The Book of Shadow, page 4
part #1 of The Curse of the Unnamed Series
“I don’t know. I have no idea where he lives.”
The knight sneered, then held out his hand without uttering a word. Llyris stared at his open palm, noticing a smear of blood across his gauntlet as she wondered what he expected her to do. Then she realized he did not intend the gesture for her. Ilkari slid his pack from his shoulder, reached into a side pocket, and pulled forth a roll of parchment. Rein snatched it from him, gripped it by the edge, and unrolled it with a flip of his wrist. The opposite end snapped in the air as though he’d cracked a whip.
“Where?” he demanded, eyes fixed on Llyris.
Panic flooded her, bringing color into her cheeks as she prepared to tell him again that she didn’t know where the man lived. Once more, it turned out the knight wasn’t directing his question at her, despite where his attention lay.
“Right about here,” Ilkari said, pointing to a spot south of the baron’s.
Llyris leaned in, squinting at the fine lines drawn on the map by a master cartographer. Trees and mountains, rivers, lakes, and streams, towns and villages, and the roads connecting them sprawled across the parchment. She took some time to marvel at the detail used to create it as she’d done when they first mounted the stairs, then remembered the knight’s gaze upon her and put more effort into identifying town names she might recognize. Her face brightened, and she lifted her finger to indicate one when she did.
“There,” she exclaimed. “Alderbranch.”
Rein twisted his wrist, spinning the map toward himself with a crumple of parchment. “Alderbranch? It’s three days away from the merchant’s.”
He tossed the unrolled paper to his squire and Ilkari snagged it before it hit the floor. So far, he’d caught everything she’d seen Rein toss in his direction. The knight sighed, intending his frustrated breath to be understood by all as he leaned closer to her.
“Why have a traveler if one must walk farther to reach their destination?”
Her cheeks grew hotter but she could only do what she possessed the ability to do. She opened her mouth to tell him so but he interrupted by turning away and starting toward the door before she spoke.
“Come, Jai. I’m overdue for washing this grime from my body.”
Jai hurried after his friend, leaving Llyris and Ilkari standing in the gold and red carpeted foyer with two of the baron’s men watching them from on high. She shifted from one foot to the other and dug her hand into her pocket to touch Flayre’s surface, feeling as though she’d let Rein and the others down. But how could she take them somewhere she’d never been? No traveler possessed the ability to accomplish such a feat.
“Don’t worry, miss,” the squire said as he hurriedly, and rather noisily, re-rolled the map. “Rein means no harm.”
She watched him store the parchment in the side pocket of his pack and then sling it onto his shoulder, the soiled sack dangling in one hand. How he manipulated the paper while holding it, she wasn’t sure.
“Doesn’t he?”
Ilkari shrugged, then ushered her toward the door.
“Well, don’t let it bother you, at any rate.”
They passed through the doorway and out of the baron’s castle—not a palace, she reminded herself. The hustle and bustle of the crowds going about their business swallowed up Rein and Jai. Llyris gulped and allowed her gaze to play over the people moving through the square. They all acted as though they needed to get somewhere, and she wondered if she’d find her way to her quarters. She’d visited them upon her arrival, but briefly. Ilkari seemed to read the distress in her expression.
“I’ll take you to your accommodations, if you like.”
She peered up at him—he didn’t stand as tall as either of the knights, but he had a few inches on her. His lined face revealed understanding and good nature, and it made her wonder how he found himself at his age in the employ of a man such as Rein.
“Thank you,” she said instead of inquiring about their relationship.
“Tell you what. It’s been a long, stressful day. Why don’t you get yourself cleaned up and I’ll buy you a drink?”
She considered his offer for a minute, releasing her grip on Flayre and taking her hand from her pocket. Traveling others always took energy, but witnessing the shifter’s death had left her empty and exhausted. Better to rest.
“I’m not sure,” she said, intending to tell him she was too tired, but he cut her off.
