Tabitha's Inn thrummed with life after the sun set. Laughter and music sparked like a match, growing warmer with each moment. Cheers rang out, tankards clashed, and wine spilled from round bottles. The whole atmosphere of the tavern was warm and energetic.
I sat, quieter than my own beating heart, near the stairs that led up to the attic of the Inn. The book before me was frayed at the edges, its brown cover worn with age. It was one I'd read countless times, yet never grew tired of: The Pirate and the Prince.
The tale told of a young prince and a pirate, a decade his senior, and the bond they forged as they braved a wild storm, narrowly evaded their enemies, and sought the treasure both had sacrificed so much to find.
My grandfather read me the story for the first time when I was seven. His eyes lit up as he spoke, and I could tell it was one he cherished. It was the first story I ever truly fell in love with.
Sometimes, I imagined myself as the prince: wanting the treasure as much as the pirate, but moving towards it with quieter steps. The pirate, of course, went about things with a brash flair, dramatics always in tow.
And, though I'd never admit it out loud, I also had a bit of a crush on the pirate.
I ran my finger along the book's spine. At the sound of glass shattering, my head shot up. My eyes followed the commotion and landed on two figures in the middle of a spat. The shorter man stood fuming, a shard of glass clenched in his fist, the rest scattered at his feet. The other wore a smug smirk.
"I'll kill ya! I swear it! If you so much as look—"
"That's enough!" A woman with silver streaks in her chestnut hair stepped between them, her tattered dress swaying as glass crunched under her boots. Hands raised, she fixed them with a sharp glare. "There will be no brawls or yelling, or killing, in my Inn, you hear?"
The shorter man dropped the shard and wiped his palm on his tunic. "Yes, of course, Tabitha. Terribly sorry."
The innkeeper, turned her narrowed gaze to the other. I watched his throat bob as he pushed dirty-blond hair from his eyes. He was younger than his opponent, though looked to be older than me. "My deepest apologies, Tabitha. It will not happen again."
She exhaled heavily and gestured for a man behind the bar to sweep up the glass.
A huffed sound came from behind me. I turned to see a woman packing a lute into a satchel. She gave me a kind smile.
"Well, at least my part here is done." Her light-blue eyes slid to mine. "I've seen you here before, but I don't believe I know your name."
She settled into the seat beside me, reclining with her elbows propped on the table. "I'm Lia." She offered her hand.
I took it, carefully. "Clover." My voice came out smaller than I meant.
"Clover," she repeated. "Lovely. What are you reading?" Her gaze fell to my book. I cleared my throat, ready to answer, but she spoke first.
"I hear August is playing tonight, if you happen to stick around."
My blank expression must have given me away, because she added, "He's a traveling bard from Everspire. He sings beautifully, some even call him the finest in all Egrusha."
Her cheeks warmed as she spoke of him.
"You know him?" I asked.
"Oh, not really," Lia chuckled. "I've only seen him perform a handful of times." Her voice softened as she fiddled with the strap of her satchel.
Cheers swelled as another bard began to play. I knew it was not the man Lia had mentioned. His voice was pleasant, but hardly the most beautiful in all of Egrusha. Still, he played a fine lute.
"Do you like music, Clover? Play any instruments? Sing?" Lia's eyes sparked with interest as she awaited my answer.
"I enjoy it, though I am not gifted with it. I play no instruments, and one would surely prefer the banging of pots and pans over hearing me attempt a song."
Lia stifled a laugh. "Surely you cannot be that bad." Her eyes flicked over me, studying my face, then trailing down to my dull skirt and worn boots.
"Well, I'm certainly not good."
I took that moment to subtly study Lia in return. She looked close to my age, her long blonde curls were piled atop her head, freckles scattered across her pretty features. The dress she wore was a deep shade of blue that complimented her eyes.
"Are you from Trista?" I asked Lia.
"Zinnia's Crossing, near Rosewood Lake. I've passed through Trista a few times before. My pockets have seen better days, but the atmosphere is nice, so I'm not complaining," she said with a smile.
