"Finally... Tiel!" I groaned, sliding off Otto with all the grace of a sack of potatoes.
Every muscle screamed-my back felt petrified, my thighs trembled, and my rear end had long since lost all sensation. We'd ridden hard, pushing the horses and ourselves to the brink. Even the sturdy warhorses hung their heads, nostrils flaring as they gasped for breath.
Kasparian surveyed our bedraggled party, his eagle eyes sharp even in the fading light. "We'll rest here tonight. There's an inn I frequent."
As we trudged through Tiel's bustling streets, the familiar scent of roasted chestnuts and ale hit me. Then I saw it: the Hirzula Inn, its wooden sign creaking in the wind like an old friend's chuckle. Memories flooded back-Manfred's antics during our first stay, Fleda's initial over-wariness, the lumpy beds that somehow felt like heaven after days on the road.
"Welcome!" Adrianne's voice rang out before we'd even crossed the threshold. The innkeeper's daughter bounded over. "Mr. Kasparian! Big Sis Marcia! Uncle Grigore! The usual?"
"Yes, plus three more," Kasparian said, nodding at us.
Adrianne's gaze landed on me and Fleda. Her eyes widened. "Adele! Fleda! Gods, it's only been a week!" She seized my hands, her enthusiasm nearly toppling me. "How was Aureo? Did you see the Glücksmarkt? The crystal fountains? Oh! Did you meet Grandpa Giovanni?"
This time, I grinned. "We did! His exhibition was incredible."
Fleda chimed in, stretching her stiff arms. "His paintings are wild. One of them made Alruna freeze like a statue."
Alruna flushed. "I... got lost in the details. That's all."
Adrianne clasped her hands. "Which piece?"
"Ascendance," I said. The mural had dominated Giovanni's gallery-a celestial figure soaring through a tempest, its wings shimmering with gold leaf. "He said it's his pride."
"And nearly cursed," Grigore muttered, hefting his pack. "Heard stories. Folks say it steals your soul if you stare too long."
Marcia flicked his ear. "Don't be crude. Giovanni's art is divine. Literally."
I recalled. During the Founding Festival, Giovanni's townhouse had been swarmed by nobles and commoners alike. His annual open exhibition was a marvel-canvases depicting ethereal landscapes, portraits so lifelike they seemed to breathe. But Ascendance was the crown jewel.
"Step closer, girls," Giovanni had urged, his paint-stained hands gesturing grandly. "But mind the eyes-they'll follow you."
Alruna had been enchanted first. Her fingers twitched toward the mural's storm clouds, her voice hollow. "It's... pulling me."
Giovanni chuckled. "Ah, she's a feisty one! Best not linger, dear. Even I don't know where that portal leads."
He'd gifted us each a small, framed sketch before we left-mine a simple profile of my face, yet unsettlingly vivid. "A token," he'd said. "For safe travels."
Back at the Hirzula, Adrianne beamed. "Grandpa's sketches are lucky charms! Did he tell you about the time his painting predicted a drought?"
Kasparian's talons drummed the table. "We're here to rest, not gossip. Dawn departure for Nothhelm."
Marcia ignored him, leaning toward me. "His works blur realms. Some say he paints visions from the Gods." She smirked. "Or demons."
Her words intrigued me. "Visions from the Gods? Or demons?"
"Giovanni's works are something else," she replied. "Ever seen 'Eclipse of Souls'? For a moment, I felt like I was on the brink of two worlds."
A shiver ran down my spine. "What did you see?"
"Shapes, whispers... It was mesmerizing and unnerving."
"Do his paintings hold power?"
"Maybe," Marcia mused. "Or they're windows to realms beyond. Giovanni might not even understand his gift."
"Sounds dangerous," Alruna commented.
Grigore chuckled. "Art's meant to provoke. Regulating it would stifle its essence."
Marcia agreed. "Only a few are deeply touched. For most, his works are simply inspiring."
"I'd love to see more."
Without realizing it, my lips widened into a smile.
"Maybe you will," said Marcia. "Giovanni's always creating. Keep your mind open, Adele."
"Seriously. Do I need to remind you one more time?" Kasparian cut through our conversation. "Enough about Giovanni. Rest now. We depart at dawn."
With a sigh, I nodded, thoughts buzzing about the mysterious artist and his otherworldly creations. As we walked upstairs, I slipped a hand into my pocket, tracing the edges of Giovanni's sketch. The paper hummed faintly, like a heartbeat. I wondered what secrets it held.
***
"Adele the soldier, incoming!!!" I yelled, launching myself onto the nearest bed. The mattress groaned as I belly-flopped, my face buried in the scratchy linen. "Oh, sweet bliss. I've missed you, old friend."
Fleda sighed, peeling off her boots with a dramatic flourish. "You're going to break the bed frame one day. And please don't embarrass us in front of Big Sis Marcia. We've got a reputation to uphold."
Marcia chuckled, her back to us as she unbraided her golden hair by the moonlit window. The inn's candlelight gilded her silhouette, softening the edges of her cloak.
