blame anyone in her position for wanting the stability either.
“The cook says you still haven’t eaten, girl!” The booming voice of the dark-skinned innkeeper startled Saraya from her watching, nearly causing her to flinch out of her chair. It wasn’t that she hadn’t seen the man approaching (one could hardly miss a towering man built like a bear coming their way), but he had the habit of talking so loudly that it was like standing up to a gale, and she didn’t much care for being caught up in the bluster. “I promised you a meal for the trouble I caused, but wait any longer and you’ll be waiting all night! Lumbermen eat like ravenous wolves at din, and it’s a hard thing to keep up with them even on slow days.”
“I thought the air had taken on the scent of pine,” Saraya coyly replied with a smile. She then sniffed the air slightly, letting the aromas hit her nose. “A nice chunk of that mutton, a bit of bread and a slice of pie ought to serve me fine.”
“Drink?”
“Water. Just water.” She chuckled innocently when the burly innkeep gave her a skeptical look. “It would not do me well to sip on wine before getting on stage. I need my whole wits about me to do my best.” At her answer the man muttered his understanding before responding with a nod, and with no further questions, he walked away and let her be.
“Be patient,” Saraya calmly spoke. “You always get like this when forced to wait. It is never a good thing to rush in blind, you know, no matter how exciting it may be.” Gently she pulled from her pocket the wooden charm Chloe had made, and holding it in her fingers, traced her thumb over the twisting symbol of Iialu. Chloe did not realize how both caring and wise she had been in making this, and Saraya considered it a good idea to keep the well-wish near. The acrobat was going to need all the luck she could get tonight, especially when her own luck was always so atrocious.
Within a few minutes one of the tavern’s serving girls made her way over to Saraya’s makeshift table, carrying a wooden platter atop her hand with everything the jester had asked for. Lowering each item in turn, steam rolled off the freshly baked goods and halfway down to the floor, causing the air to swirl about with delightful smells of assorted spices and sugar. The powerful scents poignantly reminded Saraya of how hungry she truly was, though she didn’t take to the food until the barmaid wished for her to enjoy her meal and left to tend to the still-increasing number of other patrons. Everything that the inn’s cooks had prepared looked and smelled absolutely delicious, and were made all the more so for those days Saraya had spent eating naught but bread and travel rations. The healthy cut of smoked lamb had been both peppered and basted, while the fresh bread was already slathered with a great dollop of melting butter. The slice of pie she had requested was larger than she’d expected, and was filled with sweet, assorted wild berries topped with sugar.
“I don’t get fat,” Saraya grumbled, taking a small amount of offense. “I work too much and too hard for that. Besides, I’ll need to keep my energy up tonight. We’ll begin soon after I’ve finished, and who knows exactly when we’ll stop.” Using her spoon to hold the meat steady and a fork to pull it free, she stuffed a large bite into her mouth and chewed the tender, crumbling mutton until it had all but melted on her tongue. She had to fight to keep the basting juice from dribbling down her chin, but it proved every bit as good as it had smelled.
Wiping the corners of her mouth with the back of her wrist, she chomped down one quick bite of bread before going for the pie. Sticking the fork into her mouth to clean off the mutton taste, she forgot to pull the utensil back out when the tavern’s front door burst open. In marched, rather gaily, an oddly dressed man, one sporting a bluish hat with a long, white feather. Saraya’s eyes locked onto this ornately clad stranger, hers far from being the only ones so entranced. Nearly a third of the guests had had their attention snatched in that moment, drawn to the front of the tavern by the newcomer. The stares lessened, however, as he stepped his way through the room, where he weaved around serving girls with the nod of his head and a happy smile. By the time he had reached the bar, calling for the proprietor for an exchange of words, most had determined what the man was, Saraya among them.
This newcomer had no need to announce himself to the room; his strange clothes did that for him. He was a merryman, he had to be, and a rival to Saraya’s stage. It was obvious to her what the man was doing, speaking to the innkeeper as he was and gesturing to the lute strapped on his back. No doubt he was attempting to exchange his talent for room and board, the very position that Saraya had hardly managed to fill without conflict. She could guess with some success what it meant when he pulled away, face dejected, and felt some relief in assuming that her stage was still secured. Until then, she hadn’t noticed how stiff she had gone while watching the man haggle, or that she had been gnawing anxiously upon her fork, its prongs poking painfully into her tongue.
