Katerin was content with her quiet life of studying the arcane, and wanted for nothing in her life. She had friends, family, and plenty to do.
But life has a way of changing people--a way of pushing them to do things far outside their comfort and ex...
"How're you feeling? You were both pretty battered last night."
Fykes was clean, and his wounds appeared to have been tended, but he had dark shadows under his eyes, and a bruise that made his porcelain skin look even paler than normal.
"I'm doing just fine!" Jon said, with an exuberance that only ever came from alcohol. His cheeks were flushed and smiling like a buffoon. His coat was clean now, its silver buttons shining once again.
She looked to Fykes with eyebrows raised.
He tried a smile, though it did not reach his eyes. "I'm fine. Just a couple scratches." His tone was quiet, deeper. No longer did a mischievous hint of humor linger there.
She frowned, the image of his injuries from the night before replaying in her mind. They had not been so terrible. Was it Jon putting that haunted look in his eyes? Had she said something? Or was it something else entirely?
"Alright," she said, skepticism heavy in her tone. "You think we can make any good progress if we leave today?"
He looked at her with his own skepticism, eyes trailing the bruises on her face and arms. "Are you okay to travel? You can take some time to rest here. It won't hurt anything, and I'm sure Jon would love to keep us."
She rolled her eyes. If he wanted to act as if nothing was wrong, she could do the same. "It's nothing. Just a scratch," she said, with a sardonic smile. In truth, her injuries still hurt, but she would be damned if she was going to let that stop her, and she certainly was not going to whine to anyone about it.
She was not here to have people fawn over her.
His eyes flashed—with what, she could not tell—and he shook his head. "I'll ready the horses, then." With that, he cleared his plate, drained his coffee mug, stood up, and left the table in one fluid motion.
Katerin stared after him, the slightest tinge of anger flushing her cheeks. She chewed on her lip and turned to Jon, wondering why Fykes was in such a bitter mood. Everything was fine, wasn't it? They had survived, and now they would continue onto Anklestrap.
Jon took another drink from his mug, as if trying to hide his expression.
"Is he alright? Did he get hit in the head too hard?" she asked, looking towards the door.
Jon gave her an amused look and shook his head. "Ask him yourself. I won't talk behind his back."
She sighed as she stood and straightened her blouse before pulling her cloak tighter around her shoulders. "It's a nice place you've got here," she said, outstretching her hand.
Jon stood, and shook her hand gently. "Take care of him. He's got a penchant for getting himself into trouble on occasion."
She frowned at him. It was not her job to take care of him. If he needed a hand, he could come out and say it. "Wait," she called as Jon turned to leave. "I had a question for you."
He paused, eyebrows raised, purple coat settling around him.
"Why are the lizards and the uhma'zarhins trying to run you out of here?"
"I don't bloody know!" His shoulders sagged and he huffed out a breath, his mustache puffing once again. "I really don't know..."
She held up her hands, "It can't be the building itself... and they don't need your resources or armaments."
Jon crossed his arms and frowned. "I don't have any idea. All I know is that it's my job to not let them have it."
"You can't think of any reason? Something about this isn't right... it doesn't make sense, Jon." She knew of many tribal societies; most were not violent—or they had a reason for their violence. She knew of a few tribes that were fierce protectors of their lands, but from the histories, there was always an attempted peace. Usually followed by war, but there was always a chance. These people were intelligent enough to wage small-scale wars, but would not negotiate peace?
"No, it doesn't," he agreed. "But I've got to protect my post..." He gave her a sad smile that showed deep wrinkles around his eyes and washed away the last traces of his confident bluster. "If you figure it out, be sure to let me know."
"I will. Be careful here," she said, patting his shoulder before turning to follow her sulking guide. She sighed as she left, she knew she had no right to be getting involved in this. She was only here for her mother. Only here for her own answers and to solve her own mystery, but this place was strange—pulling her in when it had no right to. She wanted to find out what was happening, why it was happening, and maybe even how to stop it.
When she found the courtyard, Fykes was nearly finished readying the horses. He refused to look at her. She glared at him for a moment and cleared her throat. He did not even glance her way until he finished refilling the water skins he carried for the horses. Her nerves bristled as he ignored her. Traveling with a sulking man might prove to be even more annoying than an overly cheery one.
She mounted her horse, and they rode into the evening in almost complete silence. She watched the road carefully and eyed Fykes on occasion, trying to be patient and let him be the first to speak. She might be annoyed, but it was courteous, and she had no need to anger the only aid she had.
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