Trista was far from a wealthy city. Modest in size, it was better known for the land around it, some of the finest hunting grounds one could find. Many traveled to Trista solely for its woods. Beyond what it had to offer, though, Trista was home. And a home I had learned to appreciate.
As the evening carried on, patrons began to settle, and a comfortable silence hovered in the air. I had not frequented taverns until recently, but I found I enjoyed the atmosphere of people gathered together, sharing company and music, even if I was usually tucked away in a corner, sober as a child.
Lia had drifted to another part of the tavern, chatting with other patrons. I sat up from my slouch and stretched my legs just as the liveliness from earlier in the evening returned.
The doorbell chimed, and it seemed every head turned at once to watch the figure step through the threshold. People gathered quickly, forming a crowd around the man who I assumed could only be the famed bard Lia had spoken of as he made his way to the center of the room. I could barely see over the huddle of bodies, my lack of height doing me no favors.
I made no move to join them.
Instead I turned back to my book, ready to pick up where I had left off, when the most mellifluous voice broke through the air. The book hovered in my lap, forgotten, as my eyes shot to the crowd, which parted just enough for me to catch a glimpse of him.
My breath caught in my throat.
His eyes, a deep green, lifted from the harp and skimmed over the awe-struck patrons. A playful smirk tugged at his lips, carrying the confidence of someone who knew the room was his. The air around him seemed to hum, alive with the easy magnetism of a born performer.
I averted my gaze before his could find mine and sank deeper into my corner.
I kept my eyes lowered, though my ears stayed open as he played and sang. His talent was undeniable, yet it was clear the crowd hadn't gathered for his voice alone. I noticed the way women leaned forward, partners forgotten, drawn to him as though he were a magnet. Even Lia was among them.
Despite myself, my eyes lifted just in time to see one woman lean close, her hand brushing his shoulder, her gaze dreamy. All this over one man, honestly, it was ridiculous.
I scoffed.
My face heated as heads turned my way, narrowed eyes pinning me. His eyes among them. Only his were not narrowed. Not in the slightest. He looked at me, eyes wide, and winked.
My face burned hotter.
I tore my gaze from his, focusing instead on the bell above the door. I bit the inside of my cheek, a poor habit. Soon enough, the others' attention returned to him. I prayed his had as well. Quicker than lightning, I dropped my eyes to my lap.
Moments passed before his song slowed, his harp carrying a softer tune. Admirers still circled him, but the atmosphere settled. Some drifted back to their drinks, others resumed conversation. Lia slipped back into the corner beside me, a bright smile on her face.
"Isn't he marvelous?"
"He's... tolerable," I muttered.
Her head tilted, though her smile only grew. "You don't like him?"
I held my breath. "He seems a little... I don't know, full of himself." I kept my words hushed, though I doubted anyone paid me much mind.
Lia chuckled under her breath. "He noticed you."
"I'm sure he notices plenty," I said, nodding at the women gathered around him like moths circling a lantern.
Lia grinned. "Can you blame them?"
I did not respond, instead steering the conversation elsewhere. "You're a bard, right? What's it like?"
Lia's smile softened. "Busy. Enthusiasm carries you far, but so does the act itself. The better you can pretend, the more people notice. It's fun, of course, but it's also hard to become... something."
"What about you, Clover? What do you do?"
A question I did not quite know how to answer. My work was a far cry from impressive. Assisting Mr. Graff with his farm chores paid enough to get by, but it was nothing worth boasting about, especially when my duties included collecting cow manure.
"Nothing interesting."
"Oh, surely you must have a hobby. What do you enjoy most?"
I glanced at my book. "Reading, I suppose."
Lia pursed her lips. "I can see that. You've been holding that book like a coin purse."
I clutched it tighter. "This one's my favorite. I've loved it for years." With a wistful sigh, I slipped the book into my bag.
"It's good to have something you love," Lia said, a teasing lilt in her voice. "Mine is music, and yours is stories. Maybe we should duet? You tell the tale, and I'll play the tune to set the mood."
I grinned. "That sounds suspiciously like a proposal."
She chuckled. "And if it were, would you say yes?"
Before I could answer, the barkeep approached. "Anything I can serve you ladies?" she asked with a smile.
