“Yeah,” Mauvin said sadly.
Alric spoke in a voice just loud enough for Mauvin to hear. “Sometimes the price of dreams is achieving them.”
They were just closing the city gate for the night when the party arrived in Ratibor. Arista did not recognize the guard. He was a burly, balding man in a rough stitched rawhide coat who waved at them impatiently to get inside.
“Where is a good place to find lodgings for the night, my good man?” Alric asked, circling his mount on the guard as he went about locking down the city.
“Aquesta. Ha!” The man laughed.
“I meant here.”
“I knows what ya meant,” he said gruffly. “The Gnome has open rooms, I think.”
“The Gnome?”
“It’s a tavern,” Arista explained. “The Laughing Gnome—King’s Street and Lore.”
The guard eyed her curiously.
“Thank you,” she said, quickly kicking her horse. “This way.”
The heavy scent of manure and urine that Arista had remembered as the prominent smell of Ratibor was replaced by the thick smell of wood smoke. Other than that, the city had changed little from the last time she had been there. Streets ran in awkward lines, forcing adjoining buildings to conform to the resulting spaces often with strange results, such as shops in the shapes of wedges of cheese. The wooden planks that used to bridge the rivers of muck lay buried beneath a thick layer of snow. The winter had stolen the leaves from the trees and the wind ripped along empty streets. Nothing but the snow moved. Arista had expected winter would brighten the place and bury the filth, but instead she found it bleak and barren.
She rode in the lead now. Behind her, she could hear Alric grumbling. He spoke too low for her to catch the words, but his tone was clear. He was unhappy with her—again. Any other time, she might have fallen back, apologized for whatever it was she had done wrong, and tried to make him feel better. But she was cold, hungry, and tired. She wanted to get to the tavern. His feelings could hurt at least until they were settled.
As they approached Central Square, she tried to keep her eyes down and focus on the snow where Princess walked, but she could not resist. When they were in the exact middle of the square, her eyes ignored her will and looked up. The post was still there, but the ropes were gone. Dark and slender, nearly blending into the background, it was a physical reminder of what might have been.
There is blood under the snow, she thought.
Her breath shortened and her lip began to quiver. Then she noticed someone riding beside her. Arista was not aware if she had heard his approach, or merely sensed his presence, but suddenly Hadrian was an arm’s length away. He did not look at her or speak. He merely rode quietly alongside. This was the first time he had left Royce’s side since they had started out, and she wondered what had brought him forward. Arista wanted to believe he joined her because he knew how she felt. It was silly, but it made her feel better to think it.
The signboard above the door at the public house was crowned in snow and yet remained as gruesome as ever. The obscenely large open mouth, hairy pointed ears, and squinting eyes of the namesake gnome glared down at them.
Arista halted, slid off her mount, and stepped onto the boardwalk. “Perhaps the rest of you should wait here while Hadrian and I make arrangements.”
Alric coughed and she caught him glaring at her.
“Hadrian and I know this city. It will just be faster if we go,” she told him. “You were the one that wanted to come here.”
He frowned and she sighed. Waving for Hadrian to follow, she passed under the sign of The Laughing Gnome. A flickering yellow light and warm air that smelled of grease and smoke greeted them. A shaggy spotted dog scampered over, trying to lick their hands. Hadrian caught him just as he jumped up toward her. He let the dog’s forepaws rest on his thighs as he scrubbed behind its ears, causing the animal to hang its tongue.
The common room was empty except for two people huddled near the hearth—so different from the first time she had been there. She stared off at a spot near the center where a fiery-haired young man had once held the room spellbound.
This was the place. It was here I saw Emery for the very first time.
She had never thought about it before, but this revelation made the room sacred to her. She felt a hand on her shoulder. Hadrian gave her a gentle squeeze.
She spotted Ayers behind the bar, wiping out mugs. He was wearing the same apron, which appeared to have the same stains. The innkeeper had not shaved in a day or two, and his hair was mussed, and his face moist.
“What can I do ya for?” he asked as they approached, the dog trailing behind, pawing at Hadrian for more attention.
“We’d like rooms.” Arista counted on her fingers. “There are fifteen in our party, so maybe four rooms? Do your rooms sleep four?”