Quickly crossing the narrow room, she discarded her road-dress on the desk. She put hand on his shoulder, “What happened? Are you alright?” She interrogated.
He stirred, his eyes fluttering open. Sitting up straight, he shook his head as if to clear it.
Pressing his palms into his eyes, he murmured, “I just leaned back for a moment to get comfortable.”
“You weren’t conscious.” She stressed.
He blinked dazedly as grabbed the discarded vial from the desk, holding it up to the light of the oil sconce above them. There was a slight, almost imperceptible shimmer to the contents,
“It seems I didn't give her enough credit.” He stated with mild fascination. “I can’t believe I've been deceived twice with the same thing.” He chuckled as he set the vial down on the desk along with his notebook. “Mistwood in sweet liquor to make it more palatable and other more common herbs to change the effect so work only when resting. Seems I need to be more vigilant. Humans are getting clever.” He yawned, his voice was slow, tired. He nearly nodded off again and quickly stood up to stave it off. He became more alert when he stood, he began pacing the tiny room, “Well at least, I suppose I now have something to do all night.” His voice was humorous, but his smile was slightly perturbed.
“You plan on pacing? Until morning? Aren’t you going to wear yourself out? I have a hard time believing you don’t need to rest in some way.”
“I do need rest, but I'll be perfectly fine for one night.” He replied, continuing his methodical pacing.
She sat down on the edge of the bed, getting tired just watching him, “How far is it to the kingdom?” She questioned.
“Just a few hours, perhaps half what we walked today. Why do you ask?”
“You plan on pacing all night then walking a few more hours just to get the kingdom, then begin the actual work? What was it you said to me earlier, something about it being inconvenient for you to collapse halfway there?” She teased.
He rolled his eyes, thinly concealing a smile, “You know full well we don't have the same needs of survival.”
“But you just said you need rest too. You were walking all day today and I'm guessing most of yesterday and last night too. And you really plan on doing this,” she gestured, “all night then continuing on tomorrow?”
He slowed his pacing, “I should rest, but I will be fine not to. It is not a need so much as an optional comfort.”
“You have to be exhausted.” She reasoned. “So why not just sleep the Mistwood off? I’ll sleep on the floor. You can take the bed.”
The sheepskin rug was far better than her moss bed in the maze. Even having become accustomed to the nice bed of the castle, she would have no problem sleeping soundly there.
He stopped entirely, scowling at her, “Absolutely not. You are not sleeping on the floor. You will sleep on the bed and I will stay up.”
Her eyes narrowed. Her ale-addled brain decided she didn’t like that tone. She was going to pick and win this fight in one way or another, “You can keep pacing but I’ll sleep on the floor anyway.” She slid down to the floor, locking eyes with him in a stubborn glare.
“You’re really going to do this?” He returned the cold stare, kneeling down. “Isn’t 70 years old too old for children's games?”
“And you’re, what did you say, a few thousand years old?” She shot back. “And you’ve behaved like a child on multiple occasions since I met you. I don’t see how that is relevant argument.”
He huffed, “If I sleep in the chair, will you sleep in the bed? Will that make your little tantrum end?”
“It would have been before you called it a tantrum.”
“You know you’re just proving my point.” He suppressed a yawn. Slowing down had made the drowsiness return.
“And you know you’re just tired so just go to bed.” She retorted.
He sat down across from her on the hard wood section of the floor, “If the chair is unsatisfactory, I will sleep here.”
“Fine. If you prefer the floor to the bed, you can sleep there and I’ll sleep over here.” She laid down in the soft fuzz of the rug. While not as comfortable as the castle bed, it was still infinitely better than what she'd slept in for nearly 50 years.
“You’re completely impossible to reason with.” He muttered, leaning against the door, eyes beginning to droop.
She held her tongue letting him fall asleep.
In the end, the bed went unused. While she had gotten him to go to sleep, she was not ready to admit defeat.
“Wake up. We should continue to the kingdom.” Zaramir’s voice pulled her from her sleep.
She sat up to see him tucking away the book he had discarded into his pack. He looked over his shoulder to her, grabbing her dress and coat from the desk and extending them to her.
She stood up and took them, “Sleep well?” she jested.
He rolled his eyes, “Get dressed.”
She could hear the roar of a crowd and music outside as she changed from her nightgown into her road dress. The festival must be in full swing.
She headed out to the main room and took a seat on the bed to tie her shoes. Zaramir was waiting impatiently by the door with a pack slung over each of his shoulders.
This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it
“Do you know what festival they’re holding?” She questioned and she pulled on her jacket.
“This time of year, I would guess a harvest festival of some kind.” He replied indifferently. “Are you ready to go?”
“Are you really sulking about last night?” She reached past him, opening the door.
He rolled his eyes with a sigh, but a hint of humor broke through, “I truly don’t understand how you can possibly be so stubborn.”
She flashed him the most obnoxious grin she could manage as she slipped out the door. She heard a stifled laugh behind her as they left the room.
They left the room key on the bar to the acknowledgement of the middle aged woman tending the busy bar, even this early in the day.
If it had been loud inside the bar, outside in the street was a cacophony. There didn’t seem to be one musician or group, there were people playing music from all directions and all different arrangements. Groups clustered around the musicians danced while others attempted to talk over the noise, only building upon it.
The streets smelled of food, mostly roasted meat and wine. Ribbons and banners strung from rooftop to rooftop advertising that it was, in fact, a harvest festival. The crowd was packed nearly shoulder to shoulder in the narrow street, people moving in all directions like a riptide.
