They followed her upstairs and down a hall that was just as damp and dark as the rest of the inn. She paused at a door halfway down the hall. “It will be sixteen coppers for the night,” she said, and Thia admired her confidence. “Twenty and I can scrounge up some bread, though I can’t promise it’s fresh.”
Thran pulled out the coin pouch from Lord Sagan. “We’ll take th’ bread,” he said, depositing the requested amount.
Mara’s hands closed around the coins a little too quickly, her knuckles a little too white. At the hunger in her eyes, Thia wondered when the last time was that the woman had been paid. She departed, leaving them to inspect their lodgings.
Two twin beds marked either side of a room barely the size of Grandma Winnie’s closet back home. There was a small window at the far end, a nook below it perfect for sitting, which seemed to occur to Thran as well, as he crossed the room and sank into it.
Thia closed the door behind her. “Nice accent.”
“Sorry,” he said, and seemed to genuinely mean it. “I didn’t want to draw attention.”
“To what?”
He looked at her, then away, and she thought he wouldn’t answer. But then he slowly raised his sleeve, revealing a mark on his wrist—no, not a mark, a tattoo. Of a flower, in black ink. “An Aster,” he said, tracing it with his thumb. “The mark of a scribe.”
Thia sat on the bed farthest from him, closest to the door, and stuffed her hands under her thighs. “A scribe?”
“Keepers of history. At least we were, before the purge.” He read the question on her face and continued. “Every scribe was ordered to the Lightning Tower, upon accusations of falsifying information. Most were killed.”
Perhaps Thran was in more danger here than Dess. It hadn’t occurred to her, but everyone in Black Forest was displaced. Guilt squirmed in her stomach. “How did you—”
A knock sounded at the door.
Thran tugged his sleeve down abruptly. “Come in.”
Mara entered, a tray of bread and two cups of water in hand. She’d managed to scrounge up some cheese as well, though its white flesh was interspersed with suspicious green spots.
“Yer too kind,” Thran said, voice changing again. He nodded at the cheese.
Mara set the tray on the table and departed with polite well wishes for their rest. Thia ripped the bread in half, handing a chunk to Thran, along with some water.
“Thanks, lass,” he said.
“You’re good at that,” she commented, referring to his accent shift.
He took a sip of water. “It’s not difficult. That’s the cadence of my youth, before I studied.”
“How did you survive the Lightning Tower?” He’d fled surely. Left some other poor soul to die in his place.
But he said, “I never made it that far,” and tore into the bread.
He didn’t elaborate, so she returned to her bed and picked at the leftover bread. It was stale, and she had to use the nails of her good hand to pierce the crust, the bread itself braced between her knees, before it would break.
“So, why’d you do it?” she asked finally, unable to resist now that they were truly alone.
He frowned. “Do what?”
“Save me. From the specters. You stood in front of it like it was nothing. But with the nÿgens….”You left me to die.She couldn’t say it outright.
His chin dipped. “I am sorry about that.” He became very interested in the bread in his hands. “You’ll never know how sorry.” She waited, and he sighed. “I’ve never been much afraid of ghosts. I’ve got enough in here.” He tapped his temple, glancing at her.
Thia watched him for a moment, chewing her cheek, then hedged, “Your daughter?”
His frame seemed to curve in on itself. “Yes.” She thought he wouldn’t say anything else, but after a moment, he added, “’Bout your age. Or she would have been if….” He swallowed, then cleared his throat. “A wife too. They’re both gone now.”
“Oh.” Thia folded her hands together. “I’m sorry.”
“Five years ago, unrest was brewing in the Wastes—the dead lands between the Midlunds and the Sutherlunds,” he said softly. “Barely inhabitable except to those of us who grew up there. The king took to quelling it, and my village was razed. I saw my…” His voice dropped to a whisper, and she nearly missed his next words. “I still hear their screams, when the fear hits.”