What came next, she expected, even hoped it to be. After finishing his chat, the man turned and cast a long gaze over the crowded tavern in search. It didn’t take long for his eyes to find her—the jester—off alone in the corner, for she was the only one in the inn dressed as strangely as he. Saraya thought she saw something like recognition light the man’s face when he spotted her, and without pause, he started toward the place where she sat.
When he reached her, he smiled and shifted the pack on his shoulders. “So, you are the one working the rising tonight,” he stated, knowing that he had to be right. If the man was upset at being beaten out on a stage, he didn’t show it at all on his face. The frown he had gained after speaking at the bar had gone completely, and there wasn’t a hint of anger in his voice.
“I am,” Saraya answered, “and it was not easily won. I was nearly tossed out just for being Crystarian.”
“I suppose they thought you a Planesbreaker,” the man correctly assumed, his tone conveying his sympathy. “Can’t say I’m surprised,” he continued, then, leaning in with a whisper, he added, “Cambrians can sometimes be very brash about such things.”
“So I’m learning,” agreed Saraya with a mutter and the softest of scoffs.
The nameless man laughed genuinely under his breath, though to Saraya, she didn’t find the situation to be much of a joke. “I’d bet it earned you a bed though. Garth would surely want to salvage some shred of his honor for the trouble.” He gave Saraya a knowing wink and let his smile say the rest.
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Saraya recognized the innkeeper’s name, having learned of it earlier, and for the second time tonight she found herself questioning this supposed Cambrian honor. She had been less than impressed by their self-satisfying standards, and she wondered how many more times she’d have to bear the brunt of it before the end. “Only a meal, I’m afraid,” she informed the merryman bitterly. “The room I have to pay for.” She was going to leave it at that, but Alter, it seemed, had her own grievances to air.
“Crystarians must not get the same respect that you southerners do,” she disdainfully snapped. “Being of common caster breed is as damning as if we had used magic ourselves.”
“In some circles, it could be,” the man said with a nod. “And Cambria has a wide range of circles.” He shifted his pack again, a little unsteadily this time. The way it sagged on his shoulders, it must surely be heavy, but he didn’t seem keen on dropping it yet. “You knew me southern?”
Saraya grinned at the question. Of course she would know. The circus travelled everywhere, and so she could guess rather easily at someone’s origins. The man’s skin was just one of the most obvious clues for placing him. He was pale but lightly tanned; a common trait of akiri in both Giraffin to the south and Val Aven to the west. Meanwhile, his long, blonde hair was filled with too much sandy color to mark him Cambrian, and far too faded to count among the vibrant western shades. There was also the matter of his clothing, though this conjecture was founded on naught but her own intuition. His breeches were plain, a common shade of grey, but his tunic and the cloak her wore under his heavier winter coat were of varying shades of ocean blues with hints of green, their every color fading seamlessly into the next. The edges of his shirt were an elaborate thing too, rimmed with white embroidery like the rolling waves of the sea. To wear something like this, she assumed he had spent some time near or upon the water, and Giraffin was the most well known for its seafarers and ocean trade. It would make sense that the sea had influenced his tastes in some manner if he was indeed from the south.
“So we are right,” Saraya stated with a mischievous grin. “You’re an awful long way from home.”
“I am a Wanderer, my lady,” the man began with a smile. “My home is wherever my feet take me.” He then tipped his blue, brimmed hat while taking a small bow, the feather fluttering in the invisible currents inside the tavern. “Wandering minstrel and merryman to all, I am called Mathias Windchaser, for I go where the winds do. And you? Are you not a Wanderer same as I?”
“I am a Wanderer, yes. But I have not earned a title, not yet, if ever. Nevertheless, I do adhere to the traditions.” To prove it, she gestured to her table, or what counted as one. “Saraya Lafeir is my name, so you can call me that. And since we are both performers, my stage is yours, Windchaser, if you so wish to share it.”
Mathias’s smile relaxed as he replaced his hat. It seemed that this was the invitation he had been waiting for. “The whole world is our stage, young Saraya,” he said, “and one that I am most willing to share with you.” With no small amount of relief, Mathias slid his tall pack off to the floor, and rolling his shoulders beneath his cloak, cracked them so loudly that Saraya could hear it over the clamor of the tavern. Now freed of his burden, Mathias found himself the nearest empty chair and pulled it up to the barrel to join her. “It has been an age since I’ve found a kindred spirit in my travels,” he began. “Performers like us are becoming more and more scarce, and the stars are not the most talkative bunch.” He chuckled a bit and placed his hat atop his pack, running his hand through his long mane of hair before stroking his well trimmed beard of identical shade. “Most nights it’s only me and Fruuk.”
