by Megg Jensen
Bastian turned, his sword outstretched and swung it through the air. It planted firmly in something fleshy. A smile crept across his face as the thing in front of him snarled.
He pulled back hard on the sword and made another hacking blow, meeting again with resistance. A gurgling noise sputtered in the air and something wet landed on Bastian’s cheek. He wiped it off with his finger, then brought it to his nose. Blood.
Lust raced through his veins. Another hack. Then another and another. More blood spurted on him, driving him into a frenzy.
Something sharp whizzed through the air, landing on his arm. Intense pain surged through Bastian’s body. Using the pain, he hit harder and faster, blindly whacking at the beast hidden from him in the mist. Whimpers replaced the snarls. Then silence.
Bastian struck out again, but his sword caught nothing but air. He pointed the tip down and poked. It met with resistance.
Finally. It was dead.
“Vinya,” Bastian called out into the gray darkness. “It’s me.”
Silence.
“Vinya, it’s okay now. I killed it. Call out and let me know where you are.”
Still silence.
“The only thing it’s ever said is anyone’s name. Trust me, it’s dead.” He stayed in one place, waiting for her response.
“Bastian! Why do things always have to be so hard with you?” She huffed, out of breath. “If you would have just stayed home like I told you none of this would have happened. We almost lost our child because of you.”
“Me?” He stalked toward the sound of her voice, his anger growing with every step. “Why the hell are you even out here? You should be back at the village, keeping our daughter safe.”
She snorted. He corrected his path by a bit to the right.
“It’s not safe there. People are dying and the rest of them are fighting amongst themselves. People are hatching plans to escape or to take over from Udor. It’s a mess at home, which you would know if you would have stayed like duty dictated.”
Bastian was glad she couldn’t see the angry snarl on his face, not to mention the beast’s blood spattered all over him. Or maybe if she saw it, she’d keep her comments to herself and fear him his wrath for once. Of course it was his fault for never standing up to her before. For letting her roll over him every moment of every day simply because he’d given up on his happiness when Tressa had been forced out of his bed.
“Have you heard Tressa out here?” He ignored her barbs, instead concentrating on the reason he’d come back into the forest in the first place.
Another large exhalation of breath. Bastian reached out, knowing she had to be only steps in front of him. His hand met with softness, followed by a hard slap.
“You leave me, come back looking for her, then try to grope me?”
Bastian jerked his hand back. He hadn’t wanted to touch her there. Not ever again. He was pleased to find it didn’t stir anything within him. A woman’s breasts were hard to resist, no matter who they belonged to. Not that touching Vinya had ever done much to rouse his desires. He’d done his duty with her. The hope he’d eventually care for her had faded with each day of verbal abuse.
“Have you heard Tressa?” he asked again, tired of giving into her game of fighting. Sometimes he thought she enjoyed it more than anything else in life. Sad, when he really considered it. For a moment, he almost felt sorry for Vinya.
“No, I haven’t heard from her. Maybe that thing already ate her. It would serve her right.”
Before Bastian could say something equally rude back, he felt a small hand on his leg. “Dada?”
He reached down and picked up Farah. His lips sought out her soft cheek and found it readily. “I missed you.”
She snuggled into him. He could almost see her blond curls, just like her mother’s, burrowing into his chest.
“What were you hoping to accomplish by coming in here?” he demanded of Vinya.
“I wanted to escape, just like everyone else who’s ever gotten out of Hutton’s Bridge and never come back. I don’t believe for one second that they died out here. I believe they just left and found a better place. Why come back?”
“Why indeed,” Bastian grumbled under his breath.
“What?”
“Nothing. I was just mumbling.”
“Like always,” she said, smugly.
He imagined her arms were crossed over her chest, an annoyed look on her face. He’d seen it often enough in the last few years.
“I came back because it’s the right thing to do. And you’re wrong. Not everyone makes it out of here alive. That thing,” he pointed over his shoulder with his thumb even though neither of them could see it, “was happy to kill most of the people that had come out here. It nearly killed Connor and my mother.”