“Since we’re going to be spending some time together, we should get to know each other a bit. I don’t know your name, for instance.”
She smiled. He was right; she’d relish getting to know him, especially if Rein and Jai insisted on continuing to treat her as they had. As a handler, it wasn’t unusual when someone treated you as though they thought you less than others, but neither was it a thing she wanted to become used to.
“My name is Llyris,” she said. “Llyris Fildarae.”
“Llyris.” He nodded. “I’ll set you on your way, but then will you accompany me for a cup of mead?”
She made a show of thinking about it, putting her finger on her chin and gazing toward the sky, but she couldn’t help smiling.
“Why, yes, I believe I will.”
“Most excellent.” He stuck out his elbow for her to take. “Then let me escort you home.”
They descended the stairs from the baron’s castle and set out into the street. The odor out here was altogether different from inside as unwashed bodies pushed past, flowing around them as they walked. A young man bumped into her before they’d gone too far.
“Watch where yer going,” he growled before disappearing into the crowd.
“Stay close to me,” Ilkari said, but she barely registered his words. The fellow who’d jostled her appeared the same age as the shifter she’d seen Rein kill.
She thought of the poor fellow’s head lying on the dais step, staring sightlessly at the statue of Amnayel Prisma, the ancient mage’s arms outstretched, with a book held in one hand and a staff in the other. Her heart ached for the young shifter, but also for her part in his demise. If she hadn’t traveled them, he’d be alive.
And where is it I am to take them next?
Ilkari led her through the crowd, and she tried to put it from her mind, but a creeping sense of unease refused to be dissuaded.
Llyris had frequented taverns a few more times than she’d visited a palace.
If she counted this time stepping over the threshold into the drinking establishment, she’d attended taverns thrice. The masters of the handlers’ guild discouraged their charges from visiting such places. They gave no reason—and none existed in proximity to the guildhall itself, anyway—why they told their handlers not to go under threat of punishment. Llyris always assumed it because alcohol tended to loosen the drinker’s tongue and the masters didn’t want anyone spilling secrets. Though it made sense, she couldn’t think of anything she’d ever seen, heard, or learned one might consider a secret.
She stepped through the doorway into the crowded room, the warm scents of stale beer and sweat finding their way into her nose before she drew a breath. Her nostrils flared, and she raised an arm across her face to block the foul odor as she scanned the crowd, looking for Ilkari.
Knots of people—predominantly male—gathered around tables, some playing games with cards or bones, some drinking and guffawing. A few sat alone—many stared into their flagons, forlorn, while others watched what went on without them with varying degrees of envy or anger on their faces. Somewhere amongst these single men, she’d find the squire.
A commotion caught her awareness, a burst of laughter, and she directed her attention to the dim, far corner of the establishment off to her right. It took her a moment to recognize Rein and Jai through the throng of females gathered near them. One woman danced for them, skirts swirling around her as she turned circles, and the others laughed and cheered. Llyris watched for half a minute, a smile creeping onto her lips at the pleasure the woman and her audience derived from her performance, before realizing she’d shed her top. She gasped and diverted her eyes.
“Llyris.”
The sound of her name floated to her through the din and she searched the room again, keeping her gaze from the corner where the knights engaged in their debauchery. After a minute, she spied Ilkari seated at the bar, waggling his fingers at her in a gesture of greeting. She made her way across the crowded floor, thankful but a single man spilled ale on her by the time she arrived at the squire’s side.
“Busy place,” she said as she climbed up on the stool beside him.
Ilkari shrugged. “Not much else to do, I guess.”
