Page 27 of Reign

For such a large man, Arthur seemed fearful of everything.

One of the other men laughed as I felt someone collapse into the space beside me. I pretended to be asleep, not bothering to see who it was. I didn’t care—I was simply grateful for their warmth.

I dreamt of Avice. We were walking together through the snowy Wetlands. She turned to me, but her pretty face was gone. Torn flesh stretched between her hair and neck, and though she had no mouth, screams echoed from her. I clamped my hands over my ears as she shrilled, just as she did on the frostbitten night she died.

I awoke to realize the screams weren’t confined to my nightmares—they were happening inside the bedchamber.

“Don’t board, Father!” Bash wailed, gasping for air.

“Shut it,” Fletcher mumbled.

Bash sat upright, clutching the blankets. “Water,” he said on a panicked puff.

Still pretending to be asleep, I felt the bed shift before hearing the floorboards creak. I peeked over my shoulder at the empty space—Bash had gone.

When the first glint of sunlight slipped through the shutters, I got up. Fletcher and Arthur were still snuggled into one another, but Bash hadn’t returned.

I stumbled down the narrow stairs, stepping sideways to avoid slipping on the short treads. The morning chill lingered, but the fireplace burned ferociously. My stomach gurgled at the scent of freshly baked bread wafting through the air.

As I entered the main chamber, I caught the faint murmur of a conversation. There, Bash sat alone at a table, clad only in breeches, his white hair tied back. While he sipped from his bowl, I noticed he wore black gloves. It seemed unlikely someone without a tunic was feeling the chill, leaving me to wonder why he had kept them on.

My shadow fell across a feasting Bash, revealing my presence. He glanced up, his mouth full of bread, as I took the seat opposite him.

“Can I tempt you to a bowl of thistle soup?” he asked, sneering with disgust. “I don’t drink piss often, but the few times I have, it tasted better than this.”

I nodded, knowing I needed to eat whatever I could.

Bash heaved himself up and walked to the fireplace. His muscular frame told me his work as a seaman was laborsome. While ladling watery soup from the bubbling pot, I noticed his biceps were thick as tree stumps. I squeezed my own scrawny twigs, feeling grateful they were hidden inside my linen tunic. Was my size the reason the boggart knew I was a girl, or was it the way I carried myself?

“The bread’s fresh,” Bash said, setting my breakfast before me.

“Thanks,” I replied, warming my fingertips on the hot bowl.

Bash propped his elbows on the table as he ate. I copied him, trying to learn how to act like a man. As he slurped his soup, I did the same. The sound of our gulping drowned out the crackle of the fire as we both ate.

“Cold?” I asked, nodding to his gloved hands.

Bash shook his head. “Didn’t want to lose them. They were my great-grandfather’s. Top-grain leather.”

He extended his hand, and I rubbed my palm against the glove. It felt like my own fingertips after a long swim in the lake—pruned and wrinkled like sun-dried fruit. When I glanced up, Bash was watching me with a warm smile appearing on his face. Embarrassed, I quickly withdrew my hand, my cheeks burning hot as though I were sitting too close to the fireplace. Shoveling soup into my mouth, I silently hoped he didn’t find it odd that I’d lingered for so long.

“Where did you go in the night?” I asked, gulping down a stringy bit of thistle.

Bash let out a breathy laugh. “Thought I heard the howl of the Black Shuck. Figured I’d claim the reward,” he joked, tearing off some bread. “Where’d you say you were from?” he asked between bites.

I sighed. “I just need to get to the Walled City and start a new life.”

Bash nodded like he understood, but he couldn’t.

“Do you think the Walled City’s as grand as they say?” I asked him, swirling my spoon between the floating breadcrumbs at the bottom of my bowl.

“I’ve heard it’s a great place.” Bash sipped more soup, then swallowed. “If you live immorally.”

I hoped he was talking in jest, but his straight face told me he wasn’t.

“I’m going to wake the snoozers,” Bash said, standing. “Not far now—we should reach the Walled City before nightfall.” He placed his bowl on the floor. “You can have the rest,” he called out to no one.

I glanced around the empty inn, puzzled by whom he had addressed. As Bash disappeared up the stairs, the boggart peered out from behind the bar.