Page 40 of The Jester

“Come with me to the stables,” he commands, his voice low and authoritative.

I glance back at Briony, who watches us with a dejected expression as Eldrion dismisses her with a wave of his hand. I want to reassure her, to tell her that I’ll be all right, but the words stick in my throat as Eldrion strides away, expecting me to follow.

The stables are warm and musty, the scent of hay and horses filling my nostrils. Eldrion leads me to a large white horse, its coat gleaming in the dim light. He mounts his own steed, a magnificent black beast, and we set off into the night.

As we ride through the streets of the citadel, I can’t help but notice the way people shrink back into their houses at the sight of Eldrion. Even with my empathic gates firmly shut, the fear he invokes is palpable, hanging heavy in the air like a suffocating fog.

We arrive at an inn on the outskirts of the citadel, a weathered wooden building with a faded sign hanging above the door. Inside, the air is thick with the scent of ale and sweat, and the low murmur of conversation fills the room. Eldrion orders two pints of ale and leads me to a table in the corner, where we sit in silence, seemingly waiting for something.

As the night wears on, the inn begins to empty, until we are the only patrons left. The innkeeper, a nervous-looking man with thinning hair, approaches our table cautiously. “Lord Eldrion,” he says, his voice trembling slightly. “Can I fetch you some more ale?”

In a flash, Eldrion is on his feet, his hand slamming down on the table. He draws a knife from his belt and plunges it into the innkeeper’s hand, pinning him to the wooden surface. The man cries out in pain, his eyes wide with terror.

“What do you know about Vysoryn?” Eldrion demands, his voice cold and menacing.

The innkeeper pleads with him, tears streaming down his face. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, my lord. Please, I beg you, I know nothing of this demon.”

Eldrion turns to me, his eyes boring into mine. “Drop your gates,” he commands. “Tell me if he’s telling the truth.”

I hesitate for a moment, my heart racing in my chest. But I know I have no choice. I let my barriers fall away, and close my eyes. Taking off my gloves, I reach out and place one hand on the innkeeper’s wrist. He flinches. His skin is cold and clammy. I inhale deeply. I do not need to touch him to know what he’s feeling, but it helps. It grounds me.

Immediately, I’m overwhelmed by the man’s fear and desperation. It swells inside me, tightens on the inside of my throat, claws beneath my skin. It is all-consuming. It makes me whimper. “Ask him again,” I whisper.

Eldrion complies.

Again, the innkeeper says, “My lord, I swear, I don’t know the word Vysoryn.” His fear surges once again. Thick and black, like smoke coiling around his entire body. But then... beneath it all is the unmistakable flicker of deceit.

He’s lying.

I open my eyes and meet the innkeeper’s. Fear turns to terror as he searches my face. I tap his wrist lightly with my fingertips and sit back. Then I look at Eldrion. As I meet his gaze, I find myself saying, “He’s telling the truth. He doesn’t know what you’re asking him.”

For a long moment, Eldrion stares at me, his expression unreadable. I brace myself for his anger, for the accusation that I’m lying to him. But it doesn’t come. Instead, he yanks the knife from the innkeeper’s hand and sheathes it at his belt.

“We’re done here,” he says, his voice flat and emotionless as the innkeeper falls back in his seat, cradling his hand.

Outside, he jumps onto his horse and I do the same, swinging up instead of using my wings because it has always felt right to ride this way.

Stroking the horse’s mane, I thank her for waiting for me.

Eldrion glances at me, his icy eyes shining in the darkness. Without speaking, he taps his horse’s side and trots across the cobbles back towards the castle.

As we ride, I can’t shake the feeling of unease that settles in the pit of my stomach. Eldrion trusted me, even when I lied to him. But why? Why would he trust me when I have every reason to deceive him?

“You took my gloves from my cabin.” I turn and look at him through the darkness.

He does not look at me.

“They were in the bottom of my trunk at the foot of my bed. I know they are mine. The ones my mother gave me.”

Eldrion makes a hmm sound deep in his throat.

“You knew who I was before you bought me at the arena.” It is a statement, not a question, but he does not correct me. “How?”

This time, he does look at me. Arms loose at his sides, riding as if he can command his horse with only the grip of his thighs, he drags his gaze from my eyes to my lips.

Although I have shut off my empathy once more, I see it still... The way he trusts me. But there is something else, too.

Fear.

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