Chapter 24: Silent Nights and Awkward Mornings

The dark veil of night descended upon the city and only singular lightglobes illuminated the streets like a candle an entire mansion. A refreshing cold grabbed hold of Prina, but the temperature did not fall far enough to see your breath. The buildings still radiated heat like coals in a dying fire. Sylph sat on the gravely sand and surveyed the street as Brandon argued with yet another innkeeper. After all that happened, she should have guessed that finding an adequate inn would be a problem. “Then have a good night, sir.” His voice seethed with anger deep down, but he kept his composure and only those with great ears would even pick up the hiss beneath the seemingly kind words.

“I never would’ve thought that I’d prefer to sleep in the desert again,” Sylph answered as he returned to her side. “I heard it all. No need to recall anything. But hey, he said his stable even had straw.” She peeked and listened down the street in caution before she continued. “And he’d even give me water for only two silver more. How utterly luxurious. I wish I could tell them where they can stick their straw.” Her hissed words turned into a low growl. They all suggested putting her into a stable and if there was one thing she abhorred the most, it was to be alone in a stable. She would rather not sleep at all.

A woman in a plain lavender dress shoved past and gave them a rude stare for lingering in front of the entrance. “Try the one at the end of the street if you are so keen to bring vermin inside, and now get lost,” she snarled, waved them away like an annoying fly and headed into the inn herself.

“Bold statement for somebody who’s clothes say ‘lady’ but face says ‘potato’ of the night.” The words reached the open air before she could react.

“Excuse me?” The woman spun around.

Brandon intervened. “I said: Cold clothes to walk in this late at night.” The lady blinked at Sylph, who had to peel her gaze away to keep up the forced submissive role. “We should get going now,” Brandon said, pulled on the rope and Sylph swallowed the colorful tirade of insults her tongue had already prepared.

“Did you have to do that?”

They shot each other a gaze down the rope. “She called me vermin.”

Brandon exhaled. “I- know.”

“Let’s be glad I caught my tongue before it said any more.” She knew her mistake, but things just had to be said in response to an insult like that. “What about the end of the street?” The suggestion had been an insult made in annoyance and anger, but it was the only hint they had. After all, Brandon’s shop stood at the end of the road, too.

A few minutes of walking later, the street narrowed until Sylph could touch both sides with outstretched tail and neck and they found “The one at the end of the street.” The inn had seen better days, and those days have been some ten years before her hatching. Streams of light made their way through a roughly patched up hole below the boarded window. A generous amount of plaster tried to hide the patchy facade, but time hadn’t been kind to it either.

Sylph perked up in alarm at a muzzled scream, which she just as quickly pretended to ignore as she followed Brandon’s fixed gaze to the sign down at the junction. “So that’s what they meant by that,” Brandon whispered, and the flush on his cheeks was visible in the dim moonlight. “We are very much bordering on some undesirable things.”

“Maybe they misunderstood you,” Sylph laughed and watched the few people hush down the dark street in an attempt to not be seen by others they might recognize.

“Well, the inn advertises a place to sleep for everyone.”

“Two blocks further and it turns into a ‘with’,” Sylph added.

They stared at the run-down inn for a good few seconds longer. It could be the only place they would take them in. Sylph shot one last glance down the junction. “This looks like a bad part of town. Those are generally not big on rules and asking questions. We get a place to sleep, they get their money, nobody is none the wiser. Prina is a large town and despite its reputation, maybe we are not the only visitors just pretending to adhere to their rules.” Sylph turned to Brandon, who seemed distracted by the bright lightglobe signage.

“Are you really fine, with your ears I mean?”

“I’ll manage. Can’t be worse than Veria’s singing, if you know what I mean by that.”

“Please don’t elaborate.” Brandon tied the dromedary to the wall and opened the rotting wooden door. A young man, dressed in fancier clothes than the outside would suggest, greeted them both with open arms. He beckoned Sylph inside, which was a first today.

“Whole day or just the night?”

