Promise the Sky

Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Keenan

 

 

 

I shrug my jacket onto my shoulders, wishing I had had the forethought to wear something a little more water resistant.

"Your apron." I say, turning away from spattering of raindrops on the tavern window.

"What about it?" The girl asks, tying the item in question around her tiny waist.

We stand, just the two of us, in the centre of the room. Usually this situation becomes painfully awkward in these moments but this girl is refreshingly composed. I like it, I like her confidence and her easy stance. The bedsheets might be ruffled but she certainly isn't.

"I need it." I say. "This jacket was expensive."

She cocks an eyebrow, a fiery little thing.

"And so is my skin." She says. "It has sentimental value; I grew it myself."

"We shall meet up on Sunday." I inform her. "I shall have something much better than that raggy thing for you."

I hold out my hand.

"No!" She exclaims, doll's eyes going wide. "For starters, I am going to a wedding on Sunday, we shall not be 'meeting up'. And for seconds, you are far too used to stamping that foot of yours. This is my apron. I have to work in it. Rain won't kill you or your jacket, little boy."

For a second I am speechless.

"Little boy?" I stutter, unable to focus on anything past the slur.

She nods. Turning her back on me, on her superior, she makes to leave.

I say nothing, make no move to stop her.

No one has ever spoken to me that way before... and a mere serving girl?

My mouth hangs open as she exits and I fully expect it to remain that way long after she has left. The girl straightens her apron and closes the door firmly behind her. Three weeks I have been courting that one, on the quiet. And she chooses to destroy the honour this way?

She should...

I have never...

The audacity!

I drop to the bed, its sheets still crumpled, and run a hand through my hair. I know I will be furious in an hour or two but, for now, I feel a little lost.

Eventually the sound of laughter breaks through my confusion.

"Wow, you really showed that one." The voice and the whistle that accompanies it are familiar ones.

William, the friend who first introduced me to 'the serving girl with the most amazing magical talent', drops down onto the bed beside me.

"Yeah. It's such a pity you were born noble, Keenan, you would have made it high as a court jester."

Hugh joins the two of us, squeezing into the small tavern room.

"Because he makes such a fool of himself?" William asks, before I can complain.

"No." Hugh corrects, pulling up a chair. "Because he has such a sharp tongue on him."

"Ah." William nods knowingly. "You were being sarcastic."