The cold fingers pulled at my wrists and took me into the night. As we walked away from the wooden doors, the wings of the windmill could be seen slowly fading into the distance, until it seemed not much more menacing and towering as it once did. Just a construct with wings in slow rotation.
Just a little ways away from the windmill is the tavern. Chrisanta seemed quite quick in her steps.
"It's good that we discuss this there. Small little spot. Barely any visitors. Private. Nice space for us to talk. Away from the prying eyes of oldie and baldie."
She continued.
"Ale… if you need it. Long journey, I know. Small plates. Citrus olives. Bone marrow. Sweet croquettes in green aioli sauce…"
Something tells me she was more hungry instead.
"…you know… I think they made this thing… well, not made. Okay: they brought this massive fish. Silver with blue streaks down its abdomen. Red on the inside, like shining rubies. Real nice and soft when it's topped on the rice. It took two guys to carry it to the table and they slice it in front of you. The chef has this huge knife, and it's so oddly satisfying because I can't take my eyes off it…"
I interrupt her before she can continue.
"Hey, Chrisanta. I wanted to ask you something. It's not about those guys or the food. It's about that girl."
"Who?"
"The only one in the room other than you: the one with the black hair and golden eyes. Yvette."
"Oh, her! What is it about… hey, I thought you would ask about those white-blue rocks your horses were lugging around."
"…what?!"
***
The impending doom of realizing I left my cargo out in the open without proper storage finally dawned. The two of us hurried back where we came, and suddenly the grace of moonlight and the everlasting cooling breeze turned to clumsy embarrassment. Did no one think of the clumps of precious marble just sitting out in the open?
It wasn't as if the price of Cerulean Marble was through the roof. Since the war, it's practically worthless. But, one can never be too careful of thieves and opportunists.
To make matters worse, Chrisanta is a priestess of the water goddess. In particular, she cannot dirty her shoes in the mud. It's "blasphemous". I think it was an excuse to get away with not having to help me take my carriage beneath the shack and through the wet bog of muddy trails. Maybe she knew I wasn't just Yona. Perhaps she knew I was no poor peddler girl, but the would-be Lord Spar.
Or, she was just a sly, lazy fox.
***
Upon finally arriving at the tavern, it started to slightly drizzle. Dark clouds loomed past the moon such that only a fraction of its illumination escaped and into the sky.
The tavern was more homely than expected, even knowing it was farther from any form of civilization. The structure constituted wooden support beams underneath a bed of moss and dirt and grass. In other words, the architecture looked as if a grassy hill swallowed it. Nonetheless, it looked beautiful. Light beamed from the inside, and the smell of sautéed garlic mushrooms made any sense of restraint worthless.
Chrisanta and I forgot about the soreness in our feet. We crouched through the small entrance and were greeted by an unusually busy night.
A rotund man could be seen in the back of the kitchen massaging a lemon citrus marinade into a large cut of pork loin. A giant black salamander crawled across the floor with trays on its back. In it were 12 different tea leaves that, if one would even count them, they probably wouldn't even know the difference. The many fragrances and diversity of workers in the tavern meant… well… this was going to be good.
Perhaps even too good for us to keep focused.
"Ladies?"
Both distracted, we turned our heads to the voice and were greeted by a short, brown-haired girl. She wore a caramel knit sweater and a white cotton shirt beneath it, with the collar sticking out. She didn't look like a server. If anything, she looked like an owl. A short, angry owl.
"You'll have to wai… oh, that's right. They just finished preparing a table now. How lucky. Please, follow me to your seats."
She seemed unusually unprepared and casual for such a popular small-plates tavern.
The server took us to a set of tiny, jungle vine-woven chairs. It was deceivingly sturdy. Nonetheless, the spot was a good ways away from the rest of the diners and drinking, making it perfectly quiet for discussing… well, whatsoever a green-eyed mysterious priestess would drag me there for.
"Yvette…" Chrisanta started, sighing through her nose. She leaned her arm behind the chair casually in a pose unbecoming of a lady.
"Yes, I know her. In fact…."
Before she could even continue, our angry owl returned with a bread basket. The bread was served on a white cloth and featured an assortment of white, sourdough, pumpkin seed, garlic infused, and ancient grain bread slices. Freshly baked, of course.
The only problem was, we didn't have any water. Just fresh baked bread. So, we technically could dig in. But, we'd just dry out our mouths further. Yet, if we waited for the waters to come back —which was quite hard given our angry owl was busy flying through other customers— our breads would most probably be past its prime crunchy baked goodness.
"I need to know." I started. "Not because it's super important or anything; but, it's because I couldn't stop thinking of her."
"You're wrong." Chrisanta's response startled me. "Yvette is important. You just don't know why. Do you know why I dragged you here?"
"You were hungry."
"Of course I was. But you know why else, right?"
"No."
Chrisanta let out another sigh through her nose. I couldn't tell if it was disappointment or if it was her way of bracing for a long conversation.
"I want to start from the beginning to catch you up to speed. But before that, I need to keep it nice and short. So, I'll be blunt."
She picked up a slice of the baked ancient grains bread and held it between two fingers.
"Someone by the end of this charade has to die."