Shadow Weaver (Back on Wattpad 2020!)

Chapter 18

As the sky lightens, we ride into a village of thatched log cottages. Prince Jakut leads us to a dilapidated boarding house beside a pig farm. The stench of the creatures lingers unpleasantly in all the rooms. We are less than a night's ride from Lyndonia, and no one has told me why suddenly we risk stopping in a public place.

The Prince warms his hands by the blazing fire while we wait for breakfast in the small dining room. I would do the same, but I do not wish to stand so close. Throughout the night, in the intervals between our hard galloping, I avoided trotting by his side, brooding instead over how neglectful I have been in my search of his shrouded memories. The brokenness of his mind disturbs me and quickly drives me out.

"You are sure of this?" the Prince asks Deadran as the old tutor sits down by the fire.

"That will be for Mirra to answer."

I blow on my frozen hands. "Answer what?" I say, impatient for a warm breakfast to banish the chill of my body.

"Whether the innkeeper's wife is Delladean," the Prince says. He walks across the room, passing the small windows and dusty, velvety curtains and takes a seat beside me. He pulls his chair close. Once again, I am conscious of how filthy I am. My dark hair is one huge tangled knot. My shirt clings to my back with sweat, despite the cold, and my face must be as grubby as my hands.

"Delladea is an isolated fort near the northern border," he continues, gaze flickering to the door in case the woman in question returns with our meal. "The mountain pass can only be crossed during two weeks in the summer, so few come and leave, yet it is not far from where I was healed. We will say you grew up there."

Brin, who sits with Tug at the next table along, fiddles with the purple glass medallion beneath his furs. Tug dodges my gaze. I wonder what I've missed in the Prince's plans for me.

"If the woman is Delladean—" Jakut says.

"She's Delladean," Tug interrupts.

"Then this afternoon," the Prince continues, ignoring Tug, "after you have rested, you will stay here, learning as much as you can. I have business to attend to. Tug and I will go together. Brin and Deadran will stay with you. Then we will take a late evening meal here, ride through the night and announce ourselves at the Lyndonian fort tomorrow at dawn."

The innkeeper's wife enters with a great platter of crispy bacon, mushrooms stuffed with melted cheese, and a steaming vegetable broth. I use the entrance to move away from the Prince.

Tug's eyes track the multi-colored bead bracelet slipping out from under the cuff of the woman's shirt. She sets the tray of food on the table, hands trembling. She has not looked at Tug or Brin once.

I have grown so used to their savage tattooed faces, I barely notice them anymore. The Prince might hope to pass me off as a Delladean serving boy, but how will he explain the company of two mercenary bounty hunters? As the woman moves to leave she nods and mutters, "Sirs, Miss."

"My father," I say, addressing her, "thinks he can tell the birth town of any person by the clothes he or she wears."

"Which one is your father, Miss?" the woman asks, wiping oily hands on her apron. I point at Tug. His eyes narrow.

"Oh." A little of her nervousness vanishes. "He barely looks old enough."

"It's the tattoos. They hide his wrinkles." Tug's gaze locks down on me. "My father," I continue "says the bracelet with the colored beads shows you are not from these parts."

The woman ruffles up her sleeve and her fingers hover over her bracelet. "It's Delladean," she reveals. "I've not returned these fifteen years. Too much to keep me busy here." She tilts her head in a respectful nod and returns to the kitchen.