He lifted a hand to catch the barkeep’s attention, then held up two fingers when he did. A minute later, the fellow behind the bar thumped a pair of pewter flagons on the stained wood in front of him, fluid sopping over the lip. The squire tossed a coin to him, then slid one drink in Llyris’ direction. She looked at it with wide eyes; she’d never seen a beverage container so large. He gripped the handle on his and hefted it, holding it out toward her. Llyris inspected the gesture for a moment before understanding what he wanted from her. She picked up her own vessel—surprised by the weight of the pewter and ale—and mimicked him. Ilkari knocked the edge of his cup against hers, slopping yet more liquid, then put the rim to his lips and tilted the flagon. She watched the lump in his throat work as he gulped a couple of mouthfuls before realizing how rude it must appear for her not to do the same. The cool metal touched her lips, and she sucked a sip of it onto her tongue. She swallowed, then coughed, setting her stein on the bar.
Ilkari patted her on the arm. “You don’t enjoy the mead here?”
“No, no,” she said, waving her hand at him and struggling to swallow the remnants of liquid remaining in her mouth. “I’ve never partaken before.”
He gaped at her as though she’d grown a second nose on her face. “Never?”
“No, never. The guild does not allow alcohol consumption.” She noticed the concerned expression cross his brow and amended her statement. “We’re not allowed when we are at the guildhall, I mean.”
Ilkari relaxed. “So it’s okay when you’re here? Is some creature with amazing vision spying on you from a distance, ready to dole out punishment?”
“No,” she replied, unsure it wasn’t the case. “No one is watching.”
The squire nodded, then took another swig from his beer. Figuring she should do the same, Llyris leaned forward and sucked a sip out of her cup without bothering to lift it from the bar. The bitter liquid pulled her face into a scowl, but she kept from choking this time. She knew she wouldn’t finish all of it—or any of it, most likely—and felt bad for him having wasted his money on her.
“You don’t have to drink it, you know,” he said with a chuckle as he noticed her sour expression.
Llyris blushed. “I’m sorry.”
“No, no. It’s all right.” He shifted on his stool, moving to face her, and she shrank away. Ilkari didn’t notice. His gaze rested on her without speaking for long enough to make her squirm.
“What do you think about this mysterious mission the baron sends us on?” she asked to break the tension creeping into her.
“Pfft. Hardly a mission. More like an errand. What fool pays the fees for a knight—two with Jai—to locate a book? And rest assured, Rein Shriken does not come cheap. Carpera could have employed any wayward waif to find his precious tome.”
She nodded. “It seems odd, doesn’t it?”
“Aye.” Ilkari took another gulp of ale and wiped the remnants from his face on his sleeve. “More happening here than we’re being told.”
The noise from the far corner grew louder, and Llyris twisted to peer over her shoulder at the knights and their entourage. Rein sat in a chair with two females on his lap as the group started singing, their flagons raised. They laughed and clicked their cups together, beer spilling and women squealing. Llyris redirected her attention to her companion.
“They don’t appear too concerned about what is to come.”
“No, they are always more interested in their own affairs.”
They both watched the knights’ shenanigans in silence. The next time Ilkari raised his stein toward his lips, she did the same. She sipped at the honey mead it contained, scowled at the sharp taste, then set the vessel on the bar, hoping the squire hadn’t seen her reaction.
“Can I ask you something, Ilkari?”
“Of course.”
She turned on her stool, repositioning herself to face her companion with care to avoid stabbing herself with a sliver threatening on the edge of the seat. The older man directed his attention toward her, one elbow propped on the stained bar top.
“You seem old for a squire.”
Ilkari’s eyes widened in a look of surprise and dismay. Llyris hadn’t thought about how her question—or more accurately, the words she used to ask it—might make him feel. Her cheeks went warm.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t—”
He threw his head back and laughed, the sound only audible above the tavern’s din because she sat so near him. His amusement diminished to a chortle, then a giggle. He stopped to wipe tears from his cheeks before taking a swig of his drink and turning his attention to her.
“Seem old, do I?” he repeated, the odd chuckle inserting itself between syllables as he spoke. “Can’t consider your words an understatement, I suppose.”
“I intended no offence. I just meant most squires I’ve known have been younger, not yet men.”