I glanced at Lia, who glanced at me. "Nothing for me," I said quickly.
"A bottle of wine, please," Lia chimed, sitting a little taller.
"I'll have that right out."
I turned to Lia, brows raised. "A whole bottle?"
She nodded, lips quirking. "Do you not want to share?"
"I... don't drink."
"Have you ever?"
I shook my head.
"Oh, come now. One sip never hurt anyone. Just don't drink too much, or you'll be cursing me in the morning."
I hesitated. My Aunt Bea's warnings echoed in my head. Wine, ale, anything that could make the world spin was forbidden. But Lia's eyes sparkled with mischief, and the thought of refusing her felt strangely heavy. One sip, I reasoned, could not possibly bring ruin.
"...Maybe just a little," I murmured at last.
Lia lit up. "Wonderful! Gods, listen to me. I sound like a dreadful influence. Oh, Clover, promise me you don't think I'm trying to turn you into a drunk."
I gave a small, reluctant smile and waved my hand. "It does not hurt to try."
Little did I know, I would regret that later.
As the night wore on, the proud bard and his infuriatingly beautiful voice slipped from my thoughts. My head swam with the touch of sweet liquor, and two young men had joined us, spinning tall tales of their so-called adventures while Lia and I did our best to look amused. For the first time, I almost felt like a proper tavern patron.
"...and there I was," said the taller of the two, slamming his fist on the table for effect, "face to face with a wolf the size of a horse. I tell you, it took three of us to bring the beast down!"
"Three?" Lia arched a brow, lips twitching as though she were trying not to laugh. "Funny, a moment ago you said it was only you."
The young man flushed but pressed on. "Well, yes, I delivered the killing blow. The others only softened it up."
The other one, red-haired and grinning, leaned closer to me. "Don't let him fool you. He once got chased up a tree by a goat."
Lia yawned beside me. The men's eyes went wide, and she covered her mouth quickly, feigning surprise. "Oh, excuse me. I must be tired. Please, carry on."
I stifled my laughter. "Yes, do go on," I echoed, nearly choking on the words.
The red-haired one smiled at me, which only made it harder not to burst out laughing. Lia must have felt me shaking beside her. While the men rambled on, her gaze slipped toward the tavern's center. I followed it, finding the bard with his harp, weaving an upbeat song while tankards swung high. Patrons sang along with flushed faces and slurred joy.
Suddenly, Lia stood and caught my hand. "Come on, let's join the fun."
The men did not seem too wounded when I shrugged. "Perhaps another time."
Lia all but dragged me through the crowd, stopping entirely too close to the bard.
I looked at him without the slightest admiration.
"You are practically glaring," Lia whispered, nudging me.
I was ready to deny it until he looked back at me. His eyes widened, as they had before, and he smiled, warmly and annoyingly.
August stood, setting his harp gently on the chair behind him. "Shall we dance?" he called to the room, his voice carrying easily over the din.
Cheers erupted. Lia's fingers tightened around mine.
She then yanked my hand, as if ringing a bell. I shot her a look, but her attention was fixed on him. His hand was outstretched, toward me.
Before I could protest, Lia shoved my hand into his.
August adjusted his grip, wrapping his hand around mine gently. He beamed at me. His soft brown hair curled beneath his ears, giving him a boyish look. Without hesitation, he swept me into a playful sway. I stumbled, never one for dancing, but August didn't seem to care. He twirled me easily, his hand brushing lightly over my back.
I look ridiculous, I thought.
The music quickened, and August pulled me into a livelier step. I stumbled again, stepping on his foot. A giggle escaped before I could stop it.
Now I was starting to enjoy myself.
August seemed to enjoy it too. If anything, he leaned into it. "Who do I have the pleasure of toe-stepping with?" he teased.
"Humorous," I said flatly, then added, "Why? Looking for another name to add to your list of admirers?"
He smirked. "Are you calling yourself an admirer?"
I scoffed. "Hardly."
"Ah, Hardly." He tipped his head in formality. "Lovely to meet you. My name's August. But you already knew that, being an admirer of mine."