“Your mother?”
Bastian was glad she hadn’t asked about Connor. He wanted to tell Hazel first. It was her right to know before Vinya. “Yes, my mother is still alive. She’s out there, living in hiding.”
“In hiding? Why? Why didn’t she come back?”
“She almost died on her way out. I couldn’t ask her to try again.”
“Pathetic. Everyone in your family is such a waste.”
“Don’t say that around Farah. She’s part of my family.” He stroked her head, glad she was too young to really comprehend the meaning behind her mother’s words.
“Luckily I spend more time with her than you do or she’d end up just like you.”
Before he could formulate a response, a growl rumbled from the side. Bastian gripped Farah tighter.
“I thought you said you killed it. You can’t do anything right, can you?”
“Shh!” he said.
“You’re such a failure, Bastian. You always were. The day I pulled your ribbon I knew.” She fell silent. Except for a faint gurgling sound.
A thump on the ground was followed by the grating sound of teeth tearing flesh and gnawing on bone.
Bastian stayed silent as he crept away into the forest, still holding Farah tight in his arms, letting the beast he thought he’d killed devour the wife he’d never wanted.
Bastian ran through the fog, not caring which direction he was running, as long as it was away from the beast. Farah clung to him, her tiny arms wrapped around his neck. Every few minutes he had to whisper to her to loosen her grasp. If she didn’t, they’d both be in trouble. He needed as much air as he could get.
“How long have you been out here?” he whispered in Farah’s ear.
She answered by sticking her thumb in her mouth. Bastian could hear the sucking sound knocking around his ear. He wasn’t too surprised she didn’t answer. She was more like him than Vinya would ever admit. Quiet and strong. Yes, his daughter was just like him.
When the muscles in his legs screamed at him to stop, Bastian slowed down. It was very different going through the fog without Tressa’s magic owl and its light. Before he could see all of the logs on the ground and the tree branches before they scratched his face. Now success was left up to chance. He refused to slow down and let that thing catch up to them.
It was injured, he knew that for sure. But it wasn’t bad enough to leave them alone. It was still hungry. He wouldn’t let it get his daughter.
“Have you seen Tressa?” he asked her.
Her little head shook no against his chest.
He sighed, but kept running. Tressa’s father told him she’d left for the village. Maybe she’d already made it. He had to believe that. Anything else was too devastating.
Bastian tightened his arm around Farah, reminding himself there were things to live for. People to fight for. Lives worth saving.
From his viewpoint in the tree, he knew Hutton’s Bridge lay at the center of the fog. If he kept running in a straight line he’d either come out in the village or outside the fog. Either was better than staying inside with the beast.
After an indeterminable stretch of hours, Bastian’s lungs began to burn. He gasped for air, s
wallowing the thick blanket of fog. He stumbled, his feet too tired to go on. Sinking down to a soft patch of grass, he set his daughter on his lap, refusing to let go of her. He couldn’t lose her too.
“Dada?”
“Shh.” He didn’t know how fast the beast could run. Maybe it had already outrun them. Maybe it was hiding just around the next tree. Without knowing, he had to remind her to be quiet.
“Keep walking, Dada.” She crawled out of his lap and tugged on his hand. “Home.”
She was right. They couldn’t stay. Bastian moved to his knees. The pain in his leg from the puncture wound seared through his body. He couldn’t go on. Not without water. Or rest.
He let his hand slip out of Farah’s. The ground crunched as she tiptoed away. Bastian slipped to the ground and closed his eyes.
Chapter Thirty-One
Tressa stumbled into the first inn on the edge of town. The Rooster’s Wattle. It would do. She pushed open the door and was greeted by the warm scent of freshly baked bread and porridge cooking in a pot in the hearth.
The innkeeper stood behind the bar, wiping it down with the edge of his apron. “Need a room, lass?”