“Youths wanting to be knights who are learning by assisting.”
“Yes, exactly.”
Ilkari shrugged. “I may have been such a young fellow once, though it’s quite some time ago.”
He stared into the depths of his stein, contemplating the liquid he saw within or thinking of his past, the last of his mirth squeezed dry. She waited for him to continue; it didn’t take long to realize he wouldn’t, not without prompting.
“Have you always been Rein’s attendant?”
He looked up and smiled, sadness hidden in the expression. “I’m the man’s sole aide, if that’s what you mean. But I’ve been doing this since before his birth. Started out squiring for his father.”
“The baron?”
Ilkari nodded. “Yup. The heir to the duchy, and me a wet-behind-the-ears kid hoping to learn the ways of chivalry and the court.”
He tipped the flagon to his lips again, gulped a mouthful of mead. Llyris’ throat tightened at the thought of taking a swig of the foul liquid but sipped hers to be polite, careful to keep from pulling a face. She almost succeeded, coughing into her elbow before continuing her inquiry.
“So what happened?”
Another shrug. “Some people are born to be a thing. Some aren’t. The ones who aren’t never will be, no matter how much they try.” He pivoted on his stool toward her. “Those who come into this world with a talent should do it as hard, as good, and as long as they can.”
His gaze penetrated her, making her wonder if he spoke of himself or offered her advice in a not-so-subtle way. She couldn’t tell. People rarely extended advice to her, criticism, instruction, derision, and punishment being more common. And, given what she’d experienced so far in her life, she held more of a foothold in the former category than the latter.
“I stayed with the baron until his sire passed.” He contemplated his stein again, raised it partway to his lips, then thought better of it and put it back on the wet ring it had left on the bar. “He kindly returned me to his employ when Rein got old enough to require a second.”
This time, when he picked up his cup, he showed no hesitation. He tilted it up, the bump in his throat rising and falling as he gulped the rest of its contents. Llyris wondered if his few words contributed to making him particularly parched, or if the liquid’s warmth trickling down his gullet doused the chill brought by memory. She understood the pain often accompanying reminiscence.
She considered asking him what became of him between his servitude to the young baron and returning to the squire for his son but decided it was what made him swig the foul liquid. Llyris eyed hers, took another sip, and pulled a face despite her best efforts. She set the flagon on the bar and coughed against her wrist, eyes watering. Ilkari raised an eyebrow.
“It’s stronger than I’d expected,” she said and giggled.
People appeared to enjoy partaking of alcoholic drinks, but now she’d tasted it for the first time, she didn't understand why.
“Well, let’s not waste it.”
The squire pushed his empty stein aside and grabbed the handle of hers, picked it up from the bar and held it out between them. He waited until she nodded, then took a deep draught from it. She suspected if she stayed long enough, she might see Ilkari in a state rivalling Jai and Rein’s.
“I’d best get some rest, anyway,” she said, leaning closer so he might hear above the heightened din from the knights’ table as their group struck into the refrain of some new song. “I’ll retire to my chamber now.”
The squire nodded and swiveled in his seat; she realized he intended to accompany her, so she rested her hand on his forearm, stopping him.
“Don’t waste the mead.” She smiled and tipped her head toward the pewter vessel, a drop of amber fluid rolling down its length.
“Are you sure?”
She broadened her smile, thankful he’d be willing to abandon his drink to ensure her safe passage to her assigned abode. If she thought about it, she doubted she’d recall a man offering before. She didn’t bother.
“I’ll be fine,” she said, slipping off her stool. “See you in the morning.”
“All right, lass. Be careful.”
She nodded and started across the tavern as Ilkari returned his attention to emptying the flagon of every drop of mead, presumably to create room on the bar for a replacement. As she picked her way through the crowd of patrons in various stages of inebriation, she glanced toward the far corner where Rein, Jai, and their entourage continued singing and cavorting. After how they’d responded the last time she traveled them, she couldn’t imagine them handling it any better in the morning if they kept drinking at their current pace.