I stared at him, bewildered. Before I could retort, Lia's voice rang out. "Whoo, go Clover!"
August's grin widened at his newfound information. "Clover," he drawled, the name rolling off his tongue like honey. "This must be the most excitement you've had all night. You're practically glowing."
"Oh please," I shot back, crossing my arms. "The only thing glowing here is your ego."
August laughed. "Well, at least one of us is shining tonight," he said with a wink. "Can't have you stealing all the attention."
I took a wobbly step back, clutching my head, and made a mental note to pace myself the next time I drank wine. If I ever drank again, that is.
A firm hand settled on my arm. "You alright?"
I waved him off. "I'm fine."
He didn't remove his hand, guiding me instead toward a chair.
"Really, I'm fine," I lied. My head was pounding. And I thought the headache wasn't supposed to come until morning.
August crouched in front of me, his eyes level with mine. "Looking a bit lost, Clover." A smile tugged at his lips. I struggled to pull away from his gaze.
"Will you be alright?" he asked again, voice softened with concern.
I waved him off again, accidentally brushing his shoulder. "Of course. Don't worry yourself with me. Don't you have patrons to entertain, August?"
He didn't look convinced, but he didn't press. "You should wait here for your friend."
And then he stood, returned to his harp, and filled the tavern with music once again.
I sat, dazed, while the melody wrapped around the room. Somewhere, I heard Lia's voice, but from my seat I couldn't quite pin her down.
The room felt hazy, as though the edges of reality were fraying. Tankards clinked, laughter spilled over, and yet all of it seemed muffled, filtered through the song that held me captive.
Time dragged sluggishly. Minutes, or maybe hours, passed. I didn't know why I remained seated. Perhaps it was stubbornness. Perhaps it was my headache, insisting I stay still, forbidding me to rise. My limbs felt leaden, my thoughts muddled, and yet the music carried on, relentless and hypnotic.
Then out of the corner of my vision, I caught a flurry of movement.
"Hey! My pocket watch!"
A voice, rich and deep, boomed through the tavern, breaking my daze. I turned my head, eyes landing on an older man who looked to be some sort of noble. He wore fancy garb, his dark beard trimmed neatly, and a pair of spectacles perched on a crooked nose.
Two guards pushed off the wall and stepped forward, boots thudding against the wooden floor. And then, just as suddenly, August appeared behind me.
"Feeling any better, my friend?"
I huffed. "We're not friends."
August leaned close. "If you say so, my sweet admirer."
Before anything could slip from my tongue, he was gone. I crossed my arms and slouched deeper into my seat, just as a small object slipped from my bag.
My eyes widened. A pocket watch. A very expensive-looking pocket watch.
Blast.
"Thief!" someone drunkenly cried out. "She stole it! She has the pocket watch!"
In an instant, I was alert. I jolted at the attention crashing down on me, clutching the chair for balance.
"Now, I don't know how that got there," I stammered as the guards slowly stalked toward me.
Frantically, I searched for Lia. I spotted her at the bar, jaw slack.
I panicked, palms slick with sweat. Certainly they couldn't believe I'd stolen this. Someone must have planted it. Someone–
A heavy hand landed on my shoulder. I flinched, sure it was a guard.
But no, it was that damned bard, towering over me with an easy smile.
"Surely this must be a misunderstanding," he started confidently. "This young lady couldn't have stolen the watch. She's sat right in this very spot for God knows how long. I swear it."
I shot him a look. "You've been watching me?"
"Don't let it get to your head," he retorted.
The noble stepped forward, face red with fury. "You dare defend the thief! Why, you must be her accomplice!"
August's fingers tapped lightly against my shoulder, like piano keys. "Ah, a bit far-fetched a conclusion, don't you think?"
The man went from red to crimson. "Guards, arrest those two at once!"
Panic clawed back up my throat. What was he doing?
August's hand pressed against my back, urging me forward. "We should go," he said hurriedly.
I stumbled, nearly tripping as he laced his hand with mine and pulled me into the fray. Patrons gasped and shuffled aside as we weaved through them. A few reached out, but August was too quick. I barely kept my footing as he yanked us up the attic stairs.
