Not for the first time in recent days, I experience a pang of shock at how old he’s starting to look. Though he’s only in his late fifties, it’s as though stress and age have suddenly decided to catch up to him, and I feel guilty that he’s now living a rather rough existence on the road, on the run, because of me.
“Yes,” I eventually say. “Mama would’ve loved this place.”
We stand there for a few minutes, staring into the closed bookstore. The clatter of horse-drawn carts and the voices of passersby on the street fade into the background, and I’m glad that I can’t hear Gideon’s voice at this moment. This moment is meant for Mama, a quiet tribute to her memory, one that I can share with Papa.
Though their marriage was arranged, they eventually grew to love one another, and it’s a story I enjoyed hearing about as a child. Because it’s a story filled with hope, one that had a happily ever after… until the fateful night Mama came down with a fever.
Papa turns to me and displays another sad smile. His eyes gleam with unshed tears. “Maybe tomorrow we can peruse the bookstore before we set off again. If we’re going to spend a few weeks on a ship as we cross the Clarrsian Sea, we ought to have some reading material.”
I squeeze his hand again. “That’s a good idea. Maybe they have a copy ofAdventures of Rahamonna,” I say, referring to one of my mother’s favorite books, one I suspect Papa regrets not packing in his bag.
His eyes glimmer brighter, then he gives his head a quick jerk, as though trying to come back to reality. He pulls his hand from mine and gestures at the inn. A sign hangs in front of the illuminated window that reads ROOMS AVAILABLE. A peek into the window shows several people seated near a fire, and I glimpse an elderly man standing behind a counter.
To my utter relief, I don’t see a fae male in the establishment. Thank the gods for that. But Hollins is large enough that it has several inns, and I can’t help but wonder if Gideon is here somewhere. Perhaps when I heard his voice a few minutes ago, he was speaking to the proprietor of another inn in Hollins.
Oh, gods. Should I tell Papa? Should I warn him that we need to run? I open my mouth, ready to announce that we must fleeback into the forest and make camp tonight, only to pause at the fatigued look he’s wearing. His shoulders are hunched slightly, and he grimaces every so often, making me fear his back is bothering him again.
Well, drat. I can’t in good conscience make him run back into the forest with me. Not when the promise of a hot meal and a warm bed is staring us in the face.
The bell above the door jangles as we enter the inn. Papa negotiates a good price with the elderly man standing behind the counter, while I hold our belongings and warm myself near the fire.
“See any fae in these parts recently?” my father asks the proprietor, keeping his voice casual and calm.
I brace myself for the answer, holding my breath as the waves of heat from the hearth warm my chilled insides.
“No fae have been spotted in Hollins in years, though I’ve rented rooms to plenty of people from other settlements who’ve become displaced due to the fae armies, folks who are headed south to escape the fae.”
“Headed south. You mean to cross the Clarrsian Sea?” Papa says.
“Yes, that’s what they always say. There are some remote islands that the fae have supposedly never set foot on. If I were younger and feeling adventurous, I might do the same. But I figure if the fae attack Hollins, I’ll hunker down until the battle’s over, pay my tribute, and try to carry on with life as best I can,” the proprietor says with a laugh, though I can’t surmise how he can find humor in this situation.
The four fae courts seem intent on conquering all the human and orc villages and cities they encounter, and I fear it won’t be long before the fae are in complete control of the entire realm. A terrifying prospect.
My father finishes making arrangements with the proprietor, though I only half pay attention to the details. After I hear Papa give the proprietor a fake name, I tune out the rest of their conversation and focus on the steady crackle of the fire.
Finally, Papa joins me at the hearth. “Let’s get settled in our rooms. I’ve arranged for separate rooms, hot baths, and a large meal to be delivered to our rooms. This will probably be our last night staying at an inn before we reach one of the port cities, so I figured we ought to enjoy ourselves. I’m still mulling over which port city we ought to head for, as most are about the same distance from here, but I’ll pray on it tonight. Perhaps the gods will send me a sign.”
“Thank you, Papa,” I say.
For a reason I can’t fathom, I find myself blinking back tears. I can’t explain why, but I’m starting to get the sense that tonight, this very moment, might be the last time I ever see my father. But that’s preposterous. Tomorrow we’re set to depart for a port city, and we’ll visit the bookstore before we leave.
I’m quiet and lost in thought as we follow the proprietor upstairs. Our rooms rest at the end of a long, narrow hallway lined with paintings of wrecked ships. My sense of foreboding increases.
“Interesting paintings,” my father quips, though I notice the sudden frown that mars his face. Perhaps he sees the paintings as a bad omen as well.
“Ah yes,” the proprietor says. “My son painted them.” He doesn’t provide any other information about his son or the paintings, and we don’t ask.
But I exchange a worried look with Papa just before we retire to our rooms.
“Good night, daughter,” he says. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
I force a smile, trying to pretend that nothing is amiss.
“Good night, Papa. Sleep well.”
The instant I shut the door and turn to take in my room, the deep murmur of Gideon’s voice reaches me again. At first, I can’t discern his words because he’s talking so low, as though he’s whispering to himself.
As I attempt to push away his presence in my mind, I try to reassure myself that the fae male doesn’t know my present location. Given the bits of conversation I’ve heard, as well as his own thoughts he occasionally voices aloud, it is apparent that he’s searching for me, but perhaps that’s only because King Theron has tasked him with hunting down runners.
