Page 7 of The Tricksters Deception

Even though there was no clock that I could see, the barkeeper called for last drinks, and one by one, the patrons left the bar. "Should we leave too?" I asked Corvu.

He merely shook his head. "The barkeeper lets me stay upstairs," he explained. "And you’re welcome to stay too."

Upstairs, the room was simple but comfortable. The common decor seemed to be wooden floors, walls, and ceilings, all made of the same dark, polished wood that gave the room a warm, earthy feel. In the corner of the singular room were pillows and blankets piled up on a couple of crates to form a makeshift bed. It wasn’t luxurious, but it looked inviting.

"You can sleep here," Corvu insisted, pointing to the makeshift bed. He was kind to me, more so than I could have imagined. He kept a few of the candles burning since he said it would help keep any bugs away until we were well asleep. The flickering candlelight added a soothing glow to the room, making the shadows dance on the walls and ceiling.

I haven’t had to share a room for a very long time, but in the orphanage, I only ever shared it with girls, and boyfriends weren’t a luxury I’ve had time to experiment with. I tried not to think about it too hard. Technically, Corvu's not actually a boy.

As I settled onto the makeshift bed, pulling the blankets around me, I felt a strange mix of comfort and unease. The room was quiet now, the sounds of the tavern below fading away, leaving only the soft crackle of the candles and the occasional creak of the wooden structure.

For all I knew, when I closed my eyes and opened them again, I would be home. The thought was both comforting and terrifying. I took a deep breath, allowing the warmth of the blankets and the gentle glow of the candles to lull me into a sense of calm. "Goodnight, Corvu," I whispered.

"Goodnight," he replied softly from across the room. As I drifted off to sleep, my last thoughts were of the strange, magical world I had found myself in, and the hope that I would somehow wake up to find myself back home.

Chapter four

Day Three

My eyes flutter open to the light of dawn filtering through the attic's solitary window. The room reveals its emptiness; Corvu is nowhere to be found. Faint voices echo, prompting me to rise. The stairs, steep and winding, conceal a corner where I linger, straining to discern Corvu's voice. I'm wary of encountering unexpected beings.

The barkeeper's voice interrupts the silence. "Are you sure, boy?" I recognize the tone. "Amulets like that are dangerous, and using them is just as bad."

"I won't have to use it," Corvu's voice responds confidently, ",have you heard how much Daemonaria are willing to pay for an amulet like that?"

"What color was it?"

"It was an amethyst."

"Humph." The barkeep sounds satisfied. "Keep that one close. You never know where she got that amulet from. It might be why she's here. Just see if she'll give it to you." They're after the amulet, just as Patricia warned. Corvu's kindness was a façade to get to the amulet. How could I have been so naive?

Without hesitation, I sprint for the front door, thrusting it open without concern. Their calls fade as I push deeper into the crowd. The further I get, the harder it will be for Corvu to find me and seize the amulet. It's clear that some creatures, like some people, can't be trusted. I don't stop until I'm sufficiently out of breath.

And utterly lost.

Surveying the surroundings, Daemonaria still dot the landscape, but the crowd has thinned. The crowd has thinned, giving the scene an almost deserted feel. Stepping backward, I nearly trip over a loose cobblestone but manage to steady myself just in time.

"Hey!" a voice shouts, and I turn to see a small boy, mostly human but with a slightly feline nose. His appearance is both adorable and innocent, a stark contrast to the fantastical world around us.

"I'm so sorry, I got scared and didn't see you there," I apologize, leaning down to meet his eye level. "I guess I'm a bit lost." Only now do I realize how breathless I am. "Can you tell me which direction exits the town?" The boy, who couldn't be older than six, looks up at me with wide, curious eyes.

"Kilot," a voice calls, and an older man, dressed like a farmer, approaches us. His clothes are simple but well-made, with a sturdy hat shading his weathered face.

"Dad, this girl is lost," Kilot says, turning to me with a friendly smile.

"This town is a bit harder to navigate than most," the man explains, his voice warm and reassuring. "It was built on top of a much older city." Relieved by his friendliness, I return his smile.

"I'm actually looking to get out of the city. Could you point me in the right direction?" I admit, feeling as if my situation sounds almost like that of a fugitive. "I'm trying to get home," I add, hoping he understands my urgency.

"I can do one better." He grins, gesturing to a large wooden cart nearby, filled with supplies. "My son and I have collected what we need and will be heading back home ourselves. North-East, if you want to tag along for a short ride." The offer is music to my ears, the second-best news after waking up in my own bed.

"I'd be eternally grateful," I say, feeling a wave of relief wash over me. I help them load the last couple of crates onto the cart, noticing the odd glares from a nearby storefront. The shopkeeper's eyes linger on me, suspicion etched on his face, but I ignore it, focusing on my chance to escape this strange place.

After about twenty minutes, Chitel, the father, announces it's time to go home. He instructs his son and me to hop onto the cart where there's room. The cart is rustic but sturdy, its wooden planks creaking slightly under our weight. As I settle in, I take a moment to absorb the details around me – the worn leather reins, the gentle sway of the cart, and the fading light casting a golden hue over everything.

As we start moving, the rhythmic clatter of the cart's wheels on the cobblestones becomes a comforting sound. Kilot chatters excitedly about their farm, his small hands gesturing animatedly as he talks about the animals and the crops. Chitel occasionally chimes in, his deep voice adding to the stories and painting a vivid picture of their life.

For the first time since I arrived in this bewildering world, I feel a glimmer of hope. Maybe, just maybe, I will find my way home.

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