“Even so,” Frell said, moving them on, “if this is Oldenmast, the inn cannot be much farther.”
For the first time since entering these greenwoods, the alchymist was right.
As they cleared around the huge polished trunk, a sprawling structure hugged the next tree, whose bole was only slightly smaller than the one they had just passed. The construction climbed a dozen levels. It was timber-framed, slate-roofed, with a foundation of mossy, lichen-scribed boulders. Its entirety melded into the ancient alder behind it, which also shone with windows along its trunk. It all blended so finely that it was hard to discern where craftsmanship ended and nature took over.
Ahead, a pair of huge doors, large enough to close a barn, stood open. Merriment and music flowed out to them. Firelight danced inside. Over the threshold, a sign had been carved into the gilded shape of a tree, from tangled dark roots to the spread of a wide crown, leafed in gold.
Kanthe sighed. “If that’s not the Golden Bough, I’m still staying here. You all can keep wandering these blasted mists.”
Frell pushed him toward the open door. “Let’s hope this journey has not been for naught.”
* * *
NYX WAITED IN the commons of the inn, which was less a single room than a warren of interconnecting chambers. Some were small and intimate, no more than an alcove hiding a table behind a dusty embroidered drape. Others were large dining halls, smoky taverns, tiny cookeries, and dens of games, from quiet tables bearing painted boards of Knights n’ Knaves, which were earnestly labored over, to raucous spaces where Klashean tiles or rolling dice were bet upon.
As crowded as the spaces were, it was as if the entire town had come to the Golden Bough this night. Pipe smoke clouded the rafters. Spats of loud laughter burst out that made her jump. Pewter platters clanked, and stoneware clattered. Cheers and boasts and threats—some in jest, others serious—echoed all around.
After so long in the quiet of the greenwood, Nyx found the noise overwhelming. Compounding this, the overload of sights in the chaotic space challenged her returned vision and dizzied her. Seeking a respite from it all, she had found a quiet corner near a small hearth, ruddy with coals. It was as close of a reminder of home as she could find in this strange place. Kanthe stayed with her, standing at their scarred table with Jace. Frell had gone to make an inquiry with the innkeep behind a long bar.
Nyx watched the alchymist lean over, his ear cocked, then a nod. Frell slid a coin half-hidden under his palm to the thickly bearded man. Nyx caught the shine of gold. Whatever the alchymist had bought from the innkeep had come at a steep price.
Finally, Frell turned and nodded to Kanthe.
The prince nudged Jace and waved to Nyx. “Let’s go. Hopefully the beds here are not piles of leaves, damp with mulch. Give me a thick dry mattress stuffed with hay, and I’ll sleep like a babe in the softest cradle.”
They headed over and joined Frell, who motioned to a scrawny boy with a crimson cap bearing a paper gold leaf tucked into its band. The alchymist passed him a folded slip and a brass pinch. Both vanished into a vest pocket, and the boy took off across the maze of the commons.
“Hurry now,” the alchymist urged under his breath, and led them after the spry lad.
“Where are we going?” Jace asked.
“To the stables,” Frell said, clearly distracted and nervous.
Kanthe scowled. “Maybe I shouldn’t have said I’d be satisfied with a bed of hay.”
They kept up with the boy, who dashed hither and yon, through the commons to the back, then down a series of halls. Finally, he reached a tall door and rushed forward to open it for them. As he did so, a clash of steel rang from outside, furious and savage.
Worried at the sounds of battle, Nyx slowed, but Frell hurried to the boy. He handed him another bit of brass and waved the lad out the door ahead of him.
Frell turned and stopped them at the threshold. “Stay here,” he warned, then stepped out of the door alone and crossed a few paces.
Jace kept beside Nyx, his brows pinched with the same fear as hers.
What is happening?
Past the door, a large courtyard was open to the misty skies. Lamps hung all around the square. To either side stretched a dozen archways, closed with half gates. Past the nearest, Nyx spied shadowy stalls, where a few horses stirred, likely disturbed by the commotion in the yard.
Nyx kept near Jace’s shoulder.
Two men fought across the breadth of the courtyard, hacking and slashing; both bore cuts in their shirts and breeches, some spots dark with blood. One carried a silvery sword that blurred in his hands. The other wielded two blades so thin that they seemed more mirage than steel. They clashed and parried, thrust and dodged. Their boots danced across the cobblestone yard. Sweat sheened both their faces, lips grimacing or smiling savagely, changing back and forth as swiftly as their swordplay.
Nyx’s pounding heart slowed as she recognized that they were merely sparring, fiercely so, but not truly trying to kill each other. The boy headed over to the pair, whistling for their attention. They finally stopped, breathing hard, gazing with irritation at the lad.
“What is it, boy?” The swarthier of the two men combed back a damp swath of blue-black hair over an ear. “It better be important, or I’ll cuff you soundly for interrupting us.”
The lad’s shoulders rose by his ears. He fumbled with a pocket.
“Leave the boy be, Darant,” the other said. He was a grizzled man with a dark scruff of beard over cheek and chin, salted with gray, which matched his lanky hair. He bore a jagged scar down one cheek. “Before the lad pisses himself.”
Even in the doorway, Nyx felt the danger wafting off these two men.
“M … Message,” the boy finally bleated out. He pulled out and handed the folded oilskin slip from Frell over to the scarred man.
With a weary sigh, the man sheathed his sword and took it. “Demand for another day’s board, I imagine.” He glanced sidelong at his sparring partner. “It’s as if the inn doesn’t trust a pirate.”
Pirate?
Nyx glanced over to Frell, who waited off to the side. The alchymist’s gaze remained fixed on the man who held the message. Frell’s face held the same glaze of wonder as when he had observed the Kethra’kai lakeside ceremony, as if he were seeing history come to life.
The man in the yard stiffened as he spotted a crimson wax seal that secured the message. He hurriedly broke it open and scanned what was written there. He glanced to the boy, who pointed over to Frell.
“This was carried by you?” the man called over to the alchymist. “Written by the hand of Prioress Ghyle?”
Frell nodded, nearly half bowing. “Yes, but I come with much more.” He turned to the doorway and whispered with a wave, “Nyx … it’s safe to come out.”
She was not sure that was true, but she stepped into the yard, drawing Jace and Kanthe with her.
Frell turned back to the man. “I come with Marayn’s lost daughter.”
Nyx fell back a step. She eyed the man with the same look of shock as was mirrored on the stranger’s face. She barely heard Frell’s next words as he motioned across the yard.
“Nyx, this is Graylin sy Moor, a man who may be your father.”
They stared at one another for a frozen breath.