"Let her be, Fleda. It's refreshing to see such... enthusiasm. Reminds me of Claudia when she was young."
The mention of the Guild's iron-fisted deputy leader prickled my curiosity. Kasparian had booked two rooms-one for the men, another for our motley sisterhood. With Marcia now part of our cramped quarters, the air buzzed with unspoken questions. Four women, one creaky inn bed, and a lifetime of secrets.
Perfect recipe for girl talk.
Alruna broke the ice, her voice soft as always. She perched on the room's lone stool, polishing her glasses with meticulous care. "Big Sis Marcia... how do you know Claudia?"
The halfling elf froze, her fingers still tangled in her curls. For a heartbeat, the only sound was the drip-drip of melting snow sliding off the roof outside. Then she turned, her smile bittersweet. "How, indeed."
She drifted to the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping under her weight. Moonlight caught the scar above her brow-a pale crescent usually hidden beneath her bangs. "Imagine a thread connecting us. Thick, woolen, frayed-the kind that snaps if you pull too hard. That's Claudia and me."
I leaned forward, elbows on knees. "But why? You two act like... I don't know. Rivals? Tax auditors?"
Marcia's laugh rang hollow. "Gather 'round, then. This tale's half a century old."
Her gaze drifted to the frost-etched window, seeing not the sleeping city of Tiel beyond, but ghosts. "Fifty years ago, Claudia and I were children in the Augustus Republic. Halflings. Orphans. Slaves." She spat the last word like rotten fruit. "Our days were hunger and bruises. But when my master died in a political coup-stabbed in his sleep by a jealous cousin-my mother and I fled north. To Ingvaeon."
I propped myself up on my elbows, sleep forgotten. The straw mattress prickled through my tunic.
"We washed up in Salm," Marcia continued, tracing a finger over the bed's frayed quilt. "A port city teeming with sailors, cutthroats, and refugees. That's where I met Claudia." Her voice softened. "She lived in the same rat-infested slum, another halfling castoff. We bonded over stolen bread and shared scars. For a time, we were sisters."
Fleda snorted. "Claudia? That Claudia?"
"Fufu, she's not as strict as you think." Marcia laughed softly. "But yes, people change. Betrayal, especially..."
The oil lamp guttered, painting shadows across her face.
"One day, a merchant caravan parked near our shantytown. Silk from Aragon, spices from the southern isles-everything a starving thief craved." Her hands clenched. "When the merchant's men brawled over dice in the streets, I seized my chance. Slipped into a wagon, snatched a chest no bigger than my head..."
Alruna's glasses slipped down her nose. "What was inside?"
Marcia's laugh held no mirth. "Never found out. A guard spotted me-not enough to catch me, but enough to blame the slum. The merchant rounded up every child, promising a jeweled necklace to whoever betrayed the thief. Two hundred Gulden." Her voice dropped. "More coin than we'd ever seen."
Fleda furrowed her brow. "You didn't."
"I did." Marcia's nails bit into her palms. "I pointed at Claudia. Let them think she'd stolen it. They beat her bloody while I pocketed the necklace. She never screamed. Never cried. Just... stared. Like she'd known I'd do it."
The room held its breath. Somewhere in the inn's bowels, a pipe clanged.
"The necklace sold for double," Marcia whispered. "My mother and I built a carpet business, married into money, moved to Ersten. I left Claudia behind. For decades."
Alruna's voice trembled. "And when you met again?"
"Here in Aureo." Marcia plucked at a loose thread in the quilt. "She'd become Claudia-the Guild's Red Noble. No warmth. No rage. Just... professionalism. We work together. We don't speak of Salm."
A draft slithered through the window's cracks, snuffing the candle. In the sudden dark, Fleda's hand found mine, cold and trembling.
"Every time I see her," Marcia said, her voice raw, "I remember that chest. What was inside, you ask?"
We leaned closer.
"Letters." The word hung like a blade. "Turns out the merchant worked for a count plotting regicide. Claudia took the beating for treason she didn't commit. When I finally apologized..." She swallowed. "She just said, 'I know.' No anger. No forgiveness. As if I'd become a stranger."
Silence pooled in the corners. Outside, an owl screeched.
Marcia stood abruptly. "Enough gloom! Bedtime, girls. Dawn comes early."
We scrambled under the threadbare blankets, minds racing. Marcia blew out the lamp, plunging us into ink-black stillness.
In the dark, Fleda whispered, "Do you think Claudia's still..."
"Shh."
A minute later, my snores rose-soft, rhythmic, blissfully ignorant.
"Typical Sis," Fleda giggled, poking my shoulder. "Sleeps through everything."
Marcia's voice floated through the black, softer than owl feathers. "Treasure that, Fleda. Innocence is... fleeting."
Somewhere beyond the door, floorboards creaked-Kasparian pacing, ever vigilant. The last thing I heard before sleep claimed me was the shink of steel as Marcia sharpened her dagger, over and over, as if grinding memories to dust.
***