The knight sneered, then held out his hand without uttering a word. Llyris stared at his open palm, noticing a smear of blood across his gauntlet as she wondered what he expected her to do. Then she realized he did not intend the gesture for her. Ilkari slid his pack from his shoulder, reached into a side pocket, and pulled forth a roll of parchment. Rein snatched it from him, gripped it by the edge, and unrolled it with a flip of his wrist. The opposite end snapped in the air as though he’d cracked a whip.
“Where?” he demanded, eyes fixed on Llyris.
Panic flooded her, bringing color into her cheeks as she prepared to tell him again that she didn’t know where the man lived. Once more, it turned out the knight wasn’t directing his question at her, despite where his attention lay.
“Right about here,” Ilkari said, pointing to a spot south of the baron’s.
Llyris leaned in, squinting at the fine lines drawn on the map by a master cartographer. Trees and mountains, rivers, lakes, and streams, towns and villages, and the roads connecting them sprawled across the parchment. She took some time to marvel at the detail used to create it as she’d done when they first mounted the stairs, then remembered the knight’s gaze upon her and put more effort into identifying town names she might recognize. Her face brightened, and she lifted her finger to indicate one when she did.
“There,” she exclaimed. “Alderbranch.”
Rein twisted his wrist, spinning the map toward himself with a crumple of parchment. “Alderbranch? It’s three days away from the merchant’s.”
He tossed the unrolled paper to his squire and Ilkari snagged it before it hit the floor. So far, he’d caught everything she’d seen Rein toss in his direction. The knight sighed, intending his frustrated breath to be understood by all as he leaned closer to her.
“Why have a traveler if one must walk farther to reach their destination?”
Her cheeks grew hotter but she could only do what she possessed the ability to do. She opened her mouth to tell him so but he interrupted by turning away and starting toward the door before she spoke.
“Come, Jai. I’m overdue for washing this grime from my body.”
Jai hurried after his friend, leaving Llyris and Ilkari standing in the gold and red carpeted foyer with two of the baron’s men watching them from on high. She shifted from one foot to the other and dug her hand into her pocket to touch Flayre’s surface, feeling as though she’d let Rein and the others down. But how could she take them somewhere she’d never been? No traveler possessed the ability to accomplish such a feat.
“Don’t worry, miss,” the squire said as he hurriedly, and rather noisily, re-rolled the map. “Rein means no harm.”
She watched him store the parchment in the side pocket of his pack and then sling it onto his shoulder, the soiled sack dangling in one hand. How he manipulated the paper while holding it, she wasn’t sure.
“Doesn’t he?”
Ilkari shrugged, then ushered her toward the door.
“Well, don’t let it bother you, at any rate.”
They passed through the doorway and out of the baron’s castle—not a palace, she reminded herself. The hustle and bustle of the crowds going about their business swallowed up Rein and Jai. Llyris gulped and allowed her gaze to play over the people moving through the square. They all acted as though they needed to get somewhere, and she wondered if she’d find her way to her quarters. She’d visited them upon her arrival, but briefly. Ilkari seemed to read the distress in her expression.
“I’ll take you to your accommodations, if you like.”
She peered up at him—he didn’t stand as tall as either of the knights, but he had a few inches on her. His lined face revealed understanding and good nature, and it made her wonder how he found himself at his age in the employ of a man such as Rein.
“Thank you,” she said instead of inquiring about their relationship.
“Tell you what. It’s been a long, stressful day. Why don’t you get yourself cleaned up and I’ll buy you a drink?”
She considered his offer for a minute, releasing her grip on Flayre and taking her hand from her pocket. Traveling others always took energy, but witnessing the shifter’s death had left her empty and exhausted. Better to rest.
“I’m not sure,” she said, intending to tell him she was too tired, but he cut her off.
“Since we’re going to be spending some time together, we should get to know each other a bit. I don’t know your name, for instance.”