Saraya swallowed the bite of pie she’d managed to sneak while he was speaking. “Fruuk?” She questioned, raising an eye at the name. The way Mathias had spoken implied that he was with this Fruuk often, but the merryman had been alone when he came into the White Hearth. “Who is—” Her words stopped short when the hood of Mathias’s cloak moved, shifting as though responding to the uttered name. And the furry, long eared creature that poked its muzzle up in response only further took the acrobat by surprise. “Is that…is that a phrax in your hood?”
“Fruuk,” Mathias confirmed with a comically large grin, one that implied that this wasn’t the first time his pet has earned such a reaction. Clicking his tongue, the animal clawed its way up onto the merryman’s shoulder, its wet, black nose sniffing around in every direction. Most likely, that nose hadn’t stopped moving since they had first entered the tavern, and even now the phrax looked like it wanted to pursue everything that it smelled. “This is my faithful travelling companion. He keeps me company on those long nights upon the road.”
Saraya almost didn’t hear him; she was too distracted by the creature. It had been a long time since she had seen a phrax as a pet, as they weren’t the easiest of animals to tame. Its face was a mixture between a rodent and a bear, painted white and wreathed in reddish-brown fur that covered most of its body, save for a white stomach. Its elongated ears and short paws were socked in a darker brown fur of the same reddish hue, and the hindquarters of its weasel-like body were stripped with this color also. These stripes had an under color of royal blue hidden beneath that dark brown, and in the flickering firelight of the tavern it sometimes shimmered through. As big as a tomcat, the phrax’s tail was a furry, long, and chubby thing that made it seem bigger than it actually was, and was perfect for letting the animal sit up on its hind paws without falling. Saraya had heard that phraxes made good hunters when properly trained, and could catch ground fowl and rabbits with ease for their owners. It made sense why Mathias would want a phrax while abroad.
“Can I pet him?” Asked Saraya, partially embarrassed that she was so taken with the cute, fuzzy critter. Even as she spoke it, she swore she could feel Alter’s presence within her, wordlessly mocking her for the childish want.
“Of course,” Mathias told her. “Though he likes it best when you scratch behind his ears.” With his permission, Saraya stood and reached out for the animal, doing as Mathias instructed and scratching the phrax behind the ears. Fruuk made some noise, a mixture of a growling squeak and a groaning purr, and his beady black eyes began to close in contentment as he leaned hard into Saraya’s gloved hand.
“I’m surprised the innkeep let you bring him in,” Saraya said. She knew that phraxes were notorious for their desire to burrow into walls to make nests; the prime reason homeowners chose cats to hunt rats over phraxes.
“I’d have to be here for some time for him to cause any trouble,” Mathias explained, “and currently Fruuk and I are making our way west. We’ll stay here for a day or two before continuing on, which is why I consider it good fortune to have met you this evening, and why I am eager to share your stage tonight.”
“Luck indeed,” Saraya agreed as she returned to her seat, leaving Fruuk to shake his fur back into order. “I’m only here for tonight, and otherwise would have missed you. I would be happy if you wanted to join me.”
“Splendid!” Mathias beamed before leaning closer to converse. “So, tell me, what is it you were planning?” In between the bites of what remained of her meal, Saraya explained to the merryman her plan for the evening. Mathias retrieved his own dinner just as she cleaned her plate, and listened intently to what the acrobat had decided. Against his wishes, Saraya forced him to allow her to pay for his drink. She had the coin to spare after all, and it was the least she could do for his company.
Incidentally, their talk wound up taking longer than either of them had expected, for when Saraya voiced an idea, Mathias would interject his own, and nothing he added seemed to her an unwelcome change. Saraya was still somewhat of a novice when it came to changing the atmosphere of a room on a whim, though no one would ever call her unskilled. Mathias, however, was well seasoned in this regard; able to gage the needs of his audience and far more aware of Cambria’s political climate. It impressed the jester more than a little how much this man seemed to be aware of the needs of his crowd, and the lengths he would go to to meet them. Certainly Saraya could read her audience with ease, but she was more used to the tents of the circus, where patrons came of their own free will to be entertained, and where acts were predetermined and left mostly unchanged. She’d had little need to amend her routines based on season, social climate or people, but Mathias was sensitive to it all. As he talked, Saraya became all the more grateful that the merryman had approached her table, for she could do to learn his experienced tricks of the trade. It was apparent that the two would work well in tandem with one being a minstrel and the other an acrobat. Mathias knew the Cambrian people well, and could lead them in any song of their choosing while Saraya performed her feats of daring. Really, she could have asked for no better a partner for her performance than Mathias.
