The First Binding, page 7
There’s nothing more terrible than the idea of a real monster. A real legend.
The old man had stolen the stage, their attention, and every one of them partly wished he hadn’t. But he went on.
“O’er his heart, a ring of unseen flame.
Around him—a blood-red hame.
With but a whisper,
he called the sky’s hidden true name.
For Alune,
on eagle’s wings of lightning he came.
Khir Na Edderith he struck,
their foe eternal he became.
“Him that is,
he that was.
A man no more,
made fire his.
Learned the skies’ lost laws.
Something more.
Magic for sure.
But a man?
“A war he began.
Bloody and long.
One where,
they’d sing not a single song.
For too horrible a thing,
would it be to sing.
“O’er his heart, a ring of unseen flame.
Around him—a blood-red hame.
With but a whisper,
he called the sky’s hidden true name.
For Alune,
on eagle’s wings of lightning he came.
Khir Na Edderith he struck,
their foe eternal he became.”
The old man stopped to a conflicted crowd, torn between murmuring and reluctant cheering at the piece. And none of them heard me go on to speak the remaining hidden verses.
“O’ poor Alune, daughter of stars,
for her passing—he’s to blame.”
My voice was a whisper of wind through hollow wood. Dry and weak, but echoing nonetheless. I felt the songstress’ eyes and ears on me and gave silent thanks hers seemed to be the only attentive pairs in the tavern.
It was a good note on which to end.
I smiled to my nameless singer, brushing by her as I moved up the stairs.
“Wait,” she said.
I did, turning to regard her.
“You promised me a name, Storyteller.”
I had. It would have been poor of me to leave without fulfilling my word. “Eloine, like those that came here before. Shining, sun-kissed—ever bright. My very own princess of warmth and sunlight.” I bowed.
Because I could never love another daughter of the moon. Not today. Most especially this night.
Her face lit up at that, radiant and living up to the name I’d gifted her.
I left her with that minor gift and grabbed my case before leaving to find my room. The trip didn’t last nearly long enough. I passed through the door, giving the place no thought but for the bed. My staff clattered to the floor. My books followed. But I took as much care as possible in lowering the case to the ground. I collapsed and tried to clear my mind of the last two lines of the song.
I failed.
I folded my mind a dozen times. And when that wasn’t enough, a dozen more.
But Alune flooded every one of them.
I don’t remember falling asleep.
Only the tears.
FIVE
QUESTIONS
A procession of tin drums sounded above, rousing me from my sleep. I lay in bed, listening to the rain—losing myself in the staccato. It seemed fitting, mimicking the noise inside my head. I took in the room from where I rested.
Dannil had certainly weighed my skills and talents properly. The place would have run a paying customer enough bits to be out a full bronze septa before long.
All of which meant he intended to get his use out of me.
A washtub, large enough for me to almost lie in, stood a few feet from the end of the bed. The jug beside it had been painted a color of spring skies. It glistened with a soft sheen.
The rest of the room fell out of my mind save for the painted changing screen in one corner. A farmer’s field took up most of the view. The sun beat down in full strength. A lone man, reedy and well-tanned, toiled under it.
Antoine. I smiled at the thought, thankful for the reprieve from the images that had haunted me prior to falling asleep. The idea of a bath appealed to me, but the notion of lingering and stewing in silence did not. It would only be more time to think. And that was the last thing I needed to do.
I rose from the bed, taking my staff in hand as I regarded my books and the case on the floor. No one here would tamper with them, much less steal them. Most folk didn’t care much for stories save for when the proper person performed them. Past that, they were seen as old scribbles, nothing more. And the case would be but a cumbersome weight for someone to carry—nothing worthwhile.
It’s one of the world’s greatest shames that the most important things are often overlooked.
I bent over at the waist, taking up the closest of my tomes. Books deserved as much care as a man could offer, and I gave them that, stacking one atop another till I was done. Carefully—reverently almost, I wound the leather thong binding around the set until it went tight. Confident they wouldn’t shift or fall out of alignment, I made my way over to the desk.
A brass key sat atop it that I hadn’t noticed upon first inspection. I snatched it up, slipping a finger from my other hand through the loop at its end, leaving me free to pull open the largest drawer. It shuddered before groaning to a shaky open as if it protested the action. I gently lowered my books into it, exercising the same care in shutting the compartment.
The key resisted slipping into its place for a moment almost as if it had long since forgotten the well-worn entry. I jiggled it, working it into place and turning it to a satisfying and heavy click.
It may have been nothing more than self-indulgence, but I wriggled the bulky key through my fingers, tumbling it back as it arced over the knuckle of my small finger. A quick shake of my robes sent the cuff sliding over the object to obscure it. I tucked it away inside a pocket lining my sleeve.
There’s something to be said for practicing old skills, no matter how impractical they might seem. Trials a lifetime ago had taught me nothing ever loses its usefulness. And that being prepared pays well, sometimes in saving one’s life.
I moved the key from inside the sleeve, never breaking through the openings in my robe, to another pocket against my chest. Content with my exercise, I made my way out of the room. The door eased shut behind me soundlessly.
