Chapter 21
The tavern had grown crowded, tables full, the bar packed shoulder to shoulder. Loud. Claustrophobic.
Greycen and Amberly sat in silence at the table in the back corner. Amberly hadn’t taken her eyes off the door, expecting something, or someone, to come through. Greycen watched every move Alswith made at the bar.
Clearing his throat, Greycen leaned closer to speak over the noise, his voice low.
“It’s late. Won’t the people you’re staying with be worried?”
Amberly turned her head slightly toward him.
“Trying to get rid of me again?” she teased, a faint smile touching her lips.
“First she’s mad, now she teases,” the voice muttered, annoyed. “Make up your mind. Angry or not, you can’t be both.”
“No. I... I...” Greycen stammered, searching for the right words, but none came.
Amberly sighed.
“Look, I’m sorry about earlier. Some of the things I said were meant to hurt. I let my emotions get the best of me.”
She turned fully to face him, eyes meeting his without flinching.
“Forgive me?”
“She wants you to forget she tried to hurt you. Soft-eyed. Sorry. You think it means something…”
Greycen exhaled sharply through his nose, catching himself before the voice carried him further. His shoulders were tight, his muscles rigid. He forced a breath in and let it out slow, willing them to loosen.
“I do,” he said at last. “Though forgiveness tends to come easier with ale.”
Amberly smiled, then looked away, suddenly focused on the door again. A faint blush colored her cheeks.
He said nothing, but the sight unsettled him. Not because he didn’t like it.
But because he did.
Hilde was managing, though she hadn’t realized how much Amberly truly did until she was gone. The house felt different without her, quieter, heavier. She sat in Amberly’s seat, a cup of tea cooling beside her, watching the clouds roll by. Dark ones gathered on the horizon. There was a weight on her chest she couldn’t shake, something was not quite right. Worry was now her companion. Keeping her up through the night, haunting her thoughts through the day. It was, she supposed, to be expected. Amberly had never been away like this before. Sipping her tea she whispered a small prayer to the clouds.
“Let her be safe, and if need be… find safety in him.”
The door to the tavern opened, ushering in a light breeze that did little to help the stink of stale ale and sweat. Amberly’s eyes tracked the figure who stepped through, cloaked and scanning the room.
He didn’t look like a Warden.
As he lowered his hood, she recognized him. Thomas.
Relief washed through her. He must have come looking for her.
The man’s eyes swept the room, failing to notice her in the dim candlelight. Amberly rose.
Greycen caught the motion out of the corner of his eye and snapped his head toward her.
“Everything okay?” he asked coolly.
“Yes, everything’s fine.” A hint of relief softened her voice. “The man who brought me here just walked in.”
“Where?”
“To the left of the door,” she said, pointing.
Without another word, Greycen turned back toward the bar, eyes resuming their quiet surveillance of Alswith.
Amberly raised a hand and gave a small wave to catch Thomas’s attention. When he finally looked her way, his shoulders relaxed, and he began weaving through the crowd toward her.
“Thomas. Good to see you,” she greeted him warmly.
“Yes, good to see you too,” he replied, though something in his voice made her breath catch.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, her voice already trembling.
“I don’t have much time,” he said, eyes scanning the room. “I need to get back.”
His voice shook. He looked over his shoulder.
“What is it?” Her words came faster now.
Thomas took a breath, exhaled through his nose.
“After you left,” he began, clearing his throat, “we had visitors. Two Wardens stopped by.”
Her hand clenched at her chest. Her voice fell to a whisper. “What did they want?”
“They said they were checking in with folks... making sure everything was okay.” He shifted his gaze from her to the floor.
“They heard Gertrude crying and asked what was wrong. I told them what happened to my niece. They didn’t believe me. Pushed their way through and went upstairs.”
Thomas was visibly shaking now.
“When they found Gertrude, they asked again. What had happened? What caused the girl’s death?”
He let out a long, miserable sigh.
“She told them it was your fault.”
Amberly’s knees went weak. She gripped the edge of the table to keep from falling.