He pushed open the door and hauled himself through. My vision swam, the world tilting and swaying, but I followed, gripping the ceiling beams for balance.
"Quick, up here," he whispered, offering his arms.
I latched on without hesitation, letting him pull me through. Once I landed on the creaking floorboards of the attic, he slammed the door shut behind us. The dimness pressed close, swallowing us in shadows.
"Over here," August muttered, crouching by a boarded-up window, prying at the planks with steady hands.
The latch clicked, and the door began to give. My trembling hand fell against his back, the warmth grounding me. All the liquor drained from my system in an instant, leaving only adrenaline and panic.
"C'mon, after me," he grunted, shoving his head through the window. Somehow, he squeezed his broad frame through the narrow opening.
I followed, sliding out with as much grace as I could muster, but my heart hammered in my chest as I teetered on the roof, every shingle threatening to betray me.
"Jump!" August's voice rang from below.
A gauntleted hand shot through the window behind me.
I froze, legs quaking.
"Clover! You have to jump!" August's voice cut through my fear, urgent and commanding.
I bit my tongue, inching forward, each movement a careful negotiation with gravity. The guards shoved at the window. I dared a glance back, and my foot slipped.
I prepared to crash, but instead, felt a pair of strong arms wrap around me.
Before my feet could touch the ground, August shifted, sliding an arm beneath my knees and sprinting forward. My arms clung to him, weak and trembling like jelly, heart hammering in my throat.
I glanced over his shoulder. Three, no, four, guards stormed after us.
Blast! How had I become a criminal?
August barreled into a ditch, sliding down into the woods behind the inn. Branches whipped past as he carried me, panting hard. Guilt pricked at me. I was no help. Then again, I was drunk, so perhaps excused.
At last, he crouched behind a boulder, setting me gently beside him. A finger pressed to his lips.
The woods hushed. Then came the crunch of leaves.
Not heavy enough for a guard.
I peeked over the rock, squinting. A doe. Just a doe.
August tugged me back down. "Let's move. Stay quiet."
Still crouched, he grabbed my hand and pulled me deeper into the dark.
Once we were far enough out, silence trailing after our steps, I asked, "Why are you helping me escape?"
August didn't slow. We walked side by side now, hands no longer linked. "Why not? It wouldn't be very gentlemanly of me to just stand there and gawk at you."
"I'm sure you were worried about being a gentleman."
"And I'm sure you had that handled."
"I didn't need your help. I'm not a thief!"
I stopped, feet rooted to the earth. August kept his back to me and pressed forward.
"Maybe not, but you are an accomplice to one."
It took a solid moment for the words to sink in.
"It was you who planted the pocket watch! You stole it! You slipped it into my bag!"
And only then did I realize the bag was no longer on me. I had left it back at the inn.
Frustration swelled hot in my chest. My fists balled tight.
"Keep your voice down, mouse. You'll give us away with all your squeaking."
"You idiot!" I shouted, shoving him with all the strength I had, not that it made him move much. "I left my bag back there! All my silver, my book, everything! Now it's probably gone for good, thanks to some arrogant, greedy thief who just had to drag me into this!"
I exhaled hard, chest pounding.
"They'll likely discover your name, track down a relative, and return the bag," August said coolly. "Or... they may hold onto it, hoping you'll come back for it. If all it held was some silver and a book, they might just pocket the coin and toss the rest."
My teeth ground together.
"You will get my book back," I snapped. "You dragged me into this, so you're going to steal it from those blasted guards and return it to me."
"Oh, so now you want me to steal? And here I was beginning to believe you weren't a thief, mouse?"
I froze, stuck on his words. At this point, I was only pulling myself deeper into this troubling scheme with him. I should run. Leave him to be found out, return home, and flee Trista altogether. Yes, a sensible plan.
But this mess, I wasn't even sure I had reason to run from. The worst of it would be to turn myself in and accept whatever fate awaited me.
"What's with the mouse name?" The question slipped out before I could stop it. I didn't care what he called me. Or at least, I told myself I didn't.
August didn't answer. He only turned and kept walking, the woods swallowing his silence.