Curse of the Stars Book 1

Chapter 24

Chapter XXIV

Darkness had crept in by the time Fyran had seen stone peeking out from behind the trees in the distance and a halo of smoke pouring out of an unseen chimney. Earlier she had stumbled upon a well ridden road where the King's knights were always riding back and forth, or messengers, or travelers, or caravans that connected them to the rest of the world. The City of Sufta was an isolated place and not many could brave the high snowstorms, but when the weather was good—like it was now—many would come to the bisfell city to get their fill. For bisfell was the city's best known resource and what the mines had been built to gather. It was a marbled turquoise green stone with swirls of cream and mossy hues swirling throughout. It was what the guardians of the city held beneath their talons: those talc dragons upon the black wall that sat atop the city gates.

All she had wanted to do all her life was follow in her grandfather's steps. He worked in the most beautiful library, one of the wonders of the world or so they said. Shelves and shelves of decorated scrolls with every colour of ink imaginable...of course most of the inks could not be found in the Crooked Mountains but had to be brought here by caravans from the sea. Along the road she knew, though she had never been out this far, lay a series of lodges connected by road to help travelers on their way. It was the only road to the city, the furthest city up north. Beyond it were impenetrable mountains and flocks of ice dragons.

Fyran had never put much thought into the beauty of her home or her place in the world. She had been so focussed growing up on escaping the tedious chores of collecting wood, skinning animals, fetching water from the well, and gathering straw for bedding, wishing only to take her grandfather's place one day in the library—if such a thing were possible. He had trained her from very young to do so, and she had become a skilled artisan, even though it wasn't in her cache. But she had been eager to prove her skills. Prove that they went beyond the place in which she was born. The family she was born to. Her grandfather had hoped for that world and so had she. But now her life was falling onto a different path.

One she didn't like.

The last thing Fyran wanted to do was end up in some boisterous inn where mountain men and all sorts of strange traveling foreigners stopped by and serve them bland bread and butter and show them to their rooms and do their laundry.

Disappointed that this was where life had led her, she glanced at the sturdy oak doors, though they were a little worse for wear, and the antlers that sat atop the building. Overall it wasn't very impressive but she was just eager to get out of the cold as she heaved the door open and slipped inside.

"Ulingun! Ulingun to the Black Quivee! How may I help you?" A lady greeted her at the door. A quivee was a large cat that roamed the mountains. It was rare and wasn't often sighted, even lesser than ice dragons. It was a little larger than a tiger, and striped like one, but was completely black, with darker black stripes and a shorter, thicker tail. Large fangs hung out the sides of its mouth and its ears were rounded but sharp at the very tip.

Fancy name for a poor, run-of-the-mill lodge like this. Fyran thought, unimpressed.

The lady had long ebony hair that flowed down like a waterfall down her back and bright red lipstick, probably made from the berries that dotted these very hills. Her dark eyes did not even catch the dull yellow lights that lit the interior. Her eyes were squinted and seemed to be in a permanent grin. She wore a black skirt that was more than a little distasteful in Fyran's eyes.

Oh Mist of Loyhuak.

Fyran tried her best to give a smile. "Hello." She whispered quietly. "I just need a place to stay and some food. And some clothes if you have any..." Her eyes tried not to dwell on the curves of the woman that looked like the clothes were one size too small and prayed yet again that whatever extra clothing she had would be nothing of the sort.

"Of course. Right this way." The lady was all smiles, and young. Probably no older than eighteen as she led Fyran up a set of creaking old stairs and into a hallway flecked with red and gold diamonds woven into the carpet.

"My name is Jaje by the way." The girl introduced herself. "My husband and I have run this inn for three years now. Ulingun, ulingun, make yourself at home! I'll be back shortly with some clothes!"

"Thank you." Fyran grimaced a smile and walked into the room, leaving the door open behind her.

It was smaller than she expected but then, what was the point of luxury in the middle of nowhere? The room was really only large enough for the skinny bed and the nightstand. The door couldn't open all the way without hitting the dresser—which explained the scrapes and gashes along its side.

Still better than the pile of straw at home. Fyran told herself, even if she'd give up this cozy bed for a little more standing room and privacy. The room squeaked wherever she stepped and there was a draft hissing in from under the window. It'll have to do.

The lady appeared a moment later with a plain brown cloak and some overalls. Fyran almost breathed out a sigh of relief.

"Extra towels and blankets is at an extra cost." The woman said too cheerfully. "Gruel for breakfast is free, toast is extra. All other meals are not covered."

Fyran swallowed down her annoyance. These people could only afford to charge this much because they were the only inn around.

"Thanks." She said shortly as she dug around in her bag for the tuckla needed and then handed it off. The lady hummed to herself happily and began to skip away.

"Wait—" Fyran caught herself.

The lady paused for a moment. "Yes?"

Did she really want to work for this woman?

Did she really have a choice?

"Do you have any jobs available?" Fyran tried to ask as casually as possible. She still had her pride to worry over. "Like anything? Someone to chop firewood, heat the water, wash the dishes, cook the food, serve, wash the bedsheets, anything?"

Jaje cocked her head, considering. Fyran tried not to hold her breath.

"I suppose I could get you started on some odd jobs if you're desperate." She mused. "You could start by peeling the potatoes and cleaning the rooms. We might make you a server yet. Maybe." She looked Fyran up and down as if displeased by what she saw there.

Fyran tried not to scowl and offered her best smile instead. "I would be happy to." She purred, even as disgust rose in the back of her throat.

Sometimes you just have to do what you have to do.