Elva Rackthorn and the Tears of Azrael

On the Road, Part 2

The morning stretched on and the carriage continued on its way. Elva was an avid reader, but not avid enough for Nyx, who got antsy when she took breaks between chapters to stare out the window or jot something down in her sketchbook. The Baron was also antsy or agitated or something, because he kept fidgeting and sighing and glaring out the window like the rolling fields of the Southerlands had done him egregious personal harm. The Baroness seemed unperturbed by his behavior, her needle diving in and out of her large embroidery hoop with deft surety.

They stopped in a small village at midday, one that had clearly sprouted up to support carriage travel. There was a squat inn that advertised meals at any hour and an odd stable-like building where you could keep your carriage out of the sun and rain for a small fee. Along the main road, which was wide and dusty, were narrow shops with open doors and cluttered window displays, colorful books and runeplates and ribbons all for sale. Elva hadn't had much for breakfast— just toast and bacon and a few nibbles of an apple—so despite insisting to herself that she was too mature for such things, she found herself gravitating to the nearby sweets shop, lured by the aroma of roasting nuts and caramelizing sugar.

There's no age limit on tasty food, Elva.

Easy for you to say. You'll still get to enjoy the treats without looking like a child.

It's the least you owe me for putting the book down before Anna arrived at the Masquerade Ball.

"Just make sure to be in the inn for lunch by one," the Baron called to Elva, flashing her a toothy grin as he strode away. "And try not to ruin your appetite!"

The Baron had already ducked down an alleyway, presumably to get to the field behind the inn that Rancor was circling above on long spotted wings, so Elva didn't have to muster up a reply to such a humiliating remark.

The sweets shop was delightful though, with a fine selection of jerky and other road snacks on display alongside taffy, fairy floss, and nougat. Elva had, admittedly, more pocket money than she knew what to do with. Father used to cover all their purchases when they were in town back home, or else Elva could just put it on the Rackthorn tab, so she wasn't used to the jangling coin purse tucked snugly away in her pocket, nor to the promised weekly allowance she'd be receiving in Glimrick.

"Anything catch your eye, young lady?"

Elva turned to the person behind the counter.

"I didn't realize jerky came in so many different flavors."

The proprietor grinned. "I smoke that all myself, you know. Used to be jerky was just for rations, but there's an art to it now."

Elva peered at handwritten signs before the piles of jerky. "Which do you recommend?"

In the end, Elva left with a sampler with seven flavors of jerky, three bags of roasted nuts, and a tin of colorful globs of taffy. Elva suspected the tin had started life as a container for gunpowder, as the faded rune work for rejection of heat and moisture were still visible at the bottom, but Nyx had been excited to taste all the different flavors.

Charitably, Elva paused outside the inn before going into lunch, diligently chewing her way through a rose-colored taffy so Nyx could appreciate it. The sun was hot on the road, and as she gravitated towards the shadows of the alleyway, she caught sight of a lean silhouette out in the open field behind the inn: the Baron—the long coattails gave him away— his arm outstretched, as if commanding troops to charge. Then there was lightning-jagged screech, almost vixal in how it shivered in its Elva's ears, and Rancor plunged out of the sky, a trail of shadows in his wake. Elva couldn't see what his prey was, but she did hear, faintly, the wet snapping of entrails before heading inside.