Candlelight, each flame flickering no larger than the tip of a man’s thumb, illuminated the hall. The only clue to the state of the world outside came from the lone panel of glass at the end. Darkness, streaked with fleeting moments of white as rain spattered the glass, waited for me.
I headed toward the stairs, making my way down with the tentative measure of a cat—silent. One of the boards flexed, yet gave off no sound, as if it had reconsidered the action.
Old training flooded me as I slipped into the familiar way of stepping lightly—oddly—down the stairs. A way to move without making sound. My ankles ached more from the memory of injuries and endless practice than in actuality. I reached the last stair, grimacing at the distant aches. The only relief came from the fact I hadn’t banged and clattered my staff along the way.
I grinned at the thought, thinking back to halls of stone and ivy. Water trickling through the mausoleum of earth. And the threats against my life.
The taproom of the Three Tales Tavern was as I’d found it earlier. I aimed to preserve the stillness of the place. I’d made my way to the door when the faint chime of metal sent frozen bands of ice through my chest.
I whirled about, leveling my staff in the direction of the noise.
She stepped out of the shadows hiding most of the far corner in front of me. Her mouth pulled to one corner in a smile of self-satisfaction. “Going somewhere?”
“Eloine.” I took a step back and bowed. A flick of my wrist and an extension of will sent my cloak billowing to one side in a flourish. “My, what surprise.”
“A lovely one, I hope.” Her voice hovered between curiosity and amusement, sounding just as rich in the dead of night as it had in the height of her performance.
“If there’s something beyond lovely, it would most certainly be you. So, yes, at the very least, this is quite the lovely surprise. And I’m hoping it can come to be more than that.” I chanced a look up to see her smile had widened.
“You might be getting a little ahead of yourself…”
I held her gaze, matching her pause.
Her eyes went wide and she gasped. An act, a good one. Eloine went as far as bringing a hand to her mouth to feign outrage. “You’ve done me a terrible rudeness. Don’t deny it, I recall it freshly. You gave me a name, a gift, but you never gave me yours. It’s a terrible thing to deny a woman what she wishes to know.”
The muscles in my mouth twitched, working to betray me and break into a smile. The lady was serious, in part. It made sense to act in kindness. I inclined my head solemnly. “Forgive me, Eloine. I’d not have wronged you so had I known. But, I’m puzzled.” I pursed my lips. “For I already gave you a name. Are you saying you’d like another? Two seems a tad too many for any person to get any use out of. After all, how many names does one really ever need?”
She met me wit for wit. “You tell me. You have the face and act of a man who’s gone through many, all said and told. Possibly more than me.”
Now that’s something.
“And, that’s twice you’ve done me wrong, sir. I asked you a question as to where you’re going.” A faint light kindled in her eyes. She was enjoying this.
“I believe you asked if I was going somewhere. And as a matter of fact, I am.” I grinned, wide and foolish as a young boy a bit too happy with his own cleverness.
Perhaps I shouldn’t have been that pleased.
Her brows knitted together and her lips went tight. “Am I to take that as a dismissal, then? I had hoped that you might have wanted some good company. Though, you’ll have to settle for mine.” She’d taken a tone that spelled danger to any man with functioning ears. It was a thing sharp and brittle, like the first snap of winter’s ice over a lake.
I faltered for the briefest of moments, working the scant hint of saliva in my mouth back to back. “I could think of no better company—the best, in fact—than you.” I rolled my wrist as I extended my hand to her. “In fact, let me take your warning to heart about me getting too far ahead of myself. Would you do me the courtesy of ensuring I don’t stray too far from your side?”
She placed her hand in mine. Her touch pulled a smile out of me then and left me feeling like I’d left my palms open under a summer sun. “Mhm. Reining a man in isn’t an easy thing to do, but I suppose I’ll have to manage. I’ve only ever broken in an Altayan.” She turned her face from me, eyeing me sideways. “I have the feeling the horse is easier than the man.”
I pressed my lips together, blowing a puff of air through them in an imitation of an unruly horse. A part of me filed away what she’d let slip—Altayan. They were a breed of hardy, shaggy horses found in the mountains far to the east.
She sighed, placing a hand on her chest while shaking her head. “I wanted a man to walk with me under rain and a moonless night. Instead, you gave me a boy pretending to be a horse.” Eloine’s shoulders slumped as she moved toward the door.
I caught her fleeting look out of the corners of her eyes before she averted it. “Neigh”—I put as much equine emphasis on it as I could—“you’ve found a man, full and proper.”
She stopped, staring at me deadpan. “You didn’t.”
“I did.”
“I’m not sure if I should leave you here alone for that, or ensure that you come with me so you’ll be drenched.”
I smiled. “I believe I was already headed that way myself.” I held out a hand to her. “Will I be getting wet alone?”
Eloine blew out a breath that let me know she’d caught the meaning behind my words and found it just as amusing as she did wearisome. She took my hand. “I’ve yet to come across a man who can make that the case for both parties involved. Maybe tonight will be different?” She arched a brow, appraising me, but said nothing further.