“No, sir. A job, if you please.” Tressa cast her eyes toward the dirty floor. Bowls still sat on the table from the meal the night before. Yes, they needed help, as she’d hoped. The outside was in disrepair too. They didn’t have much, but she was willing to work for cheap. Any innkeeper would find that attractive.
“Why should I hire you? Where is your family?”
Tressa sighed and rubbed the side of her neck. “My father cast me out only a few moments ago.”
The innkeeper’s eyes narrowed. “Why?”
Tressa pulled back the hem of her gown to reveal the love bite Bastian had left. “He accused me of being a trollop.” She looked up, eyelashes fluttering. “It was only a small dalliance with a solider.” She tugged on her hair. A giggle passed over her lips. It felt forced, but the innkeeper wasn’t focused on her laugh once she’d exposed her cleavage.
“I could use some help around here. It would help business to have an attractive young maid serving the men who stopped in. Are you against showing a little skin?”
“Will I get more tips?” She flashed him a brilliant smile.
He laughed. “It’s almost guaranteed.”
“And will I have a place to sleep?”
His eyes darted to her chest again. She knew what he wanted. He reminded her too much of Udor. Luckily she knew exactly how to manipulate him.
“Yes…” his voice trailed off.
Tressa held up a hand. “My own bed in my own room?”
He blinked twice, then looked her at her face, as if he just realized she had one. “Yes, of course. There’s a small chamber at the back on the third floor. It’s nothing fancy. Just a bed and a chest, but it’ll do for you.”
Tressa curtsied. Her knees knocked together under her dress, but she hoped he didn’t notice.
“Off with you, now. Put your bag in your room, then report back here. The crowd will be arriving soon to break their fast.”
Tressa nodded. “I’ll be out quickly to help you clean up for the morning meal.”
Before he could answer, Tressa sashayed through the inn. They were all built on the same plan as the former inns back in Hutton’s Bridge that now held multiple families. A kitchen, a bar, a dining area, and a room in the back for the innkeeper. The inn could build up, with three to four rooms on each level. This one only stood three levels. She’d seen some closer to the center of town upwards of seven levels built around the trees in the forest. Based on the pitch of the walls, those looked less secure than this humble establishment.
On the rickety steps, Tressa pulled the top of her shirt into a more respectable position. Making her way down the dark hall, the second-to-last door stood open.
“Who are you? Has he replaced me already? I’m not dead, despite what he told you.” The voice came from the room with the open door.
Tressa hesitated, her hand on the latch of her door. “Excuse me?” she called back.
“Come in, child. Show me your face.”
Tressa stepped away from her room and pushed the door to the other room open, finding an overweight woman lying in bed. Only a thin blanket covered her body, beads of sweat dripping down her cheeks and over her dark, but thin, mustache.
“Who are you? Proper girls don’t travel alone. Particularly not ones as young and beautiful as you. A man might take advantage.”
“No, my lady. I was running an errand for my father when your husband rushed outside begging for someone to come in and save his dear wife, who he loves so much, from the drudgery of kitchen work.”
She snorted, her nostrils flaring. “Lies.” Then she chuckled. “I like you already. You’re not dumb, so you won’t let him grope you. That’s good enough. Come in, come in. I’m not as ill as everyone thinks. I’m just fat. And hot. I like to lay in bed.”
“Then we’re both in luck because I’m here to work.”
“I suppose that boob out there saw your boobs and hired you on the spot.”
Tressa laughed. “That’s nearly how it went. If I promise to never let him touch me, will you agree to me working here for a time?”
“If it means I can continue to lay here, absolutely. Though should Ira pinch your arse once in a while, I won’t throw you out.” She shifted in the bed, sitting up a bit. “Don’t come too close or I might pinch it myself. I remember when I was your age. The young maids who hid in groves together and giggled over boys. I might have taken advantage once or twice myself, playing the role of the man, while teaching them how to kiss. A little touch here, a little grope there. It was all part of the game.”
