A Servant Lost (Alys Book #1)

Chapter 25

Though Bexley was a well-established village, there were the usual poorer persons and a number of orphanages.  Into the fall, Alys took to spending time at a local orphanage, helping with some of the duties and bringing food from the market.  She found that the orphanage never had enough coins for the food needed, so she supplemented from her own coin stash to make up the difference.  For the first two months, it seemed that her stash of coins would last forever.  Soon though, she realized the amount was decreasing steadily. Determined not to abandon the orphanage and the needy children it housed, she forced herself to face her fears of the tavern below her room and approached the owner to ask if he would hire her in the tavern.

The work was hard and the pay minimal, but Alys found that she was able to keep paying for her board and give the remainder to the orphanage.

On slow days, the tavern was not so bad.  Alys' tasks consisted of cleaning dishes, wiping tables, sweeping and scrubbing the floors, and cleaning up any messes that were made.  On the busier nights, Alys often found herself cleaning up puke or blood from a fist fight. The comments made by some of the men and their grabs and playful slaps were the parts of the job that Alys disliked the most. Thankfully, the pub master was quite firm with the men if their attention towards Alys went past rude or suggestive comments.

Winter arrived, and with the colder temperatures and snow piling up, the tavern became busier than it had been when Alys had first started working. Soldiers in the king's service returned to their homes in Bexley for the winter and frequented the tavern, but thankfully none of them were guards Alys knew from the palace. At night, the tavern was filled with drunken laughing, gambling, and gossip. Rumors were spreading that the Balearian King had sent word to the King of Tarkam that he would be attacking in the spring if Tarkam did not come forward with his daughter alive and well. Another rumour said that the Balearian King had had a change of heart since the assassination of the Tarkamite King's child. Alys did not know how much of the talk between the soldiers was actually true, but she tried not to let her mind dwell too much on worries of war; it was completely out of her hands.

One evening, a soldier who had had too much to drink grabbed a hold of Alys' arm as she was passing his table.  He had already made a couple of comments towards her earlier in the night, but she had ignored them. He pulled her towards himself and put his mouth to her ear.

"You're a pretty little thing, aren't you?"

Alys leaned her head away from his face and stiffened, "Please let go of me, My Lord. I have duties to do!"

The soldier kept his grip on her arm and pulled her even closer. Alys looked around for Thoren, the pub master, but she could not spot him in the crowded tavern.

"If you come home with me, you'll get more coins than you do for working in this sweaty tavern."

Alys cringed, partly form the man's words, and partly from the stench of his breath. His words were slurring, but his grip was strong.  He kissed her neck, despite her efforts to pull away from him.

"Let go, My Lord," Alys demanded as politely as she could manage, "the pub master is going to be upset."

The soldier gave a laugh and pulled away to look at her. She kept her face looking away from him.

"What's the matter? Did your old man not teach you to never say no to a soldier's request?"

Alys glanced around the room, hoping to catch a glimpse of some one who could help her.

"My Lord, I have work to get done," she insisted, still trying to pull away form him. The liveliness in the tavern was starting to die down as curious eyes switched their attention to the soldier and the pub master's servant.

"No one refuses me!" The soldier said, his drunken voice now touched with a hint of anger. The man reminded Alys of her encounters with Lord Balt. Despite the warm stuffy air of the tavern, Alys could not help herself from shivering.

"Enough!"

Everyone turned their gaze to Thoren, who had just re-entered the back door of the tavern with a new barrel of mead.

"Release her, now."

The soldier glared at the pub master and did not release his grip of Alys right away.  After a few moments of the two men glaring at each other, the soldier shoved Alys as he released her.

Alys stumbled sideways and fell into a table, catching her left eyebrow on the table leg.  The men in the room let out roars of delight for the spectacle, then resumed their loud activities again.  Alys stood quickly and brushed the dust off of her apron from falling to the floor. She did not make eye contact with anyone as she walked through the tavern, past Thoren, and out into the cold night air.  She needed some space.

She kicked at a chunk of ice that had fallen off of the roof of the inn, frustrated.  Her forehead above her eyebrow was stinging, and she felt it to see if the skin had been cut open. It hadn't, but the skin was already starting to swell.

Alys grabbed at some snow and crushed it into a hard ball before she pressed it to her angry skin. It was freezing and stung at first, but it quickly provided some relief of the pain.

Frustration boiled in her as she stood with the snow pressed to her injury.

Dastrehan would have destroyed that vulgar man. He would never dare to touch me again. Dastrehan-

Alys stopped herself.  Dastrehan wasn't here.

She let out a pained sigh at the sudden heaviness in her heart, but she would not allow herself to dwell in her misery and longing.

Going back was an impossibility; she had to focus on the here and now.

Alys only allowed herself a few minutes of the isolation out in the cold before she turned to head back into the tavern.  She had duties to attend to, and she did not want to anger the pub master after he had just helped her get away from the horrid man.

The remainder of the night had no further incidents, though men would glance towards Alys and smirk now and again.  Alys lay in her bed, staring at the wooden beams of her ceiling as she fought her thoughts from wandering to Dastrehan.  Her grieving for the loss of her baby was always being carried with her, but she tried her best to push it to the sides during the day.  With it, grief for the loss of whatever it was she had had with the king; friendship? That was the closest thing she would allow herself to call it. Investigating how deeply she did or did not care for him was not something she was willing to do. It would result in only pain. 

The garden Dastrehan had shown her during the previous winter came into her mind, and she allowed it.  If she must think of the king, she preferred it to be happy memories.

Images of coloured flames and light bouncing off the huge icicles hanging from the trees came into her mind, and she smiled softly to herself. It was so beautiful and peaceful in the winter garden, and Alys missed her evening walks in the crisp air.  How she would have loved to share that garden and its beauty with Ayleth.

But Ayleth was alone in the ground.

Alys turned onto her side and banished all thoughts of her time in the palace from her mind. Trying to keep her mind on the positive moments never worked for long; they always lead back to Ayleth.