Zaramir grabbed her shoulder unexpectedly, “Stay close.” He instructed in a near shout over the crowd before releasing her and slipping into the dense crowd.
She struggled to keep up with him. He was a bit taller than most people, but without his brightly colored attire he didn’t stand out among the masses. It wasn’t long before she lost sight of him. She attempted to find her way back to the tavern, but a swarm of girls singing along with the nearest musician pushed past her, bumping and turning her around. She was dragged with the current of the crowd to an open courtyard, where the packed people thinned out slightly and she could move of her own accord.
She headed to the center of the plaza, to the dry fountain stationed at its center. She squeezed between seated people to climb up on the edge to be able to see over the crowd to find Zaramir, but had no luck in her search. They hadn’t passed through a plaza on their way into the village, this was likely in the opposite direction he’d gone.
She climbed down from the fountain, taking a seat on its rim. He would realize she was not with him soon enough and come looking for her. She looked in the direction of the tavern, the street was so packed that she had no chance of making it back to the most reasonable place he’d start looking for her. She figured the best bet would just be to stay in one place.
A group of children ran around the courtyard, offering extra fruit to anyone who would take it from their baskets that looked as if they’d woven them themselves. As they reached Corabelle she was more than happy to take a piece for breakfast. Though as she finished eating the fruit, Zaramir still hadn’t found her.
She was just beginning to worry when she caught a glimpse of him cutting through a group of people.
She quickly stood up, “Zaramir! I’m over here!” She called, but her voice didn’t carry far over the din.
She took off toward him, dodging people to catch up. She followed him to a less busy segment of street away from the center of town. Though, there were still plenty of people around and the noise still drowned out her voice, but the people were sparse enough she could catch up.
She took hold of his wrist to get his attention, “Zaramir, Sorry I---” The rune he placed on her suddenly seared and she ripped her hand away. “Ow!”
The man turned to face her, he wasn’t Zaramir, but he looked similar enough, even up close. They had the same uncannily symmetrical features, bright green eyes and perfectly curled hair, though his hair was perhaps a bit darker, nearing a raven black though his skin was more pale, almost silvery in the dull light shining through the thin clouds of the passing storm.
“I think you have the wrong person.” He said coolly, glancing down briefly at the arm she was clutching.
“You’re right. I was looking for my traveling companion.” She replied, rubbing away the last of the scalding pain.
He stared at her for an amount of time just short of uncomfortable, “Interesting.” He mused.
Hands grasped her shoulder suddenly, so tight her collarbones ached. She started, glancing over shoulder.
Zaramir stood behind her, his hands pressing down on her tightly. He wasn’t looking at her, however, his eyes were locked on the stranger.
“I told you to stay close.” His words were addressed to Corabelle, but still his eyes didn’t unlatch from the man.
“I’m sorry. I got lost in the crowd.” She replied, shifting under his grasp to try to loosen his grip.
Nothing was said for a moment before the other man finally broke the held stare, “Well,” He drawled. “Seeing as you seem to have found your companion, I should be going. Stay safe out there.” His words were cold, coming off as closer to a warning than a wish, as he disappeared into the crowd.
Not until well after he was out of sight, did Zaramir release his grasp.
“What was that about?” She questioned, rolling her sore shoulders in their sockets.
“I know him. We aren’t friends.” He replied shortly. “We should leave.”
They started down a path leading further away from town, “I thought you didn’t get out much, how do you have enemies?”
He looked down at her, with a raised eyebrow that reminded her exactly why. There wasn’t a human alive who wouldn’t be his enemy if they knew the truth. As kind as he’d been to her, she knew his past was full of horrors. His kind were monsters and she shouldn’t, couldn’t forget that.
The remainder of their trip was a tense silence. He kept a distance in front of her, back turned the whole way. He didn’t so much as look back in her direction for the hours they walked. The only sounds were the crunching of their shoes on gravel and the occasional bird call from the woods around them.
Nothing was said until the kingdom became visible on the horizon. Upon laying eyes on it, she immediately forgot the awkwardness, “That’s Pearl’s Keep!”
“It is.” He replied, seeming mildly startled by her sudden exclamation. “So you know it?”
He allowed himself to fall into step beside her, seeming to disregard the discomfort himself.
“My mother took me here when I was little. It’s beautiful.” She beamed. “So if this is Pearl’s Keep, my village must be only a few hours north of the village we stayed in. We’re right near where I was born!” Her heart fluttered excitedly in her chest. “Have you been there? It’s just a quarter day from here by horse.”
“I believe I’ve passed by it,” He replied.
“Have you been there recently? What’s it like?” She questioned eagerly.
“I passed through a few years back. It’s small, there’s no inn or tavern. Not much I have use for so I never felt the need to stay long. They heard dairy animals if I'm not mistaken. I’m not sure what information you’re looking for.”
She didn’t know either, really. She just wanted to hear about home, “Did you pass a clay house with children's drawings etched in it and a red wooden door?”
“Perhaps.” He replied. “I didn’t pay much attention, but it seems vaguely familiar.”
“That would have been my family’s house.” She told him. “I’m guessing there’s no chance you saw who lived there.”
He shook his head, “I’m not even entirely certain I know which house you’re referring to.”
“It was a long shot.” She smiled. “But, do you think, if we end up going in that direction we could stop just for a little while to see who lives there?”
“If we end up nearby, we can check, but we should stay on task.”
“Thank you!” She held back the urge to give him a giant hug. Her family had lived in that house for seven generations. If her sister had children, they’d likely be living there too. She could see family after all this time, even if there was a chance they'd have no idea who she is.