As if he hadn’t been quiet enough all day! Now he regretted it and wished he had prattled on incessantly. And what was he going to do now? Even if he found a way to get free of her, what would he do without his voice?
If he could get his hands on the purse, maybe he’d find a way to get it back. Perhaps the key to these magical chains was in there, too. She would have to sleep sometime. Maybe with more people nearby he could figure something out.
She led their horses toward the small village. A few low buildings clustered together with gardens and fields around them. The town was likely little more than a gathering point for folks from surrounding farms and cabins to trade and socialize. Of course, he knew about the larger cities of Akaria and had briefly visited those a few times, but towns like these he’d never seen. A shame, really, if he was to be their king someday. Perhaps that was one silver lining to this gray cloud.
The horses walked calmly down the road into the center of town. The buildings were run-down and old, but colorful fall leaves decorated windowsills and flower boxes. Some residents had gathered the leaves into lovely wreaths hung on doors. The streets were mostly empty of all but the brisk autumn wind, but the chimneys puffed welcoming black smoke that said there were people and warmth and hot food inside.
His stomach gurgled. He hadn’t realized he was so hungry. But the smell of the fire and food cooking tantalized him.
She was leading them toward a building where other horses were tied. A painted sign hung from some ironwork that read Twisted Oak Inn.
She dismounted and tied their horses, giving him a hard look as she did. To his shock, her own face was transformed, but at the same time he could still recognize her. Her hair was streaked with white, and her skin was creased and wrinkled with age. Her eyes were green. But he could still see the face he’d discovered in the garden.
Was it really her face? Or just another disguise? It hadn’t occurred to him until now that perhaps her beauty was designed to distract or hide her true identity or even attract him. For all he knew, she was far uglier. Or far more beautiful. Really, there was nothing about her he could know for sure, even the name she’d given him.
She was glaring at him now, but in his surprise, he just stared at her, realizing how little he knew and trying to adjust to her new face.
Get off the horse.
He gasped and shakily dismounted without consciously choosing to. She had spoken into his thoughts—how? By now, just how little he knew was starting to terrify him.
Follow me, she said now. And like I said, don’t make a scene. It should be obvious what we need to do. We just need a room. Which will be far better than vines on the ground, but we can do that if you prefer.
He shook his head. She nodded. He was learning more about magic every minute, but he hadn’t imagined it to be such a shocking process. He followed her into the inn.
The air was thick with smoke and loud conversation, and light was dim inside the inn. He followed her to the innkeeper’s desk near the entrance. The tavern was packed with people and smelled like it; he was tempted to hold his breath.
“A room, please,” she said. Her voice, too, was older, gravelly. “My son and I need refuge for the night.”
“Of course, ma’am,” the innkeeper said with a smile. He had friendly, twinkling eyes and a thick brown mustache that reminded Aven of Tepolt, the cellar master, and gave him a pang of longing to be back at home.
A stray bit of wind whipped leaves around the floor beneath them. Strange, since the door was shut tight and the place was far too warm to have drafts all about. What could it be?
Oh no, he’d been thinking of home. Was that him? As he felt a shot of fear mixed with embarrassment at the idea, the leaves whipped around again. It was definitely him. Him and his cursed, stupid magic with a will of its own. Hopefully she wouldn’t notice.
“Stable your horses? Would you like supper, too?”
“Yes to the horses.” Mara glanced at the packed tavern room with clear hesitation. But he hoped she would want a hot meal as much as he did. She looked back at the innkeeper. “All right. We’ve got to eat. Two meals and two ales. What’s cheap?”
She paid him her coin in exchange for two rabbit stews. Then she moved toward the most private table in an emptier corner. Although there were still several drunks nearby, they looked to be the type that kept to themselves.
Mara and Aven sat and drank their ale, obviously not saying much. He toyed with things he might have said. So, should we rob them all now or later? My, that fellow next to us looks very ugly, don’t you think? This town isn’t good enough for you, Mother! Where did you stash our treasure again? Do you think the bounty hunters will catch us?
He hoped that last one was at least a little bit true.
Hmm, yes, she was probably right to silence him. He smiled wryly to himself. The things he could have said! My, you’re a crazy mage, kidnapping a prince—any of you subjects want to help me out here? I’m going to be your king, you know. What, you wouldn’t recognize your prince from a mute fool? What kinds of subjects are you! And what kind of a prince do you have that you wouldn’t even recognize him if he weren’t transformed by a witch?
Well, now he just felt like shit. He hadn’t gotten himself into this situation, but it was entirely his and his parents’ fault that he had such little ability to get out of it.
“Hey—you, lady,” said the drunk next to them. “That yer man there?”
She shook her head, her eyes hard as steel.
“Who are you then, man?” said the drunk to him.
Aven, of course, could not respond. He only stared at the man, hoping his gaze was as steely and cold as hers was.
“He’s my son,” she said.
“And you answer all his questions still? You’re old to be treated like an infant, don’t ya think, man?”
Aven looked into his ale, hoping the man would shut up. Mara, too, looked toward the fireplace, trying to disengage.
“Not much of a man, are ya?” the drunk leered. Aven’s eyes flicked to him without intending to, and the man grinned, waiting for a retort. Aven studied his ale. “My, not even a word outta ya. You must be quite the whip, lady, to keep him in line like that.”
You have no idea, Aven thought. If all mothers had shackles and magic, children in general might be better behaved. Aven caught himself smirking at his own joke and straightened his expression. He was finding far too much entertainment in his captivity.
