As I tendto move along the same stretch of shoreline, I also have a few villages that I visit from time to time for trading. They provide me with supplies, and I trade them necklaces and gold and they do not ask questions. It works well for both of us. There is a village not too far from my grotto, so while Akara continues her leisurely swim towards my home, I head farther up the shore to Godsthorne. It’s a peaceful, tiny village at the crossroads of a major Aventinian trading route. While few farmers live here—the soil is too rocky for most crops—there’s a small population of traders, and an inn that stays busy.
I know the innkeeper, and he also peddles supplies from time to time. I shake off the water from the sea and make my way inland as the sun comes up over the horizon. It illuminates the craggy hills here and the cattle that graze upon them. There are few trees. I’m told that inland, in the heart of the continent, there are trees big enough to house entire villages, but I cannot picture it. A few sheepherders stare at me, covered in their human clothing from head to foot, and for the first time, I wonder whether I shouldn’t wear human-like clothing when I go into their towns.
Vali would know. She would be full of advice. Perhaps my wife will be of more use to me than I thought.
The road is a familiar route to Godsthorne, and before the sun grows too high in the sky, I can see the thatched roofs of the cluster of homes that make up the village. I head toward the largest one, the inn, and push the door open.
No one is inside. The inn itself reeks of too many people, spilled beer and last night’s food. The benches are propped atop the tabletops and the wood floors gleam wetly, having recently been washed. There’s a young woman with yellow braids behind the bar, rubbing a tankard with a rag and yawning as she does. The innkeeper’s daughter. She immediately straightens at thesight of me and races to the back room. “Papa! Visitors from the sea!”
I move to the bar and put my hands atop it, waiting impatiently. I want to get back before Vali is awake for too long and panics that she’s been abandoned. I should have said something to her last night, I realize. What if she awakens and thinks I’ve left her and jumps into the sea? She’ll sink to the bottom for certain, where Vor’s dark children will feast upon her. My mouth flattens at the thought. Why didn’t I say anything? She’s already skittish. I am three times a fool.
“Papa!” the girl screeches from the room behind the bar. “Papa?—”
“I know, I know,” calls out a grumpy voice. “I’m coming. Hold your woales, girl.” A fat, bald man enters the bar from another part of the house. His name is Anellas, and I’ve dealt with him for many years now. His eyes gleam with avarice at the sight of me, near naked, in his inn. “Hello again, old friend.”
Old friend. As if we are companions more than business partners. It reminds me that I’ve never told him my name. I have never seen the need to, and yet his words make me pause. Does he consider me a friend or is this a politeness? Should I be answering differently? I have never cared what humans thought. I don’t know why I care now.
I toss my bag of gold onto the bar top. “Trade.”
It’s all I ever say. When one word suffices, all I give is one. Today it feels impolite. I have a great many things I want to ask about. What is it that human women like to eat? What can I give my human to ease her pain with her menses? Why won’t she trust me?
“Of course, of course.” Anellas hustles over to my side, opening the bag with greedy fingers. “Been a while since I’ve seen you, sea friend. How’s the weather?”
“I have a wife,” I blurt out, and then my jaw clamps at how foolish I sound.
His bushy brows furrow and he looks up at me. “Felicitations…?”
“She needs willow bark,” I bite out.
“Ah. The monthly pains,” Anellas says with a knowing smile. He picks up a piece of gold and bites it, then shines it on his apron. “Willow bark isn’t cheap, though. Get her belly full of your child. That’ll take care of the willow bark thing. She’ll spend all your coin with her demands if you let her. Women are like that.”
Are they? I glance down the bar, where the yellow-haired daughter is watching us from the doorway, half hidden. She doesn’t look as if her father is spending coin on her at all. Her dress is ragged and patched, and she’s always been working here, even when she was very small.
Anellas bites another medallion, hums to himself, and then starts to rake it toward his apron.
I stop him before he can, hands slamming down on the countertop. “Wait.”
He pales, taking a step back. His gaze flicks over my four arms and my chest. “Is there a problem?”
I take a deep breath through my nose, frustrated. I came here for willow bark, true, but I also came for answers. I wanted to ask about human slaves and how they’re treated. I wanted to ask a great many things about human women, but looking at this man and his timid daughter, I do not think he will be the right one to answer most of them. I tap a finger on the bar as I think. Finally, I come up with a good question. “You have a human wife?”
“I did, aye. She died three years ago, my sweet Bessa.” He sighs and makes the sign of Gental. “Haven’t had a chance to find another, what with the Anticipation and all. Business has been too steady.”
I look around the empty inn, but perhaps the time of day is wrong. Still, this man had a wife. He has a daughter. Surely he knows some about females. So I eye him and slide one of the necklaces out of the pile. “Trade for the others. This one you can have for free if you answer my questions.”
“Gladly, sea friend.” He smiles broadly, perhaps a little too broadly.
“How do I prove to a human woman that she is my wife?”
Anellas’s face screws up and his heavy chin jiggles. “Prove? Prove what? You are her man. She should be glad to have a strapping, virile man like yourself. She’s the woman. You don’t have to prove anything.”
Unhelpful. I glance down the bar at the daughter, hovering in the doorway. She bites her nail and looks as if she wishes to say something. “Speak.”
Her gaze flicks to her father uncertainly. When he waves to indicate that she should speak up, she takes a step forward. “What kind of marriage was it?” she asks. “What kind of ceremony? Did you offer a bribe to goddess Belara?”
I lean back, surprised. “Ceremony?”
“Why yes,” Anellas slides back into the conversation, his tone as greasy as his brow. “Surely you had a wedding ceremony? And after that, thebedding? Ho, ho.” He chortles, quite pleased with himself.