“Night.” The man’s gaze switched between Sylph and Brandon as though he eyed up prey. Sylph could not judge the prices, but she knew they were getting ripped off. A shabby room in a harbor inn was anywhere from a single silver bead to a few, so the amount of silver coins that Brandon handed over seemed suspicious. She could not quite recall the amount of money they took off Elliot, but it would barely last a few days if rooms were this expensive.

After counting the coins, the man dropped the key into Brandon’s opened hand. “Upstairs, second room on the right.”

The room was not worth the money. It housed a singular, large human bed that looked more disease ridden than a decaying cow, and a wooden chair. A damp, sickly smell lingered in the air. Even the worst harbor inn was luxurious in comparison. Maybe the steep price was the price of silence.

Brandon untied the rope from her neck and locked the door. “What a disgusting city.” He slumped down with his back against the wall and sighed in relief.

The lock sprung into place, and she felt the same way as Brandon. There was a certain comfort in locking the only door to your room. It felt safe no matter if the door was flimsy and the lock rusted. Her limbs took the hint and ached in exhaustion. The bed was made for humans, the straw bristly and far too high up and very much too rectangular, but she jumped up and collapsed on top of it. The straw beneath caught her like a cloud when compared to the sand of the desert. “I am surprised that they don’t follow the tradition of colored light globes here,” Sylph mumbled, and had to keep her eyes from closing.

“Colored light globes?”

A laugh escaped her. “Like Halfhill’s harbor, if you take a sharp right at the docks. Sometimes even I can remember what guidance I should not follow.”

“Oh, those globes, the orange and red ones,” Brandon mumbled. From the corner of her eyes, she watched him get up from the wall, take off his jacket, place it neatly on the old wooden chair, and sit down.

“Brandon?”

“Yes?”

“You are not sleeping on the chair. Sleep on the freaking bed. There is more than enough space. We’ll just put a blanket between us and you won’t accidentally bump into me.” Sylph coiled up tightly on the left side and closed her eyes. The weight shifted as Brandon laid down on the right and bunched up the blanket between them.

As soon as there was silence, she clutched her tail between her pfods like a whelp scared of a storm. She did not want to admit it, but if this was what her mothers had lied about, they had a point. They should not have made up events to hide it and found excuses, but they had a point. “Do you think we even have a chance to find my parents?”

All she got as an answer were his rhythmic breaths and the gently sway of the soft bed. He had the right idea. She closed her eyes and her head tried to replay the events of the day, but the thoughts felt distant, images and noises were pushed and arranged next to the memories of old and thus her mind reasoned that they were far away.

*********************************

Sylph jolted awake, the space next to her empty. She jumped up, expecting to see the desert sand and feel the leaden heat, but all she saw were wooden walls and the sun softly illuminating the dust through the window. By her estimate, it was late morning, and she had slept in longer than Brandon. Or, judging by the fact that her head somehow found its way to the foot end of the right side, she had pushed him off by accident. She peeked over the side to make sure he did not actually sleep on the floor. He did not.

Since Brandon had gone to lift a leg or organize some food, she took the chance to turn on her back and examine the wound on her thigh. She loosened the bandage and a small amount of blood and a scabby scar greeted her. It stung whenever she flexed her muscles too hard, but it would not open back up unless she overexerted herself. She uncurled, turned around and smoothly transitioned into a drawn out morning yawn and stretch on top of the bed.

The lock turned. The door opened. But instead of Brandon, an unfamiliar man entered and closed the door behind him. Sylph froze mid-stretch.

The man stood more than a head higher than Brandon and had a very athletic figure. His long, well-kept, blonde hair flowed freely over his fitted and spotless gambeson. An insignia of a broken chain adorned his shoulder guard. The sword on his side completed the town guard look. Or it would have if his girdle was not the silliest thing she had ever seen. Overly decorated with fine embroidery and a massive gold buckle, it looked more like a door hinge than a functional belt.

The man took a long look at Sylph, grabbed the chair, and sat down. “You are getting quite bold with your attempts to contact me. What do you want?” His voice was as slim and smooth as his smile, but none of it hid the annoyed tinge accompanying the words. Even stranger was the fact that he talked as though he knew her.