She smiled. He was right; she’d relish getting to know him, especially if Rein and Jai insisted on continuing to treat her as they had. As a handler, it wasn’t unusual when someone treated you as though they thought you less than others, but neither was it a thing she wanted to become used to.
“My name is Llyris,” she said. “Llyris Fildarae.”
“Llyris.” He nodded. “I’ll set you on your way, but then will you accompany me for a cup of mead?”
She made a show of thinking about it, putting her finger on her chin and gazing toward the sky, but she couldn’t help smiling.
“Why, yes, I believe I will.”
“Most excellent.” He stuck out his elbow for her to take. “Then let me escort you home.”
They descended the stairs from the baron’s castle and set out into the street. The odor out here was altogether different from inside as unwashed bodies pushed past, flowing around them as they walked. A young man bumped into her before they’d gone too far.
“Watch where yer going,” he growled before disappearing into the crowd.
“Stay close to me,” Ilkari said, but she barely registered his words. The fellow who’d jostled her appeared the same age as the shifter she’d seen Rein kill.
She thought of the poor fellow’s head lying on the dais step, staring sightlessly at the statue of Amnayel Prisma, the ancient mage’s arms outstretched, with a book held in one hand and a staff in the other. Her heart ached for the young shifter, but also for her part in his demise. If she hadn’t traveled them, he’d be alive.
And where is it I am to take them next?
Ilkari led her through the crowd, and she tried to put it from her mind, but a creeping sense of unease refused to be dissuaded.
Llyris had frequented taverns a few more times than she’d visited a palace.
If she counted this time stepping over the threshold into the drinking establishment, she’d attended taverns thrice. The masters of the handlers’ guild discouraged their charges from visiting such places. They gave no reason—and none existed in proximity to the guildhall itself, anyway—why they told their handlers not to go under threat of punishment. Llyris always assumed it because alcohol tended to loosen the drinker’s tongue and the masters didn’t want anyone spilling secrets. Though it made sense, she couldn’t think of anything she’d ever seen, heard, or learned one might consider a secret.
She stepped through the doorway into the crowded room, the warm scents of stale beer and sweat finding their way into her nose before she drew a breath. Her nostrils flared, and she raised an arm across her face to block the foul odor as she scanned the crowd, looking for Ilkari.
Knots of people—predominantly male—gathered around tables, some playing games with cards or bones, some drinking and guffawing. A few sat alone—many stared into their flagons, forlorn, while others watched what went on without them with varying degrees of envy or anger on their faces. Somewhere amongst these single men, she’d find the squire.
A commotion caught her awareness, a burst of laughter, and she directed her attention to the dim, far corner of the establishment off to her right. It took her a moment to recognize Rein and Jai through the throng of females gathered near them. One woman danced for them, skirts swirling around her as she turned circles, and the others laughed and cheered. Llyris watched for half a minute, a smile creeping onto her lips at the pleasure the woman and her audience derived from her performance, before realizing she’d shed her top. She gasped and diverted her eyes.
“Llyris.”
The sound of her name floated to her through the din and she searched the room again, keeping her gaze from the corner where the knights engaged in their debauchery. After a minute, she spied Ilkari seated at the bar, waggling his fingers at her in a gesture of greeting. She made her way across the crowded floor, thankful but a single man spilled ale on her by the time she arrived at the squire’s side.
“Busy place,” she said as she climbed up on the stool beside him.
Ilkari shrugged. “Not much else to do, I guess.”
