A witch.
“May I ’elp you?” the witch snapped.
Right. Lilac was human. She thought she’d spotted a few like her mingling amongst the crowd of Darklings, but she was evidently mistaken.
“Erm, yes, ma’am,” Lilac replied, swallowing the sudden urge to match the old woman’s shocking tone of disdain. “I would like a room to stay for the night. If you have one,” she cleared her throat. “Ma’am.”
“I am sorry to inform you that we are full. Completely,” the innkeeper sniffed, not looking one bit sorry at all.
Some creatures at the edge of the crowd had begun to glance over at them. The witch probably wasn’t lying, or at least that’s what Lilac tried to convince herself. There were about twenty creatures in the tavern alone, after all. The nearest bench table was occupied by four of the most exotic women she’d ever seen. They turned to stare jadedly in her direction, with no sense of mannered discretion whatsoever.
Faeries, Lilac guessed. She didn’t know much about them; no human seemed to, other than that they were among the most secretive, elusive creatures known to man, and that their populace had shifted to the Low Forest after the rest of the Darklings infiltrated Brocéliande. Their tapered ears here made it most obvious, if not the way the firelight glinted off of their freckles, setting their cheekbones ablaze.
The nearest, her sapphire-blue hair brushing against her shoulders, leaned over to whisper to the others. “I’m usually not a fan of the mortal stench as it is, but this one could certainly use a hot bath.”
Just like Freya’s had, the creature’s voice echoed distantly in her head, as if her voice had bounced through a tunnel. Hearing the Darkling language again for the first time since Freya, Lilac quickly realized that this was what the Tongue sounded like to her. Echoed reverberation.
“Mmm, bit more than a bath. Some powder and a comb, too,” another added, her eyes lustrous in the firelight.
“She’s probably lost. Give the poor harlot a break, will you?” The four of them chortled, the tinny sound of bells.
Her ears grew warm. She couldn’t react, couldn’t let anybody know she understood the faerie conversation. Apart from the witches who lived among humankind for centuries, and the vampires who were previously human themselves, Lilac had to remain blissfully ignorant.
She stared at the ground where her wet clothes dripped, creating a dirt-caked puddle around her feet.
“Er… It’s fine, I’ll just—”
“Meriam.”
Lilac glanced up in horror. The barkeep had walked over. He stood directly behind the witch, towering a full head over her. Clasping his hands politely, he spoke so quietly that Lilac barely heard.
“Excuse me, Madame.” He tapped Meriam lightly on the shoulder.
Miraculously, Meriam ignored him, though the muscle under her left eye twitched slightly. “So, as I was saying,” she directed at Lilac, “you will have to find—”
“Meriam.”
“Yes, Garin.” Meriam spoke with a resigned sigh.
Lilac wondered why the unpleasant old woman felt such a need to tolerate Garin, even if she was clearly reluctant about it. Aside from his looks, he was unremarkable.
Almost.
There was something about him. Maybe it was the way he looked as though he’d just rolled out of bed. Or his eyes, grey and searching under his furrowed brow. But, compared to everyone else in the room, he was human—perhaps the only other, as far as she could tell.
Garin didn’t have the silvering hair of a young warlock; tousled artfully, his was a soft black with a slight curl that gradually cropped down to his skin at the nape of his neck. Lacking the tapered ears of the Fair Folk, his own were rounded and too large for his head, jutting out from the sides of his face. And his eyes weren’t burgundy like a vampire’s, either. For all she knew, he might have been a shapeshifter; then again, Lilac was sure she’d spotted an Egg Moon outside, marking the one night of the month when their beastly transformation wasn’t an option.
Human, she thought decidedly.
An annoyingly flawless specimen of one, at that.
Still, his eyes were full of a treachery that Lilac could not place. It was as if he withheld the punchline to a clever joke, or the answer to some forbidden secret from the rest of the world.
“Merle here has just checked out,” he offered matter-of-factly, cocking his head towards the warlock who now fumbled with his cane near the entryway coat rack. “Surely the girl can have his room.”
Even at low volume, his voice hinted at the most peculiar English drawl that she couldn’t place. He’d maintained the same jovial tone in which he had taken with Merle the warlock, not once bothering to glance in Lilac’s direction. In the midst of trying to decide whether this embarrassed or irked her, the innkeeper finally made a noise of defeat.
Meriam nodded, but muttered something dejectedly under her breath before answering. “Very well. Second room on the left.”
“Thanks,” Lilac croaked grimly, watching her disappear up the stairs.
Head hung, she sighed and turned to follow the witch when Garin gave a disjointed grunt behind her.
Lilac spun. “Can I help you?” The night’s events surmounted with Meriam’s outstanding hospitality, and the words shot out sharper than she’d intended.
Garin only grinned, unphased, as if the hypothetical joke he’d withheld had only grown funnier. “Rough night?”
“Why would you think that?” Lilac blinked, pretending the rainwater hadn’t formed into sizeable puddle around her feet.
“Well, you waltz into my bar,” he replied, waving his arm at the puddle she’d so casually tried to hide. “Absolutely drenched, as if you’ve been cavorting in the creek.”
Lilac’s mouth fell open. “I—it’s raining outside,” she snapped, taken aback by his accusatory tone.
“Then, you slosh all over my floor.” His eyes twinkled as they challenged hers.
Her ears had grown so hot they felt like they might fall off her head. Was he being clever, or was this his skewed attempt at trying to impress her?
“Where else was I supposed to go? And, no offense, but aren’t you supposed to be serving drinks or something?” Lilac waved a flippant hand in the direction of the bar.
“My shift’s nearly over. But you look like you could use one.”
“Excuse me?” Her voice cracked.
“Being the only two people here, we both could.” Garin took a step nearer. “Join me?”
“No thank you,” she answered immediately, taking an involuntary step back at his sudden change in intensity. Were commoners usually this forward? It wasn’t that she didn’t want to, because she did need a drink, especially after her ogre ordeal. Whether it was with him or not, she didn’t care. Regardless, she couldn’t jeopardize her journey or its strict timeline by forging friendships.
Part of her expected him to insist. Instead, Garin merely shrugged and stalked back to his station behind the counter before returning with a rag.
“If you’re too exhausted,” he continued, “I completely understand. However, when you change your mind, I’ll be here.”
Retreating from her puddle, she crossed her arms and watched the brazen barkeep kneel before her. He yanked his cream tunic sleeve up and proceeded to mop the rainwater and mud. There were a great many things she wanted to reply with, none of them suitable coming from a young woman’s mouth. In her nineteen years, there wasn’t a single instance she could recall in which a man had been brazen enough to insult and attempt to woo her in the same breath.