Tomorrow I would head out and find work. Any work that paid enough to keep me fed and hidden while I figured out my next step. It wouldn't be easy, not in a city where a woman alone was eyed with suspicion. But better the wary stares of strangers than the secrets that awaited me back at Eagle’s Rest.
Chapter Seventeen
The racket of city life tore me from sleep. Cart wheels rattled over stones, vendors shouted their wares, gulls shrieked above the harbor, and all of it carried on the tang of salt, tar, and the stench of rotting fish.
I lay there for a long moment, staring at the cracked ceiling, letting the reality of it all sink in. No rolling vineyards. No Chloe, gently waking me with a hot cup of tea or any quiet halls where every step echoed.
Definitely no men carefully watching me with hungry eyes, binding me with secret touches I couldn't forget.
Just me and this cramped room.
I pressed my palms to my face, trying to steady the ache that gnawed at me. Homesick.
Homesick for a home that hadn't even been mine yet. How foolish was I? And yet, wasn't that always my way. To believe in dreams and ideals, only to watch them crumble into dust.
Enough.
Today wasn't for mourning. Today was for survival.
I washed as best I could with the chilly water, smoothed down my gown, and forced myself out the door.
The city pressed close on every side. Stalls spilled over the vegetables, bolts of cloth, copper pots that glinted in the light. Children darted past, laughing, while women haggled fiercely with butchers. Ilongedto linger at a bookshop window where books were lined up on shelves, or to slip inside a café rich with the smell of tea and fresh pastries.
But I kept walking. My very-close-to-empty coin purse spurred me on.
Work. That was all that mattered.
I had skills. Many of them. Granted, most of them didn't translate to city living but there had to besomethingout there for me to do.
There wasn't.
The seamstress I approached shook her head almost the second I opened my mouth. Her pinched face and scowling eyes told me exactly what she thought of me—a single woman, dressed the way I was—and quickly sent me away before I could scare away any of her customers.
The bakery was even worse. The flour-dusted man behind the counter looked me over too slowly before saying he mightfind a placefor me if I was willing to pay in ways that turned my stomach.
I left before he could finish his thought.
The hotel clerk smiled, promised to give my name to the manager and even went so far as to ask me where I could be found.
By midday, my feet ached, my skirts were practically ruined from the muddy streets, and the hollow ache inside me had deepened. Hunger clawed at my belly. What if I didn't find anything? What if I had thrown everything away for the sake of saving myself from their secrets, only to be swallowed whole by this god-forsaken city?
And through it all I kept wondering about Leighton and Magnus's reaction to my running away. Did they even care, or would Leighton merely find himself another orphan from the country to corrupt? One who fell into their plans without fighting them.
Even the thought of another woman with them, withmymen, turned my stomach even further, and my hunger vanished.
I couldn't think of that. Of them. I had to focus on myself andmyfuture.
I pushed on. One step. Then another.
It was getting late, dusk slowly settling on the city when I saw it.
A swinging sign above a narrow doorway, paint peeling but legible. The Seafarer's Rest. The tavern looked rough around the edges, the kind of place I would normally avoid. But a scrap of paper stuck to the door caught my eye.
Help Wanted.
I stared at it, heart pounding. My pride balked. A tavern maid? To spend nights serving men, letting their eyes—and probably hands—wander.
But my aching feet, empty belly and broken heart spurred me on.
