Page 19 of Monster's Secret Baby

"Marda takes boarders above her restaurant. First corner past the well." She gestures with weathered hands. "Tell her Elsie sent you. And girl?"

I meet her eyes, startled by the kindness there.

"Whatever you're running from, it won't chase you here. Saufort's good at keeping secrets."

Something in my chest loosens, just slightly. I manage a nod of thanks before leading the zarryn toward the indicated corner.

The village moves at a pace that feels ancient. People nod as I pass, curious but not intrusive. A group of children chase each other across my path, laughing. A man stacks pottery outside his workshop, each piece glazed in colors that mirror the sunset.

For the first time since leaving New Solas, I take a full breath. The air smells of earth and river water, of baking bread and herbs from nearby fields. It smells nothing like the perfumed gardens of Lord Arkan's estate. Nothing like Adellum's paint-stained hands.

I tie the zarryn up so I don't lose all my belongings in one go. As I approach the building, I whisper to myself, "You are brave."

This time, I almost believe it.

I push open the heavy oak door of the restaurant, the scent of herbs and roasting meat wrapping around me like a warm embrace. Inside, long wooden tables line the room, scarred from years of use and glossy with polish. The few patrons—local farmers by the look of them—glance up briefly before returning to their meals.

"Be right with you!" calls a voice from behind a swinging half-door that must lead to the kitchen.

I stand awkwardly, not sure how this will go. The long journey sits heavy in my bones, and all I want is a bed—any bed—and the oblivion of sleep.

The kitchen door swings open and a woman emerges, wiping flour-dusted hands on her apron. She's round and solid-looking, with streaks of gray in her dark hair and laugh lines framing her mouth. Her eyes, sharp and assessing, travel from my dusty boots to my windblown hair.

"Well," she says, crossing her arms. "You look like you've been dragged backward through The Ridge by your ankles."

Despite everything, my lips twitch. "Not quite that bad. A woman named Elsie said you might have a room to let."

"Elsie, hmm?" Her gaze softens slightly. "Old busybody. Always sending me strays."

I bristle. "I can pay." Luckily, I brought all the money I'd saved up. "And I won't be any trouble."

She makes a dismissive sound. "Didn't say you would be." She comes closer, studying me with the practiced eye of someone who's seen more than her share of life. "When's the last time you ate proper? You're skinny as a dreelk stalk."

"I'm fine, really?—"

"That wasn't the question." She cuts me off, turning toward the kitchen. "Sit. I'll bring something. Then we'll talk rooms."

Too exhausted to argue, I sink onto a bench, suddenly aware of the hollow ache in my stomach. The woman—Marda, I assume—returns minutes later with a bowl of fragrant stew and a chunk of dark bread still warm from the oven.

The first spoonful nearly brings tears to my eyes. Rich broth, tender meat, vegetables I can't even name dancing across my tongue.

"Good?" Marda asks, though she clearly knows the answer.

I nod, mouth too full to speak properly.

"So." She settles across from me. "Got a name?"

"Harmony." I hesitate. "Just Harmony."

Something flickers across her face—understanding, perhaps. "Well, Just Harmony, room's yours if you want it. Ten lummi a week."

The price is so reasonable I nearly choke on my bread. "That's... very fair."

"It's tiny," she warns. "Just the attic space above the kitchens. Gets hot in summer."

"I'd like to see it, if I may?"

Marda stands. "Finish eating first. No one leaves my table hungry."

---