“Wha... what...” was all she managed.
“She told them you were a healer. They called you a witch. And she agreed. Said you cursed her child... caused all of this.”
Amberly collapsed into her seat, the room tilting. Her breathing turned shallow and fast. Color drained from her face.
“I’m so sorry I got you involved. Please—”
He stopped mid-sentence. Greycen was staring at him now, and the look in his eyes froze Thomas in place.
Greycen rose and moved toward him.
“He’s not lying,” the voice growled. “But he’s not telling the whole truth.”
Greycen gripped Thomas by the shoulder, his voice low and close to his ear.
“You’re not telling the whole truth.”
Thomas paled.
“What are you hiding from us?”
“Th-they’re searching for her,” Thomas stammered. “Gertrude told them everything. Gave them everything.”
“You brought this on yourself,” the voice hissed. “You should’ve left when you had the chance.”
Greycen’s grip tightened.
“Were you followed?” he demanded, louder now.
Thomas winced from the pressure. “I... I don’t think so.”
“Shit. Run. Get out of here,” the voice urged.
Greycen looked to Amberly, her panic threatening to break her apart.
Then back to Thomas. He released the man’s shoulder with a shove that knocked him into the neighboring table. Greycen raised a hand in apology to the startled patrons.
“Go. Leave. And pray we never find you again.”
Then he turned to Amberly, kneeling in front of her. He gently lifted her chin.
“We need to go. It’s not safe anymore.” His voice calm, but firm. Unshakeable.
He stood, helped her to her feet, pulled her cloak straight and raised her hood. After a quick glance around the tavern, he guided her to the door.
They emerged into the cool night air.
Amberly’s breath came fast, shallow. Greycen led her into the narrow space between the tavern and the building next door, shielding her from view.
“Amberly, look at me,” he said, steady and calm. A quiet edge of command beneath the gentleness. “We’re going to be moving. I need you to take a breath. Steady yourself.”
He tried not to speak to her like a child, even if she looked like she was about to shatter.
She nodded, inhaled sharply, then turned and vomited against the wall.
Her whole body convulsed. Tears burned her eyes. Greycen caught her shoulders and held her upright.
She gasped, fighting for air. “Sorry.”
“Not the first time someone’s tried to vomit on me,” he said with a flicker of a smirk. “Won’t be the last.”
She let out a weak laugh. “I think I’m okay now.”
They moved again. Greycen leading, Amberly following close, cloak drawn tight.
They slipped through shadows, cut through narrow alleys and back lanes, avoiding the main roads. The night air was sharp and damp, cloaking their footsteps.
At Market Row, they stopped at the mouth of an alleyway.
A Warden patrol passed, boots clicking, voices low.
Greycen pressed himself to the wall, Amberly beside him. Both held their breath.
Their hands brushed, just the backs of their knuckles, and for a second, he thought he felt her fingers gently seek his. The smallest shift. Tentative.
But just as quickly as the feeling came, it vanished.
Alswith, still sitting at the bar, noticed the commotion at a table toward the back. One man gave the other a shove.
“Nothing but drunks acting like drunks,” he thought.
When the man left, the moment seemed to pass. Alswith returned to his ale, finishing the last of it before slapping a few coppers on the bar.
Outside, the cool night met him. He heard the wet sound of someone vomiting in the alley.
He shook his head and laughed softly. “Some people never learn.”
He moved on, thoughts already turning to tomorrow. He needed to find out more about Waldor. And this girl.
Once the patrol had passed, Greycen led them across the street, into a narrow alley angling downward toward the slums.
At the edge of the district, he looked back.
“Need a break?” he asked, breathless.
“I’m... okay... I think...” she panted.
Greycen guided her through the twisting paths of the slums. Dread grew heavier with every step.
They arrived moments later.
The place where he was born. The place where no one wanted him. The place he swore never to return.
“Welcome home,” the voice cackled.
Closing Note
Next release: Chapter 22
Monday at 9:00 AM.
Thank you for reading.