I pushed open the door of the Three Tales Tavern and stepped into the rain with the most beautiful woman in the world. Beads of water peppered my cloak. The steady sound helped draw my mind away from the darker thoughts flooding it.
“I’ve always been fond of the rain.”
I faced Eloine. The water plastered her hair to her skull, doing nothing to dull her beauty as it pressed her clothes against the lines of her body. I looked away to the path ahead.
“That’s a first.”
I said nothing and walked slowly, keeping my fingers twined with hers.
“Most men wouldn’t have stopped staring, you know?”
I did. But most men were too used to getting their way. Theirs was the sort of appraising stare used by a child never told “No.” They look and they take without consequence. And I’d seen where that look led … and the damage caused when it went unchecked.
Sometimes the most beautiful things are killed with a wrong look.
“Did you find it pleasing?”
A loaded question, one that would trap many a man. But I walked into it nonetheless with the only thing one should carry: the truth. “Yes.”
“But you wouldn’t stare.” It wasn’t a question.
I returned to her earlier comment, feeling it best to address it and put the subject to rest. “I’m not most men. And for that, you’ll either find me wildly entertaining, or odd and irritating. That’s been my experience with women, at least.” The cobblestone road pushed back hard against my feet as I moved over a section that had been recently restored.
A few shops, single-story buildings with flat roofs, still carried flickering hints of candlelight behind shuttered windows. Another inn came into view down the road. A small building sat nestled next to it, its walls hugging the inn’s.
Even at the late hour, I could have used the distraction and change of scene. The Three Tales Tavern would be home for the coming set of days, at the very least. And in the moment, I needed any other place but home.
“I think you’re doing yourself a disservice, my teller of tales.” A throaty and warm current filled Eloine’s voice. “You’ve managed to be odd and diverting. Entertaining and irritating.” We didn’t exchange looks but I had the feeling she was smiling deep as she said it.
“Happy to supersede all expectations, m’lady.”
“Is that so?” She let out a little laugh. “Now that is a first. No one’s ever called me a lady before. Not with any real feeling. They’re always fawning, dripping with hunger and that noise that comes into men’s mouths when they’re trying too hard to get something they can’t have. You, you meant what you said.”
I looked up at her. Even under the rain and a lightless night, the sight of her left me without words. A shadow fell over the curve of her mouth, bringing out the fullness of her lips and filling me with the desire to press mine against them. But I tempered the thought and decided it better to aim elsewhere.
I pulled her hand closer to my mouth, brushed my lips against it. “I did mean what I said. You’re a lady to me, in all the measure of the term, from the ones filling stories, to the ones strewn through all the arts in the world. You’re a lady, true and proper. Beautiful without compare.” I moved beside her before leading the way forward.
“Mhm. You know…” She trailed off for a moment. “I wish more men thought along the lines you do.” Hollowness hung in the words and that distant echo spoke of something.
Regret. Pain.
I’ve heard those enough times in the voices of people. The notes change, surely. No two people sound the same. But the way they pull at your tone, weigh it down and push it far off—it’s always the same.
I didn’t push it. Leaving her to another moment’s quiet would do no harm. Instead, I pulled my cloak and cowl tighter around myself. The surface of the cloak settled considerably, no longer resembling a boiling pool of crimson under every droplet of water to come in contact with it.
“I’d hate to keep you in the rain, Eloine—”
“Then don’t.” She stopped me, pulling me close and pressing herself against me. We traded a look, long and deep. The sort they talk about in stories. But unlike the stories, it didn’t last. She broke away after a second, turning her attention down the road. “Take me somewhere—anywhere. I’m not sure it matters. Just…” She bit her lip, breathing just loud enough for me to hear over the pattering rain.
“I can do that.” I took the lead, guiding her toward the other inn I’d spotted.
She murmured something under her breath that sounded like it was supposed to have gone unheard, but came short of that. “Thank you.”
I had half a mind to acknowledge it, but the way she’d said it struck me. The hushed whisper was uncertainty, relief that couldn’t be expressed properly, and newness. My thoughts turned to what kind of life could have left her surprised by a simple kindness.
The inn drew near and I led her up the steps, pushing open the door to let her in first. It shut behind me as I slipped in after her.
Unlike the Three Tales, within this inn faint bulbs of orange still burned and danced from scattered candles. They all served to bring out the disarray of glass bottles, their varied colors like gemstones, lining the back wall behind the counter. The tables had gone through a nightly cleaning after a crowd had come and gone. The floor had gotten the same treatment.
A wooden carving stole my attention. It stood well taller than most men. Broad shouldered, carrying the build one expected from the most exaggerated of heroes. The figure was in his middle years, strong jawed and bearded. He looked fatherly, warm though his features were sharp. He wore farmer’s clothing, but it was the crown of fire on his head that made clear who he was.
Solus, Lord of Morning Light, without his shining armor. They’d made God and brought him low to the world of the commoners. Made him dress like them. It probably made them feel closer to him.
I couldn’t blame them.