He lifted a hand to catch the barkeep’s attention, then held up two fingers when he did. A minute later, the fellow behind the bar thumped a pair of pewter flagons on the stained wood in front of him, fluid sopping over the lip. The squire tossed a coin to him, then slid one drink in Llyris’ direction. She looked at it with wide eyes; she’d never seen a beverage container so large. He gripped the handle on his and hefted it, holding it out toward her. Llyris inspected the gesture for a moment before understanding what he wanted from her. She picked up her own vessel—surprised by the weight of the pewter and ale—and mimicked him. Ilkari knocked the edge of his cup against hers, slopping yet more liquid, then put the rim to his lips and tilted the flagon. She watched the lump in his throat work as he gulped a couple of mouthfuls before realizing how rude it must appear for her not to do the same. The cool metal touched her lips, and she sucked a sip of it onto her tongue. She swallowed, then coughed, setting her stein on the bar.
Ilkari patted her on the arm. “You don’t enjoy the mead here?”
“No, no,” she said, waving her hand at him and struggling to swallow the remnants of liquid remaining in her mouth. “I’ve never partaken before.”
He gaped at her as though she’d grown a second nose on her face. “Never?”
“No, never. The guild does not allow alcohol consumption.” She noticed the concerned expression cross his brow and amended her statement. “We’re not allowed when we are at the guildhall, I mean.”
Ilkari relaxed. “So it’s okay when you’re here? Is some creature with amazing vision spying on you from a distance, ready to dole out punishment?”
“No,” she replied, unsure it wasn’t the case. “No one is watching.”
The squire nodded, then took another swig from his beer. Figuring she should do the same, Llyris leaned forward and sucked a sip out of her cup without bothering to lift it from the bar. The bitter liquid pulled her face into a scowl, but she kept from choking this time. She knew she wouldn’t finish all of it—or any of it, most likely—and felt bad for him having wasted his money on her.
“You don’t have to drink it, you know,” he said with a chuckle as he noticed her sour expression.
Llyris blushed. “I’m sorry.”
“No, no. It’s all right.” He shifted on his stool, moving to face her, and she shrank away. Ilkari didn’t notice. His gaze rested on her without speaking for long enough to make her squirm.
“What do you think about this mysterious mission the baron sends us on?” she asked to break the tension creeping into her.
“Pfft. Hardly a mission. More like an errand. What fool pays the fees for a knight—two with Jai—to locate a book? And rest assured, Rein Shriken does not come cheap. Carpera could have employed any wayward waif to find his precious tome.”
She nodded. “It seems odd, doesn’t it?”
“Aye.” Ilkari took another gulp of ale and wiped the remnants from his face on his sleeve. “More happening here than we’re being told.”
The noise from the far corner grew louder, and Llyris twisted to peer over her shoulder at the knights and their entourage. Rein sat in a chair with two females on his lap as the group started singing, their flagons raised. They laughed and clicked their cups together, beer spilling and women squealing. Llyris redirected her attention to her companion.
“They don’t appear too concerned about what is to come.”
“No, they are always more interested in their own affairs.”
They both watched the knights’ shenanigans in silence. The next time Ilkari raised his stein toward his lips, she did the same. She sipped at the honey mead it contained, scowled at the sharp taste, then set the vessel on the bar, hoping the squire hadn’t seen her reaction.
“Can I ask you something, Ilkari?”
“Of course.”
She turned on her stool, repositioning herself to face her companion with care to avoid stabbing herself with a sliver threatening on the edge of the seat. The older man directed his attention toward her, one elbow propped on the stained bar top.
“You seem old for a squire.”
Ilkari’s eyes widened in a look of surprise and dismay. Llyris hadn’t thought about how her question—or more accurately, the words she used to ask it—might make him feel. Her cheeks went warm.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t—”
He threw his head back and laughed, the sound only audible above the tavern’s din because she sat so near him. His amusement diminished to a chortle, then a giggle. He stopped to wipe tears from his cheeks before taking a swig of his drink and turning his attention to her.
“Seem old, do I?” he repeated, the odd chuckle inserting itself between syllables as he spoke. “Can’t consider your words an understatement, I suppose.”
“I intended no offence. I just meant most squires I’ve known have been younger, not yet men.”
“Youths wanting to be knights who are learning by assisting.”
“Yes, exactly.”
