The Chronicle of the Worthy Son

Crows' Rest, pt. 1

The innkeeper closed the door behind them then turned back to them in the restored quiet. "You want to try that again?" His face was full of such deep concern that Able already found himself relaxing.

Lark took a breath. "I cut ties with Constance—er, or more precisely I killed her, or will have soon enough..." He looked along the hall as though he could not see it.

The innkeeper nodded slowly. "I see."

"No, you don't!" Lark's daze snapped to a frenzy. "Red's out there, and I think she has my stallion. We can't stay here; we'd be putting you all in danger!"

"We might have lost her," Able said as he slid his arms around Lark's ribs and held him, willing him to settle. "She was still trying to revive her sister when we last had sight of her."

"I think...I think she knows when something is a lost cause." Lark shuddered. "Knows how to...make a pragmatic choice."

"You're safe here," the innkeeper decided. "Go sit by the fire. Warm up. Fin's got soup she can put back on the stove."

"But—"

"My house, my call. I'll get some of my guards up. Go on."

Lark trembled a moment more but gave up arguing with a long sigh. He turned out of Able's arms, shuffled past the stairs and into the common room. It was a fairly small space but looked larger by the clever way the tables were packed into the corners of it. Lark passed these and sank to a bench by the hearth.

Able turned back to offer his hand to their host. "Able Houser."

"Ah, think I've heard about you." The innkeeper heartily shook his hand. "Solitude Cockler, but you can call me Sol."

"Sol, then. Thank you for your hospitality. It's been...quite a night." A retching ripped his attention back to the common room. Lark was bent over with his hands on his knees.

"That kind of night?" Sol suggested.

Able did not reply, rushing instead to Lark's aid. Upon observing the situation, the only aid he could offer was sweeping Lark's hair back from his face while he heaved again.

"Go on, lad." Sol had followed and watched with folded arms. "Might as well get it all out in one spot. Easier to clean up." Meanwhile, a pair of women rounded the corner from the next room and began asking if Lark was all right or if he needed anything.

Lark didn't respond to any of them as he was trying to catch his breath while sobbing. One of the women helpfully handed Able a towel, so he steeled himself and tried to wipe Lark's face. But Lark took over this task and whimpered several apologies into the towel.

Able rubbed Lark's back in case that might console him before turning Sol again. "You have someplace quiet I can take him?"

Sol nodded though added, "If he's done." When Lark nodded too, Sol waved for them to follow him up the stairs. "Is there anything you need?"

Able was awkwardly guiding Lark along as he still had his face hidden behind the towel, but glanced up from the stairs to look at him as he considered. The hot soup would have been nice, but Lark had cured Able of that desire for the time being. "Could we get a pitcher of water and some rags and maybe a glass?"

"Eh, see if I have a wooden cup, maybe. He's liable to throw a glass. Then again, we have a few my mother-in-law gifted us—might consider it a favor."

Able drew a blank at that one, and probably his eyes accordingly went blank.

Sol grinned wryly at his stare. "You learn to keep your sense of humor." He opened the door to a small room scarcely lit by the gray haze beyond the window. Only one bed was inside, tucked against the wall.