The Amulet Of Nicmir (The Scripts Of Neptune, Book 1)

Chapter 24

The streets were silent and lonely as Sam walked back alone. The dark was a sharp contrast to the previous nights, now that the lanterns were unlit by the people gathered at the castle. It would have looked eerie, with the wisps of fog floating over the roads. But it was nice how it was now. The calm, the dull scent of damp earth and storm. Sort of soothing after the chaos of the past hours.

Inside, he was fighting that chaos. Fighting for something to feel about the most recent news.

His best friend was betrothed against her will. It felt like something out of a fairytale, almost. Maybe, if they were lucky, it'd all work out in the end, somehow. Maybe it was a simple mistake.

He kicked a pebble off the cobblestone street and frowned to himself. Nothing was simple anymore. Especially not this. He felt his heart constrict painfully as the shock and the hurt of Lillian's last expression flashed in his mind.

He wished he'd gone after her, maybe instead of Nyle. She'd been there for him more times than he could count, but when she'd needed him? He'd just sat there and watched as she fled, tears in her eyes.

Oh, goody, he thought dryly. Another thing to feel guilty about.

Scuffing the cobblestones with his boots and rubbing the skin behind his ear absentmindedly, Sam frowned to himself. There was one thing he knew for certain in the mess: he couldn't lose his best friend. And he'd fight to help her out of whatever she needed him to, no matter the consequences.

The inn was dark and quiet as he approached, a faint light in the window the only sign of life. The light tap of his boots and the distant chirping of the crickets were the only things that disturbed the quiet.

He hesitated at the door. His feet refused to obey him and march through, and his hand was caught midair, halfway to the doorknob.

Crynia would be in there. If that morning had proven anything, she was most likely very, very drunk. And if he was honest with himself, he wasn't ready to face her. He was uncertain of how he should tread these new waters he'd breached.

Steeling himself, Sam gripped the knob and stepped inside.

The interior was dim. A single lantern hung from the rafters above the counter, chasing shadows into the corners. No one sat at the tables, and the scent of alcohol was heavy in the air. Taking a step over the threshold, Sam shut the door softly behind him.

Then his eyes fell on her.

She was perched precariously on the edge of a stool, dark hair loose around her bare shoulders, fiercely elegant features shadowed, a tankard clutched in her hand. Her shimmering dress was wrinkled and damp from the rain, stained at the bottom with mud from the streets. But somehow, she was still more beautiful than anything Sam had ever seen.

Swallowing deeply to ease his nerves, he crossed to the counter and slid into the seat beside her. She didn't move, staring at the shelves of bottles across from them. Her brown eyes were empty and glassed over, hazed with drunkenness. It made Sam's heart lurch painfully.

He'd done this to her. He'd driven her to do this. It was his fault.

When he cleared his throat, Crynia still didn't look at him. The only reaction she offered was lifting her tankard and downing the rest of her wine.

"Why're you here?" she said, finally rolling her head to meet his gaze lazily. Her voice was thick and slurred.

Sam shrugged and looked away, studying the pattern of scratches on the wooden counter. "Wanted to make sure you were all right."