Page 27 of Tortured

“Go on. Eat.” She slides into the booth once more. “Tell me where you’re from.”

I dip a roll into the stew and bite into it. I shake the roll. “Mmm. This is good.”

She smiles. “I made it.” She pushes my mug forward.

I pick it up and drink deeply. More than satisfied with my banquet, I push a coin at her in payment for the meal. It’s more than enough for several meals. “Go get something and eat with me.”

She eyes the coin but doesn’t take it. “Oh no. I don’t eat with customers. My father owns the place. I eat in the back.”

“Suit yourself.” I continue eating while she studies me. It probably isn’t proper for her to sit with a customer either, but the place is empty, and she does seem awfully curious.

“I take it, if you’re this far into the city and”—she nods at my pack—“you brought all your stuff with you, you must not be headed back out to sea.”

“You’re right again. The sea life is not for me. I spent the first few days so sick I couldn’t move.” I shovel more stew into my mouth. I haven’t eaten like this in weeks. The food at the port pubs was either too bland or too salty.

“We get a few travelers that come from foreign lands. From the west, I’m guessing you’re from.”

We spend the next half hour talking about our homelands. She lets me grill her on Cadomedd. Unfortunately, I realize I should have jumped ship a few docks farther north in the midlands. The southlands are flat and boring, Shayla says, not much to my liking if I’m a highland boy. From her longing expression, I take it she would love to have her own traveling adventures.

Not that I would exactly call evading assassins traveling adventures. But since I’ve been traveling for this long, will it really matter if I’m on the road for a few more months?

If I did become immortal, what does it matter if I’m on the road for a few years? I might have forever. Why settle down?

How long will it take to figure out if I stopped aging? Will I know in ten years?

Niawen, I wish you were here with me to help me through all this.

Pretty barmaid, Caedryn says. I wonder what Niawen thinks of her.

Does distance do nothing to weaken our bond? I hiss.

I’m afraid not. Cadomedd is nice. But I prefer Creiddylad, in the far northeast.

Is that your homeland?

Once. So long ago. Caedryn sounds nostalgic.

I’m not going to pity him.

Shayla and I talk a bit more, and I’m able to coax some laughs from her.

The bell above the door jingles as four men enter.

They are not small men.

And they are dressed as conscripted soldiers, with swords and knives. One man has twin blades like mine.

Shayla falls silent. Her face becomes sullen.

Two of the men glance her way, with an ominous look in their eyes. That’s when I notice the dragon stones around their necks, hanging just below their throats against their skin.

Dragon riders.

The captain’s warning to stay away from them swirls in my ears. I take a steady draw on my ale while they make their way to the bar. From Shayla’s reaction, the captain was right to warn me.

These men are dangerous.

A man emerges from the back. When Shayla glances at him with wide eyes, I take him to be her father.

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