Tressa raised an eyebrow. She knew only one man who was interested in men, but it was a closely guarded secret in her village. He feared he’d be stoned and kept his feelings to himself. Apparently people in this town weren’t afraid to discuss such things.
“Then I’ll be sure to keep my bum away from you both.”
The woman laughed. “I do like you. Welcome. What’s your name, dear?”
Tressa had thought of everything, except a name. She took the first that came to her. “Sophia.” Her Granna would be proud of her. After all, she was doing exactly what she’d been asked to do. Escape the village, leave the fog, and change the world.
The woman’s nostrils flared again. “Do you smell that?”
Tressa leapt to the door. “Fire!”
Chapter Thirty-Two
Smoke billowed in the hallway. She pulled her cloak over her mouth and nose, breathing slowly.
A flurry of curse words permeated the smoke.
“You’re a damn fine cook, Ira. I can always expect a surprise at your inn.” A rough voice said, followed by an unworried guffaw.
The smoke cleared out as quickly as it started. Ira stood over a deep pot sitting in the hearth. His shoulders hunched so far forward his neck seemed to disappear into his shirt.
“You, over here.” Ira pointed to Tressa.
She curtsied, letting her blouse dip low. Out of the corner of her eyes, she took a quick glance at the new man in the room. Well dressed, clean, and coin jingling in a pouch hanging from his hip. Repressing a smile, she quickly righted herself and made her way over to the hearth. He was exactly the type of man she’d hoped would walk into the inn. How fortunate he showed up her first day. She needed a man who could get her near the queen. If she ever held court, Tressa might be able to get close enough to kill her, ending the fog that held her people captive.
“Of course, milord.” She pretended acquiescence to Ira.
“Milord?” the stranger asked.
Tressa bent over the pot, pretending not to hear the man walking closer to her. His boots, heavy on the wood plank floor kicked up the dirt that so badly needed sweeping.
“I’m sure he doesn’t pay you enough to warrant a title like that.” The man stepped closer to her, close enough for Tressa to feel hi
s breath on the back of her neck.
Tressa let her hip slide a little to the side, giving him a better view of what she had to offer. His breathing paused for a moment and she stood up slowly, turning to face him. She held back her loathing for the part she played. “It’s the tips from patrons like yourself that keep me from starving.”
He laughed again. “Silly girl. You’re just like all the others. I had hoped Ira finally hired a smart girl. It appears he’s only interested in a girl who plies the tricks of a whore to make her money.”
Tressa slapped him. His hand flew to his pink cheek, her handprint still visible in white. “You may be right, but you didn’t need to say it out loud like that,” she whispered.
The man’s eyes narrowed. “No, I don’t buy it at all. You’re playing the trollop, and it’s a part you don’t play well. You’re not an actress or a whore. So what are you?”
“None of your business. And I suggest you leave before I hurt you worse than I just did.” Tressa didn’t know anything about fighting. She’d have to continue to bluff her way through the conversation until he left her alone. Maybe he’d never come back to the inn. Another man would be better.
“Is she taking care of you, Leo?” Ira sidled back over to them.
“Yes, brother, she’s a pleasant conversationalist. You chose your new employee well.” He stroked Tressa’s cheek. “Perhaps she can show me her other talents later.”
Tressa bit her lower lip, enduring his touch. So they were brothers. One dazzled by her cleavage, the other fooled by nothing. Leo’s hand left her cheek as soon as Ira turned back to the bar. Strangely, she didn’t feel threatened. Quite the opposite. It almost felt tender, fatherly.
“Who are you and why are you here?” Leo’s freshly shaven head and goatee set him apart from the other men who were quietly making their way downstairs from a rough night of drinking and whoring. Their tousled hair was preceded by the stink of unwashed clothes and sweaty armpits.
“I’m but a maid, looking for employment.” She kept to the ruse. There was no other choice. She’d get him to go away and focus on finding another man who might be able to help her.
