Total pages in book: 125
Estimated words: 120974 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 605(@200wpm)___ 484(@250wpm)___ 403(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 120974 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 605(@200wpm)___ 484(@250wpm)___ 403(@300wpm)
Slipping out of my dress, shift, and underthings, I stand naked in the barely warm water, which reaches to my calves. I dip the sponge in the water and take a quick cat bath, scrubbing myself all over with the harsh, abrasive soap and then rinsing just as quickly. All the while I’m keeping an eye on Valen to be sure he’s still asleep, but he doesn’t so much as stir. Good.
Despite the less than ideal conditions, I find the bath refreshing. I rub myself dry with the ragged but clean bit of towel left by the tub and then slip back into my clothes. I wish there was something I could wear besides my Court gown—it looks wildly out of place in this rustic setting, but I didn’t exactly pack for this journey.
I make a mental note to plan better before I go on another quest but for now there’s nothing I can do but put my gown back on. There’s an old, cracked mirror hanging on the wall. I go over to it and I finger-comb my long hair and rearrange my golden hairpins until I look somewhat respectable. There—I feel more like myself.
I hear muted voices and the clinking of glasses coming from the other side of the door and realize there must be more people at the inn now. I debate on going out into the common room on my own, but my stomach is growling—it’s been hours since we ate—and I’d really like to get something to nibble on. Maybe I’ll hear something useful from the locals too. After all, they live on the edge of Thornmere Forest—they must know something about navigating it safely.
Still, I don’t want to draw too much attention to myself. I’m sure my appearance will attract unwanted attention if I go out as I am. So I put on my traveling cloak, which is long enough to cover me completely—all but the hem of my gown—and draw the hood over my head. This casts my face into shadows and when I look in the cracked mirror, I can scarcely see anything but my eyes gleaming in the shadows. Perfect.
Taking a deep breath, I unlock the door and slip out, into the common room.
I have no idea what I’m getting myself into.
21
IRENA
Outside the room is more crowded than I’d thought. The huge hearth on the opposite wall is blazing and the many wooden tables and chairs I barely noticed on our way in are mostly full.
Most of the patrons appear to be men—foresters and farmers—all drinking huge tankards of the inn’s frothy, bitter ale. Barmaids are bustling back and forth, taking orders, refilling drinks, and bringing plates brimming with food to various customers. I see a roasted joint of meat going by on one platter and a full bowl of what appears to be beef or lamb stew going by on another. The savory scents make my mouth water.
My stomach growls but luckily the room is too noisy for anyone to hear—it’s also too busy for anyone to notice me, much to my relief. I see a small table at the other end of the room, not far from the huge fireplace which is still empty. There are only two chairs pulled up to it and neither is occupied.
I make my way as quietly as possible around the perimeter of the room, making certain to stay in the shadows and keep my cloak closed around me. Nobody says anything to me as I slip into one of the empty chairs.
The table beside mine is filled with rugged looking men and one of them—a big man with a bushy red beard—seems to be telling a tale.
“I’m telling you, it was Jack Parsons—a wheelwright, he was, from over yon mountains—he went into the forest and never came back.”
“Ah, he just left for greener pastures,” another man scoffs and takes a big drink of his ale, which leaves a foamy mustache on his hairy face.
“No—for he told me he heard a voice calling for him the night before he went,” the man with the red beard protests. “Said he thought it was his sweetheart, who he lost to the plague the year before. I tried to tell him, I says, ‘Jack, that ent your girl. She’s dead and sometimes the forest speaks in the voices of the dear departed. Don’t go looking for her in there—you’ll only find what you don’t want.’” He shrugs. “But he went anyway…and he’s never been seen nor heard from since. He probably left the path and forgot that in Thornmere, in order to go forward, you have to go back.”
“Ah, you and your stories,” the other man says. He belches and takes another swig of ale. “Next thing you’ll be telling me to leave a sacrifice in the Ring of Thorns.”