𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐈𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐀 𝐒𝐔𝐂𝐂𝐄𝐒𝐒 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐘. 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐈𝐒 𝐀 𝐑𝐔𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍.
It's the beginning of a new age when Jaylah Imperatrix seemingly returns from the dead to reclaim her throne. And in perfect timing.
In her absence, evil has be...
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Act 3 Chapter 48 JAYLAH
The sun was hanging dangerously low over the horizon, so we stopped at the nearest inn in a small riverside town I did not know the name of. A bell chimed on the threshold as the door opened.
Inside, there were a few patrons lingering near a table drinking cider for warmth, but they did not look our way. I stood in line behind two burly redheaded men to request a room. My pants were still damp with river water. I ran a self-conscious hand across them, as if that could help. I could not wait to free my feet from the moist, marshy inside lining of my boots.
I felt eyes on me. Glancing up, I met the gaze of a stout man in the corner. Judging by the ring on his finger and his protective stance behind the woman selling rooms, I gathered he was her husband. Rather than smile to ease the tension, I let my attention linger just long enough to show him I knew he was examining me, then let it be drawn to Alexander at my side. Besides the sly gleam in the mercenary's light eyes, there was nothing immediately suspicious about him. So it must be the blades peeking over my back. My scowl deepened. Did the man subscribe to the traditionalist mindset that women were simply too gentle and prone to emotional outbursts to wield such weaponry?
The redheaded men gathered their allotted keys and disappeared down one of the two hallways, clearing the way for me. The woman—past middle age by roughly ten years—sized me up with an odd expression.
"We request a room with two beds," I said. "Kindly."
The woman was a statue. I thought I could see my silhouette reflected in her eyes as they widened. She put both hands down on the surface before her as if to steady herself. Was she going to faint?
"We reserve the right to turn down service to anyone," she near-whispered. Her husband took a threatening step closer, insistent upon protecting her from some unseen aggressor. I sensed Alexander shift his weight.
"You do not allow weaponry within the premises?" I wondered aloud.
"Get out," said the woman in a voice so low I barely heard her, looking as if she saw the ghost of a dead loved one. "You've brought darkness under this roof."
I took a step forward, about to demand her to explain herself. "What—"
"Get out!" She was yelling now. Something was clutched in her hand. My stomach plunged. It was a talisman of Chulli, one only the extremists wore—the same deranged kind who hung up sinners in the night and burned them with holy fire. "Take your devilry far, far from here lest He punish us all!"
Her husband was clearly on her side, so I turned to see what the other patrons made of this psychotic behavior. But they were all looking to me. As if we had come into their establishment only to break their bones and steal their organs for sacrifices while they slept.
What about me made them inclined to believe the woman's wild claims?
With a tight hand near my elbow, Alexander dragged me out the door without a word. I realized he thought I would punish them for their disrespect if given enough time in there. The idea did cross my mind, but for once I was not angry. I was bewildered instead.