Alter mused with no sarcasm for once.
“Shocking, since you typically hate everybody,” Saraya teased, listening while Mathias listed out those songs they could share.
“Pardon?” Mathias spoke, stopping short his ramble when he heard her.
“Nothing, nothing,” she insisted, waving her hand dismissively. “I think the Wanderer’s tunes would do well for the most part, but open with At the Sides of Gods. I think I know that one well enough to assist you, and I agree that it will start the mood off right. Of Honor and Ale should come secondly, and after that a Wanderer’s song or two; you choose which. We’ll both be on our own after that.”
“Agreed. I think it will be a good…no, a wonderful evening if we proceed this way.” Saying this, Mathias laughed and took another long drink of his second mug of ale. “It has been a while since I’ve been this excited, and even longer since I’ve had a real partner!”
Saraya gave a laugh in light of the man’s high spirits, nearly forgetting how much she missed the circus in this moment. Having Mathias about was like being back home with the caravan, surrounded by the warm feeling of companionship and family. She’d all but forgotten about the role she must play tonight, until it all came crashing back down.
It was while Mathias drank that the serving girl reappeared and slipped a folded piece of ripped parchment onto the barrel top. “What’s this?” Saraya asked the girl as she took up the paper.
“Dunno, miss,” the girl answered with a half attempt at a shrug, her hands too heavy with mugs and platters to do it properly. “A little boy brought it in. Said to give it to you. I didn’t think to ask any questions. Boys his age are always taken by pretty girls after all.” She gave a slight chuckle. “Why, I earned myself such a love note just three days ago.”
Saraya laughed softly. “I understand,” she said, though as the girl walked away, her laughter faded.
“Is it trouble?” Mathias asked, eyeing the suspicious letter over the rim of his mug; he wasn’t blind enough to miss the sudden change in Saraya’s mood. But the acrobat didn’t immediately answer. It was more important that she read.
The one I am after, the note began, has no name I can give and no face to describe, but now they are after you as well as me. They know you aid me, they know your face, and I have ensured that they will come here seeking you in my place. They do not know that I am hidden here, and it shall remain this way. If what you say is true, then knowing that they come for you will supply you what you will need to find them, and when you do, I will require a sign. Do this for me and I will double your pay. Do not, and you will be at the mercy of their hands.
But this time the jester’s own fierce anger nearly matched that of her other half, for this was not at all what she had expected to receive. A target with no name, no face, and only her gut to tell her if she was correct in her guess? And if she failed, she risked capture or worse! It was ludicrous!
“Is something wrong, Saraya?” Mathias asked, watching the paper curl in her grasp. No doubt he saw the sudden concern on her face, a look that Saraya had to let quickly slip away.
She released a long breath, finding her outward calm again. “Nothing that I can’t deal with,” she replied coolly, distracting herself by smoothing out the wrinkled paper. Folding it neatly again, she stuck the letter inside her pocket, and closing her eyes, looked to amend what had suddenly gone so wrong.
Alter’s rage had formed a tight knot in her chest, and she worked quickly to release it, to disperse it throughout the whole of her being. Her anger began to mellow, forming a heated pool of emotion, and this seeped into every muscle of her body with invisible pressure. It was a familiar feeling, not unlike the nervousness she would feel before a grand circus performance. She felt much calmer thinking about it this way, and believed this pressure necessary to push her to success. Perhaps the promise of the performance had lent her more confidence than usual this night, or perhaps she was not so unlike Alter as she liked to believe. Unwilling to admit it, in this they were no different. Alter’s rage would subside, and they would both be the same: both excited to see that the plot had begun, and happy that it was proving more intriguing than first believed.
Alter must have picked up on what Saraya was thinking, for she could feel the sneer that crossed her other half’s nonexistent face.
“That’s because I know we won’t fail,” Saraya stated aloud. “We’re in this together, you and I, and we’ve never failed at anything involving our stage before.” She patted her pocket, and then suddenly grinned. “In fact, I do believe he’s only made things easier.”
Grinning still, Saraya snatched up her covered pack from the floor, the one that held her performing tools within it. She flung it over her shoulder with a bit of unnecessary flare then flashed her confused companion a charming smile. “Come, Mathias!” She beckoned with an excited air of confidence. “It is high time we took to our stage!”