“You mentioned the Narrowhalls,” I say. “The human quarter. You said there’s a tavern down there? Is it okay if I have dinner there tonight?”
He goes quiet. I can read the disappointment on his face. Interesting. It appears stone doesn’t hide as much as I expected. But he nods.
“Of course,” he says. “I’m glad you want to go out and explore.”
I feel bad. He’s been nothing but accommodating, and I keep pulling away from him. But I can’t do it tonight.
“I hope you like the Narrowhalls,” he says. “I hope you make friends there.”
“Thank you,” I say, then I close the door.
I unpack my bag. It doesn’t take long because I don’t have much. Two dresses go into the closet, where they take up almost no space. My comb and my jar of healing cream go in the bathing room, along with a few other toiletries. The jars and vials I brought go at the bottom of a drawer, pushed to the very back of it, and the pouch with all the money I have to my name goes in another drawer, under my bras and panties, not before I take out a few coins and slip them into my pocket.
I change into the only dress that isn’t wrinkled. In the bathing room mirror, I look at my jaw. The bruise is yellowing at the edges and dark purple at the center. The healing cream would help, but it smells terrible, like something left to rot in damp soil, and it needs hours on the skin to work. I’ll put it on tonight when I come back.
I put on my cloak and pull the hood up, then open the door as quietly as I can and check the hall and the living room. No sign ofKorr. I slip out and walk toward the lift, keeping close to the wall and making sure that the hood and my long, blonde hair cover the better part of my face.
My strategy to stay invisible doesn’t work for long. Two golems come around a bend ahead of me, and there is no avoiding them. They stare at me with open curiosity, the way you’d stare at something unexpected and not yet understood. One nods, and the other does the same. I smile, nod back, and keep walking.
A third golem steps off the lift as I reach it, and she gives me the same long, unguarded look before nodding and moving past me.
I wonder if it’s because I’m new and they don’t know who I am, or because of how much of a mess my face is. It’s probably both. I’ll use the cream tonight.
I pull the lever for the Narrowhalls and the lift carries me down.
When I step off, I’m grateful for the size of the place, which is infinitely more manageable than the levels above. The ceilings are still high and the corridors still wide, but not on the scale of the Corehalls and the Highhalls, where everything is built for creatures that stand ten feet tall. Down here, I can hear human voices, the clatter of metal, children laughing somewhere around a corner. Lanterns hang from hooks in the stone, and painted wooden signs mark the shop fronts. Some doorways have flower boxes set beneath their windows. A woman leans out of a shop door to shake out a rug, and the smell of baking bread drifts from somewhere further down the corridor. It feels familiar in a way the golem levels don’t. It’s not the same as Tessana, but recognizable. These are my people, living normal lives I can relate to.
I follow the widest corridor and find the market, which is a broad passage lined with stalls on both sides, busy with foottraffic. I walk slowly and look at everything. There are clothiers selling wool dresses and heavy shawls, cobblers with rows of boots and sandals lined up on wooden shelves, and a stall with painted wooden toys for children – little horses, soldiers, and a miniature castle you can take apart and rebuild.
I reach the jewelry section, and it goes on for stall after stall, more than I’ve ever seen in one place. Diamonds fill velvet-lined trays alongside rings, earrings, pendants, bracelets, and loose stones, and the prices scratched on the slate boards seem wrong until I remember that the mine is right beneath my feet. Diamonds here cost less than good leather costs in Tessana.
Further along, I find bread, rounds of hard cheese, dried apricots and figs, jars of pickled vegetables, pastries dusted with sugar, and bottles of wine with handwritten labels.
I don’t buy anything. I’ve been frugal for too long, and the habit runs deeper than the reasons for it. But I like looking. The market is alive and ordinary, and I need ordinary right now.
Then I notice the staring. The people here are more direct about it than the golems I passed in the Highhalls. They look at my face, then at each other, lean in to whisper and shake their heads. A woman at a cheese stall watches me pass and leans toward the woman beside her. Two men carrying crates stop mid-conversation.
I hang my head and pull my hair forward over the worse side of my face. I walk faster until I find the Pickaxe.
The tavern is a wide, low-ceilinged room carved from the rock, with wooden tables and benches, oil lamps mounted on the walls, and a long bar made from a single plank of dark wood. I go inside and pick a table tucked into a secluded corner, where the wall curves and the lamplight is dim. I sit with my back against the stone.
A young woman comes over, wiping her hands on her apron, already talking before she reaches me.
“Just you tonight? You picked the best seat, nobody bothers you back here. So, the cook made slow-braised beef and barley soup with onion and marrow bone. There’s also a roast pork shank in cider and honey glaze with braised carrots and parsnips on the side, and if you’ve got room after that, there’s warm plum cake with salted butter. What are you having?”
Her eyes find the bruise on my jaw and stay there. She doesn’t seem to realize she’s doing it. Her expression is friendly and open, and she doesn’t ask questions, but it seems like she finds it impossible to look away from my damaged face.
“All of it,” I say. “And a bottle of wine.”
She writes it down and walks back to the bar.
I’ve been eating scraps for months. Vegetables from my garden that didn’t sell, bread I baked when I could afford the flour, and skipped too many meals when the money ran short. Tonight I’m eating until I’m full.
While I wait, the staring increases. Two men at the bar glance my way and mutter to each other, and a woman at a nearby table watches me over the rim of her cup. I pull my hair forward, fold my arms on the table, and make myself as small as I can. I’m starting to regret coming here alone. Everyone in this room knows each other, and I’m the stranger with the beaten face in the corner. Maybe I should’ve gone to the Corehalls. Maybe eating with golems would’ve been better than sitting here and being watched like this.
The food comes, and it’s good. The soup is thick and salty with chunks of beef falling apart in the broth. The pork is tender, and the glaze is sweet with a sharper bite underneath. The carrots and parsnips are soft and warm. I eat slowly, sipping the wine between bites, and for a while the food keeps the rest of the room at a distance.
I’m reaching for the plum cake when I hear his name.
