Page 48 of Tusks & Saddles
“—the leader of my temple is missing and I and a fellow acolyte are trying to track him down!”
For a moment, Welborn willed himself to handle the impact of Miss Eave’s weapon. His body tensed, jaw tightening as he tried not to flinch. A moment later, Miss Eaves withdrew her weapon, attaching it to her hip and surprising him.
“Please don’t think I’m rude for thinking you might have used that weapon on me,” Welborn murmured.
“Please don’t think I’m rude for thinking about shooting you for a moment,” Miss Eaves retorted.
The ghost of a smile crept up Welborn’s mouth.
“Can I get you a drink, stranger?” An air helfen with light blue eyes and a perpetual breeze around their shoulders stood behind the bar. Long, dark blue hair was tied back and the lines on their face indicated they were running a little ragged.
“Drinks and maybe a room or two?”
Welborn booked two rooms for the night, nothing fancy. Beds were beds and the rooms had locks on the doors. Luckily the gold he received from Miss Eaves covered the cost, along with dinner and breakfast. He ordered the lightest beer the inn had on tap and a glass of questionable milk. The barkeep nodded, sliding a set of keys to Welborn with one hand and a shot of whiskey with the other. Welborn stared for a moment, before Miss Eaves’ gloved hand plucked the whiskey.
“What brings you to this tavern, Miss Eaves?”
Where his courage came from, Welborn wasn’t sure. His father had courage. Boone had courage. Even his own mother had more courage in her entire body than Welborn could ever hope to have. Whatever had emboldened him, Welborn could only hope it wouldn’t draw too much of Miss Eaves’ ire. He was surprised to realize he wanted her attention more than anything.
“Business,” Miss Eaves replied. “Business that ispersonal,if you catch my meaning, Welborn.”
Welborn wasn’t completely dense; he had grown up with an older brother after all. He understood the meaning of a good ‘scram’ when he heard one. Respectability had it’s place, and Welborn had ever intention of respecting Miss Eaves’ wishes…
But hiscuriosity. It was eating at him that he didn’t know more about her. That she had blown into his life—rather literally—and he had yet to see her face. Miss Eaves was mystery, she was curiosity personified. If she wasn’t a sign from the All Seer, Welborn wasn’t sure what else she could be.
“Understood. I’ll do my best to respect your wishes,” Welborn murmured.
“Good.”
Miss Eaves collected the rest of her drinks and walked away. The gnawing feeling in Welborn’s chest wouldn’t allow him to keep quiet, though.
“Miss Eaves?”
She paused.
“What is it?”
Welborn pressed his boots into thefloor.
“If I happened to need help…locating a missing person…would you know where I could go about finding help?”
The question hung in the air, getting lost within the shuffle of new patrons entering the tavern. A bark of laughter could be heard from the other side of the building, and conversations filtered in and out of Welborn’s pointed ears. A moment later, Miss Eaves continued walking away.
Disappointment made Welborn weary as he turned back to the bar. The barkeep had laid his beer and milk within reach. Welborn would take a few minutes to sit in the feeling—the alcohol would help with that—then he would get back to the task at hand. He needed to find High Cleric Gnaul Swoth, no matter the danger.
With renewed resolve, Welborn turned, drink in hand and nearly let out an undignified squawk as he collided with Miss Eaves. His hands instinctively shot out in an attempt to keep the liquid from spilling onto either of them. The brief sensation of their bodies touching was so fast, Welborn wasn’t sure if his heart hadn’t made it up. The only thing that assured him it had was Miss Eaves had grabbed a hold of the belt at his waist. In her effort to keep him from falling over, her gloved hands tightened and pulled him forward.
“M-miss Eaves!” Welborn stammered.
“If you want to do it the legal way, report to the sheriffs office. It’ll take some time, but the Dust Wardens aren’t completely useless,” Miss Eaves said.
“But…?”
“But, if you don’t have time, look into the mercenary guild. A handful of the folk in here work for them directly,” Miss Eaves shook her head, a sigh disturbing her veil for a moment. “And ifyou’re really,reallydesperate, I can introduce you to one of the members.”
Her hands were still on his belt and Welborn was struck by it. Miss Eaves was the first woman to ever put her hands on his belt—while he was wearing it.And while her hands were covered, Welborn could still feel her hold on him. She was so close to him. Close enough that Welborn could see the subtle silhouette of her face behind the curtain of cloth. There was definition to her jawline, an angular shape to her face. Welborn wished for more, wanting to greedily take in everything that lay beneath her veil.
“Welborn?”