Ilkari shrugged. “I may have been such a young fellow once, though it’s quite some time ago.”
He stared into the depths of his stein, contemplating the liquid he saw within or thinking of his past, the last of his mirth squeezed dry. She waited for him to continue; it didn’t take long to realize he wouldn’t, not without prompting.
“Have you always been Rein’s attendant?”
He looked up and smiled, sadness hidden in the expression. “I’m the man’s sole aide, if that’s what you mean. But I’ve been doing this since before his birth. Started out squiring for his father.”
“The baron?”
Ilkari nodded. “Yup. The heir to the duchy, and me a wet-behind-the-ears kid hoping to learn the ways of chivalry and the court.”
He tipped the flagon to his lips again, gulped a mouthful of mead. Llyris’ throat tightened at the thought of taking a swig of the foul liquid but sipped hers to be polite, careful to keep from pulling a face. She almost succeeded, coughing into her elbow before continuing her inquiry.
“So what happened?”
Another shrug. “Some people are born to be a thing. Some aren’t. The ones who aren’t never will be, no matter how much they try.” He pivoted on his stool toward her. “Those who come into this world with a talent should do it as hard, as good, and as long as they can.”
His gaze penetrated her, making her wonder if he spoke of himself or offered her advice in a not-so-subtle way. She couldn’t tell. People rarely extended advice to her, criticism, instruction, derision, and punishment being more common. And, given what she’d experienced so far in her life, she held more of a foothold in the former category than the latter.
“I stayed with the baron until his sire passed.” He contemplated his stein again, raised it partway to his lips, then thought better of it and put it back on the wet ring it had left on the bar. “He kindly returned me to his employ when Rein got old enough to require a second.”
This time, when he picked up his cup, he showed no hesitation. He tilted it up, the bump in his throat rising and falling as he gulped the rest of its contents. Llyris wondered if his few words contributed to making him particularly parched, or if the liquid’s warmth trickling down his gullet doused the chill brought by memory. She understood the pain often accompanying reminiscence.
She considered asking him what became of him between his servitude to the young baron and returning to the squire for his son but decided it was what made him swig the foul liquid. Llyris eyed hers, took another sip, and pulled a face despite her best efforts. She set the flagon on the bar and coughed against her wrist, eyes watering. Ilkari raised an eyebrow.
“It’s stronger than I’d expected,” she said and giggled.
People appeared to enjoy partaking of alcoholic drinks, but now she’d tasted it for the first time, she didn't understand why.
“Well, let’s not waste it.”
The squire pushed his empty stein aside and grabbed the handle of hers, picked it up from the bar and held it out between them. He waited until she nodded, then took a deep draught from it. She suspected if she stayed long enough, she might see Ilkari in a state rivalling Jai and Rein’s.
“I’d best get some rest, anyway,” she said, leaning closer so he might hear above the heightened din from the knights’ table as their group struck into the refrain of some new song. “I’ll retire to my chamber now.”
The squire nodded and swiveled in his seat; she realized he intended to accompany her, so she rested her hand on his forearm, stopping him.
“Don’t waste the mead.” She smiled and tipped her head toward the pewter vessel, a drop of amber fluid rolling down its length.
“Are you sure?”
She broadened her smile, thankful he’d be willing to abandon his drink to ensure her safe passage to her assigned abode. If she thought about it, she doubted she’d recall a man offering before. She didn’t bother.
“I’ll be fine,” she said, slipping off her stool. “See you in the morning.”
“All right, lass. Be careful.”
She nodded and started across the tavern as Ilkari returned his attention to emptying the flagon of every drop of mead, presumably to create room on the bar for a replacement. As she picked her way through the crowd of patrons in various stages of inebriation, she glanced toward the far corner where Rein, Jai, and their entourage continued singing and cavorting. After how they’d responded the last time she traveled them, she couldn’t imagine them handling it any better in the morning if they kept drinking at their current pace.
