Chapter 109

  Written by Bayzo Albion

  We stepped out into the street. The air felt crisper, a welcome chill after the stuffy warmth of the shop, but the silence between us pressed heavier than before, thick and unyielding.

  I glanced sideways at her.

  "Are you hungry?" I asked.

  No response. She walked beside me, her gait even and graceful, eyes downcast, hands clasped. Like a statue indifferent to its destination.

  I frowned, but arguing with silence was futile. In the end, her quiet was its own reply.

  "Fine," I muttered under my breath. "Let's get some food."

  The tavern greeted us with a raucous din of voices, the savory aroma of roasted meat mingling with the tangy bite of sour ale. For me, it was familiar territory—a rough, boisterous slice of the city where etiquette dissolved into the haze. For her... I had no idea. But at least here, I could test the boundaries of her enigma.

  We claimed a table against the wall, tucked away from the main throng. I ordered simply for myself: a loaf of hot bread, still steaming with a crisp crust. Enough to quell the hunger without extravagance.

  For her, though, I requested a proper meal—succulent meat with a hearty side of vegetables, paired with a goblet of fortified wine.

  The waiter arched an eyebrow in surprise but said nothing.

  I leaned on the table, arms crossed, studying her intently.

  "Well," I said softly, "let's see what happens when the wine hits your veins."

  I spoke aloud deliberately, hoping to pierce her veil, to spark even a flicker of reaction. But she sat motionless, as if my words evaporated into the ether.

  The food arrived promptly. A plate of bread for me, and for her, the steaming meat, vibrant vegetables, and the deep red wine.

  She didn't move, not even glancing at the meal. I slid her plate closer.

  "Eat," I commanded.

  Only then did she stir. Hesitantly at first, then with measured grace, as if my permission unlocked some hidden mechanism. She ate carefully, but each bite betrayed a suppressed voracity—like a starved animal finally allowed to feed.

  I narrowed my eyes.

  "Why didn't you say you were hungry earlier?" I pressed.

  Silence again. No gesture, no acknowledgment. She simply chewed, swallowed, and reached for the goblet.

  She drained the wine in a single, steady gulp. Yet her eyes remained empty, no spark of intoxication, no flush on her cheeks.

  I waved the waiter over.

  "More wine."

  He nodded and departed... but minutes ticked by, and he didn't return. My order vanished into the tavern's clamor.

  I gritted my teeth, fingers digging into the tabletop.

  *Ignoring me? Think I can't pay? Or that a scrawny kid like me is just bluffing? Big mistake.*

  I rapped my knuckles on the wood and raised my hand, jingling my coin purse loudly enough to turn heads.

  "Wine!" I called out, my voice cutting through the noise like a blade.

  The waiter grimaced but approached. I deliberately opened the purse, letting the gleam and clink of gold speak for itself.

  He swallowed hard, shaking his head.

  "My lord... perhaps not."

  "What do you mean, 'perhaps not'?" I asked icily. "I have the coin. Or do you assume a boy like me can't back it up?"

  The waiter sighed, his eyes darting nervously between me and my companion. His fingers fidgeted with his apron strings.

  "It's not about you, my lord," he murmured, almost in a whisper. "We'd rather not serve... that slave... any more drink."

  I furrowed my brow.

  "And why is that?"

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  He averted his gaze. A strange, brittle smile tugged at his lips, as if he were mocking his own discomfort.

  "Because it keeps things... quieter when she's sober."

  I studied him closely.

  "Who is she? What do you know?"

  He shrugged, his smile turning colder, more guarded.

  "Nothing," he snapped. "Absolutely nothing."

  With that, he spun on his heel and walked away, not waiting for a reply.

  I turned back to my companion. She was calmly finishing her vegetables, as if the exchange had passed her by entirely. No reaction, no glance. Just the doll-like poise.

  But after the waiter's words, her silence felt even more ominous, like a storm cloud gathering on the horizon.

  I wasn't about to give up. If one waiter refused, I'd find another way around it.

  As he turned his back, I flagged down a young apprentice nearby, slipping him a couple of coins with a discreet nod. Moments later, a second goblet appeared on the table, brimming with thick, ruby-red wine.

  I slid it toward her slowly, my eyes locked on hers.

  "Drink," I said, my voice low but insistent.

  She lifted her gaze—a brief flash, sharp and assessing, cold as winter steel, yet devoid of any fear. Then, with the same serene composure, she grasped the goblet and took several swift gulps.

  I waited, tense, for any sign of reaction. A flush of intoxication, a tremor, perhaps a slurred word slipping free. Anything to crack the facade.