If he could get his hands on the purse, maybe he’d find a way to get it back. Perhaps the key to these magical chains was in there, too. She would have to sleep sometime. Maybe with more people nearby he could figure something out.
She led their horses toward the small village. A few low buildings clustered together with gardens and fields around them. The town was likely little more than a gathering point for folks from surrounding farms and cabins to trade and socialize. Of course, he knew about the larger cities of Akaria and had briefly visited those a few times, but towns like these he’d never seen. A shame, really, if he was to be their king someday. Perhaps that was one silver lining to this gray cloud.
The horses walked calmly down the road into the center of town. The buildings were run-down and old, but colorful fall leaves decorated windowsills and flower boxes. Some residents had gathered the leaves into lovely wreaths hung on doors. The streets were mostly empty of all but the brisk autumn wind, but the chimneys puffed welcoming black smoke that said there were people and warmth and hot food inside.
His stomach gurgled. He hadn’t realized he was so hungry. But the smell of the fire and food cooking tantalized him.
She was leading them toward a building where other horses were tied. A painted sign hung from some ironwork that read Twisted Oak Inn.
She dismounted and tied their horses, giving him a hard look as she did. To his shock, her own face was transformed, but at the same time he could still recognize her. Her hair was streaked with white, and her skin was creased and wrinkled with age. Her eyes were green. But he could still see the face he’d discovered in the garden.
Was it really her face? Or just another disguise? It hadn’t occurred to him until now that perhaps her beauty was designed to distract or hide her true identity or even attract him. For all he knew, she was far uglier. Or far more beautiful. Really, there was nothing about her he could know for sure, even the name she’d given him.
She was glaring at him now, but in his surprise, he just stared at her, realizing how little he knew and trying to adjust to her new face.
Get off the horse.
He gasped and shakily dismounted without consciously choosing to. She had spoken into his thoughts—how? By now, just how little he knew was starting to terrify him.
Follow me, she said now. And like I said, don’t make a scene. It should be obvious what we need to do. We just need a room. Which will be far better than vines on the ground, but we can do that if you prefer.
He shook his head. She nodded. He was learning more about magic every minute, but he hadn’t imagined it to be such a shocking process. He followed her into the inn.
The air was thick with smoke and loud conversation, and light was dim inside the inn. He followed her to the innkeeper’s desk near the entrance. The tavern was packed with people and smelled like it; he was tempted to hold his breath.
“A room, please,” she said. Her voice, too, was older, gravelly. “My son and I need refuge for the night.”
“Of course, ma’am,” the innkeeper said with a smile. He had friendly, twinkling eyes and a thick brown mustache that reminded Aven of Tepolt, the cellar master, and gave him a pang of longing to be back at home.
A stray bit of wind whipped leaves around the floor beneath them. Strange, since the door was shut tight and the place was far too warm to have drafts all about. What could it be?
Oh no, he’d been thinking of home. Was that him? As he felt a shot of fear mixed with embarrassment at the idea, the leaves whipped around again. It was definitely him. Him and his cursed, stupid magic with a will of its own. Hopefully she wouldn’t notice.
“Stable your horses? Would you like supper, too?”
“Yes to the horses.” Mara glanced at the packed tavern room with clear hesitation. But he hoped she would want a hot meal as much as he did. She looked back at the innkeeper. “All right. We’ve got to eat. Two meals and two ales. What’s cheap?”
She paid him her coin in exchange for two rabbit stews. Then she moved toward the most private table in an emptier corner. Although there were still several drunks nearby, they looked to be the type that kept to themselves.
Mara and Aven sat and drank their ale, obviously not saying much. He toyed with things he might have said. So, should we rob them all now or later? My, that fellow next to us looks very ugly, don’t you think? This town isn’t good enough for you, Mother! Where did you stash our treasure again? Do you think the bounty hunters will catch us?
He hoped that last one was at least a little bit true.
Hmm, yes, she was probably right to silence him. He smiled wryly to himself. The things he could have said! My, you’re a crazy mage, kidnapping a prince—any of you subjects want to help me out here? I’m going to be your king, you know. What, you wouldn’t recognize your prince from a mute fool? What kinds of subjects are you! And what kind of a prince do you have that you wouldn’t even recognize him if he weren’t transformed by a witch?
Well, now he just felt like shit. He hadn’t gotten himself into this situation, but it was entirely his and his parents’ fault that he had such little ability to get out of it.
“Hey—you, lady,” said the drunk next to them. “That yer man there?”
She shook her head, her eyes hard as steel.
“Who are you then, man?” said the drunk to him.
Aven, of course, could not respond. He only stared at the man, hoping his gaze was as steely and cold as hers was.
“He’s my son,” she said.
“And you answer all his questions still? You’re old to be treated like an infant, don’t ya think, man?”
Aven looked into his ale, hoping the man would shut up. Mara, too, looked toward the fireplace, trying to disengage.
“Not much of a man, are ya?” the drunk leered. Aven’s eyes flicked to him without intending to, and the man grinned, waiting for a retort. Aven studied his ale. “My, not even a word outta ya. You must be quite the whip, lady, to keep him in line like that.”
You have no idea, Aven thought. If all mothers had shackles and magic, children in general might be better behaved. Aven caught himself smirking at his own joke and straightened his expression. He was finding far too much entertainment in his captivity.
