Chapter 10

The stream was more of a river, too deep to ride across, and we had to ride downstream for some way before we came to a stone arch of a bridge, green with moss. I threw the last scone over the edge. “In case there’s a troll,” I explained to him when Rivyn protested.

“And if there’s not?” he wondered as he guided Coryfe across. He held the reins in one hand, his other wrapped around my middle. I was sure I was not imagining that he was riding closer to me, his chest now firmly pressed against my back and my legs resting against his. He had taken over the stirrups, too.

“Well, something will eat it, I’m sure.” Beyond the bridge, the grass began to show wear, gradually forming into a road. “We’re on a road now, so we’ll come upon somewhere eventually,” I was happy about that. I did not like being ignorant as to where we were, and hopefully, if there was a village or a town, we could find lodgings overnight. I hoped the mage would pay. I had the household coins in my purse, but I did not want to part with them, in case Rivyn stranded me somewhere along the way home, and I had to make the rest of the journey alone. “A village, or a town.”

“Yes,” he agreed. “And we will need to resupply if you’re going to continue throwing good food at unoccupied bridges.”

“How do you know it’s unoccupied?” I asked him.

“I’m a mage,” he said as if that explained.

“I don’t know much about mages,” I admitted.

“Is that right?” He was amused.

“Why is that funny?”

“Well,” he considered his words. “You’re just a village girl... Mages don’t tend to frequent little villages.”

“You’re too important, and tend to frequent cities?”

“Yes. And so, it’s not exactly unexpected that you wouldn’t know anything about us.”

“Well, tell me something about mages, then.”

He was silent for a long moment as if trying to think of what to say. “Mortal magic users have a strain of brethren in them, somewhere along the line. Men do not possess magic in themselves. It is introduced via the brethren bloodlines, as it is natural to this world and mankind is not. You would think, the more recent the brethren connection, the stronger the power, but it is not necessarily so. The power is very... unique that way. Some very powerful sorcerers cannot trace their link, it’s so far in the past.”

I was fascinated. “So, you have Fae or Elvish, somewhere in you?” I asked him. I had suspected as such, from his ears.

He laughed. “Yes.”

“Is yours recent?” It explained why he was so fearless. The Fae were the most mighty beings in the world, and therefore feared no one. It would explain much about him.

“Very.” He was not going to elaborate the tone told me. His mother or father, I decided. “I grew up in the Fae Court,” he added, surprising me.

“Really?” I breathed it out. “What is it like?” All I knew of the Fae court was from stories and some depictions in the books in my father’s scant library, and that mostly impressed upon me their beauty and elegance, wealth, and power. And that time ran differently for mankind caught there, so that a person may age decades in a day or be gone for decades only to return and find all their loved ones gone.

“I don’t know, it’s just... home,” he replied quietly. He was homesick, I thought. “I did not choose to leave,” he added.

“What happened?” I asked him.

“I was betrayed,” his voice hardened. “My power stolen, and I was cast out.” The trees parted before us, and we could see a little village straddling the road. “Ah,” he was pleased. “A tavern. Excellent.”

A stable boy took Coryfe for us, and we entered the tavern. It was a small room with a low roof that meant that Rivyn had to duck beneath the lower beams. The hearth in this chamber was unlit due to the mild weather, though we had seen smoke rising from one of the other chimneys. There were chairs and tables around the room, mostly unoccupied except for one man, eating a bowl of stew with his tankard of beer, his face hidden in the hood of his cloak.

The bar had two men sitting at it, deep in conversation. The inn keeper evaluated us as we entered, eyeing up Rivyn’s impressive height and build, and his fine clothing. “We don’t want any trouble,” he said to him. “Respectfully.”

“We’re not after any,” Rivyn replied firmly. “Just a meal, something to drink, and perhaps a room for the night?”

“We can do that if you have the coin to pay,” the man replied, his eyes narrowed speculatively.

Rivyn placed a silver coin onto the bar. The head impressed upon the back was not Queen Clareath of Nerith. “Two if you throw in a bath.”

The innkeeper looked at the coin. “Where are you from, stranger?” He turned the coin in the light. “This is not a local coin.”

“Silver is silver,” Rivyn pointed out.

“That it is,” he took a coin from the apron he wore and balanced both in his hands. “And weighs about the same, so it’ll do.”

We sat before the cold hearth with our tankards. Rivyn sighed heavily as he sat. “It’ll do for a night,” he muttered under his breath.

“It’s better than the forest,” I pointed out and took a sip of my beer, grimacing at the bitter taste.

He laughed. “Have you never drunk beer?”

“No. It looks as if it should taste better.” It had a milky looking foam on top, but it did not taste like milk. I was not sure if I liked it and took a second sip cautiously. By the fourth mouthful, it was growing on me.

“I prefer wine,” he agreed. “But I suspect anything served here would be more vinegar. I’d also hesitate to drink their water.”

“But you’ll bathe in it.”

He met my eyes over his tankard. “We’ll bathe in it,” he corrected.