A flicker of light made me turn and I gasped, a hand going to my throat. I’d never had a man-made room to myself, not even for a night. The centaurs had given me a private tent once I reached a certain age, yet with a tent I was free to come and go without making a sound. The walls of the room seemed to rise like a prison and in the distance, I heard what sounded like the patter of feet and the creak of boots stomping up the stairs. Anyone would know if I left, and suddenly I didn’t like that knowledge.
The room was simple. A bed with a multicolored quilt occupied most of the open space, and crammed into a corner by the door was a wash basin. Above the bed was a window with the shutters pulled closed.
Weariness came over me like a storm cloud over the forest. I put down my pack and unfastened my belt. Shrugging out of my shirt, I noticed with dismay the tiny rips left by the trees and vines. It had only taken seven days to ruin my new clothes. The quiver I’d once carried was shattered, my bow was lost, I was down to one knife, and my shirt was torn and stained with drops of blood.
Sitting down heavily on the bed, I tugged my feet free, hissing as pain shot up my legs. My ankles were bruised and bloody from where the vines had cut through them, and I had nothing to help ease the dull sting. If I were with the centaurs, I’d use mud and leaves to keep my wounds clean, but in the kingdom of men there was nothing aside from water.
Lips trembling, I washed the grit from my body, taking care to thoroughly cleanse the scratches on my arms and legs. The rash from the vines had faded and once I was clean, the wounds seemed like minor aches. Soon they’d fade and the reminder of my misadventure would disappear.
Once I was as clean as I could be without fully submerging myself, I braided my hair, leaving the snarls and knots for another day. Goosebumps rose on my bare skin as I climbed onto the bed. It was slightly springy and much softer than the pallet I’d slept on most of my life. Wrapping my naked body in the quilt, I lay down and closed my eyes.
I meant to lie in the darkness and think through the events of the day. Reviewing them in my mind before I slept helped me understand them in a new light and gauge my reactions for the situations I’d have to deal with in daylight. Instead, I fell asleep and dreamed.
I marched toward a blue castle, secured by high cliffs where strong winds blew mist over a multi-tiered city. Where the cliffs dropped away was a body of shimmering blue water, never ending as it stretched beyond the horizon. And on those waters were boats, made in the image of dragons. Some came ashore, and out of them poured black beings with red eyes and shiny scales. Forked tongues hung out of their mouths, and instead of hands they had curved claws. Immediately I sensed they were demons from the underworld. Swarming around the blue castle were fire-breathing creatures with short torsos and abnormally long legs and arms. They flew toward an army, ripping through flesh and burning bodies until they were naught but charred rubble. I watched, sword in hand. One of them saw me and flew over, short wings beating the misty air. I raised my sword just as it belched a ball of fire into my face. White-hot flames burned my eye sockets and fried my lips. My skin melted away, turning to molten lava under the onslaught. A pain like I’d never known before ripped through my body like a thousand swords sinking into my flesh in one fatal blow.
A scream tore from my lips and I bolted upright, heart thudding like it would burst. Eyes wide, I tossed my head from side to side, recalling I was in a room in the Vale Inn. There were no demons here. Taking deep, shuddering breaths, I tried to control my panic.Nothing is wrong. I am safe. There are no demons.
A sound made me freeze and my heart rate ticked up. Covering my mouth with my hands, I listened hard. What was it? Had someone heard me scream?
Atap tapcame against the door followed by a low male voice. “Aofie? Aofie?”
I hesitated. Why was a man at my door?
“I heard you scream,” the man went on. “Are you okay? Aofie?”
Romulus? It had to be him. Rolling out of bed, I fumbled in the dark for my skirt and shirt. A faint glow came from the shutters as I pulled the shirt over my head. Was it early morning already? I tugged on my skirt and at the last moment reached for my knife, aware I’d let my guard down. I hadn’t even considered putting anything in front of the door, or sleeping with my knife under my pillow.
Fumbling with the handle, I pulled the door open and almost slammed it in the unfamiliar face of the man who stood outside. He stepped back, hands up to give me space. He wore the tattered clothes Romulus had worn, but his face was clean shaven, with a nick on one side, as though he’d recently shaved and cut himself doing so. His eyes were slate gray in the light of the candle he held in one hand, and his hair was damp, combed straight back and tied at the ends. It gleamed silver and I gasped.
“Who—”
A funny look passed over his face. “It’s me. Romulus. Are you okay?”
“I…” I trailed off again, a flush covering my face. “I didn’t recognize you.”
His eyes turned thoughtful, and he stroked his clean-shaven chin. He looked much younger with the beard gone. Originally, I’d thought him to be older, near forty or fifty years, but his eyes revealed he could not be more than ten years my senior. “It’s easier to travel without washing, easier to blend in and remain undiscovered.”
I’d already asked him earlier, but now I keenly wanted to know who he was and why he tried to hide his true appearance. The name and title he’d given me—Romulus the ranger—meant nothing. Where had he come from, how did he know about me, and above all, was he loyal to the kingdom of men? My flush deepened as he eyed my clothes and I dragged my bare feet back out of the candlelight.
“Aofie?” His question snapped me back into the present and I shook my head.
“I’m sorry. I had a nightmare. It felt so real—”
Pressing his lips together, he shifted the candle to his other hand. “Are you ready? First light is almost here.”
My dilemma came rushing back and angst twisted in my belly. I didn’t want to leave the people with the witch woman still in power and me, their sole visitor, ignoring their kindness to disappear into the night. If I told them no, would they let me leave?
“It is the right choice,” Romulus pressed, as if he’d read my thoughts. “I’m going back to my room for my weapons, I’ll return in a moment. If you’re ready, come with me. If not…” He shrugged. “I must be away, regardless. I can show you the river, for it lies in my path. Others might not be brave enough to risk going through troll territory to find it.”
I gulped. Trolls? “You’re just saying that to scare me!” I blurted out, using my anger to distract myself from his rugged handsomeness. I’d misjudged him and now I wished his beard would grow back.
Romulus pivoted, taking the light with him. “Don’t forget, I know who you are.” His whisper floated to me like feathers in the wind.
I closed my eyes and leaned against the door, thoughts firing through my mind. It was selfish to leave with Romulus, selfish and dishonorable to leave the people of the vale in need. Perhaps Romulus was right, and they faced a lesser evil. Still, Jezebel was an evil goddess who demanded blood sacrifices. What she was doing was wrong, and if I did not do something about the tyranny taking place here, who would? True, I might die if I attempted to face the goddess again. I wasn’t strong enough to defeat her.
But then an idea struck me.
Quickly, I finished dressing, slung my pack on my back, and tugged on my boots. My legs pulsed with soreness but in my excitement, I ignored the minor pain. My idea seemed so simple, I wondered why the villagers hadn’t thought of it themselves. Fastening my belt around my waist, I stepped out into the hall to beg Romulus to wait.