  But nothing happened. She set the goblet down and resumed eating, as if it had been nothing more than cool water.

  Inside, something twisted in my gut, a knot of frustration and unease tightening like a vice.

  *What the hell are you...?*

  I drummed my fingers on the tabletop and leaned in closer, my voice dropping to a whisper.

  "You realize this isn't normal, right? Even the toughest warriors would be slurring and slumping after that much."

  She turned her head slightly, meeting my eyes with that same vacant, doll-like stare... then silently returned to her meal.

  I dug my nails into my palm, a mix of anger and burning curiosity surging through me in equal measure.

  I leaned back in my chair, watching her finish the meat with unruffled calm, as if the entire scene unfolding around us was utterly irrelevant. The goblet stood empty now, but her face betrayed nothing—no rosy cheeks, no glazed eyes, not even a hint of loosened inhibitions.

  I bit my lip, the metallic tang of blood faint on my tongue.

  *If I keep pushing this, pouring more down her throat,* I thought grimly, *I might not uncover her secrets—I could lose control entirely. And I have no idea what's lurking inside her. Maybe a demon, coiled and waiting. If it unleashes here, in this crowded tavern, I'd be fighting not just her, but a swarm of guards summoned by the owners. No. That's too reckless.*

  I reached for my bread—fresh-baked, its crust crackling under my fingers, still warm from the oven. I tore off a chunk and chewed slowly, savoring the simple, earthy flavor. In that moment, its straightforwardness was a balm, something reliable in a world of shifting shadows.

  Then I took a few sips of cold water, feeling it cascade down my throat, washing away the lingering tension like a cleansing rain.

  I glanced at her again. She was meticulously stacking the bones from her meat off to the side of her plate. Not a word, not an extraneous motion. Just precise, mechanical grace.

  *You're playing the part of a doll,* I mused inwardly. *But I've seen it already: you're watching from within. Masking your emotions, hiding them away. You're waiting. But for what?*

  When the meal ended, I settled the bill. The waiter handed back my change, avoiding my eyes with deliberate care. His movements screamed relief: the sooner I left, the better for everyone.

  I didn't linger.

  Outside, the city assaulted my senses with its familiar chaos: merchants hawking their wares in booming voices, the rhythmic clang of hammers echoing from a nearby forge, the distant sizzle of roasting meat carried on wisps of smoke. The sky was deepening to twilight, and lanterns flickered to life along the cobblestone streets, casting wavering pools of golden light.

  I paused at a crossroads, the cool evening breeze tugging at my clothes.

  *What now?* I asked myself silently. *Push further? Test her more? Or...*

  My thoughts tangled like vines, weighed down by the accumulation of recent days. Exhaustion settled over me—not the ache of sore muscles, but a heavy, molasses-thick fog in my mind.

  I rubbed my face with one hand and exhaled softly.

  "Alright," I muttered aloud. "That's enough for today."

  I headed to the nearest inn, an unassuming place with weathered wooden shutters, a faded sign creaking in the wind, and the mingled scents of ale and woodsmoke seeping from within. Inside, it was cramped and boisterous, but that everyday grit was exactly what I craved—a slice of normalcy amid the madness.

  "A standard room," I told the innkeeper, sliding a few coins across the counter. "For the night."

  He gave me a quick once-over, his eyes flicking to my companion, but he asked no questions. With a grunt, he summoned a boy to lead us up the creaky stairs.

  There I stood, at the threshold of our room. A modest space: a narrow bed with a sagging mattress, a rickety table, a pitcher of water, and a stubby candle on the windowsill. It was utterly ordinary, a nondescript haven in a forgettable city. But right then, it was everything I needed.

  I let out a slow breath, the weight of the day easing slightly.

  *Yes, caution wins today,* I reflected. *I won't pry her open here, not amid the tavern's roar. The time will come. For now... I need rest too. Because whatever lies ahead, it's more than I'm ready to face right now.*

  The room was hushed, the distant hum of the inn's common area fading like a dream's echo. Inside, it was just us.

  She lingered by the door, silent as ever, her eyes downcast. That silence rang in my ears now, louder than any clamor, wearing me down more than any battle ever could.

  "You know," I said, kicking off my boots and perching on the bed's edge, "they say morning brings wisdom. No point racking my brain tonight."

  I stretched out on the stiff mattress, turning toward the wall, and mumbled over my shoulder:

  "If you want, you can sleep on the bed too. I don't mind."

  She didn't respond. But I hadn't expected her to. The energy for more questions had drained away. My eyelids grew heavy, and I sank into a deep, enveloping darkness.