The Broken

The Broken • Chapter 6 • part 5

Oan shared the house next door with his Uncle Jarleth, as he had always done, and not so long ago his sister Lori also. There had been other guests over the years but now it was just Oan and Jarleth, and Meghan of course, his nursemaid since childhood.
    It was Meghan who greeted the two of them as they crossed over into the other house. A large woman, more wide than tall, with stern hazel eyes and dark grey hair pulled back into a bun at the back of her head. To everyone else she was unyielding and tough, but she was always happy to see Oan.
    It did not seem so today, however. Her usually jolly face was a picture of surprise when she saw Alon leading him in through the doorway, her startled look quickly replaced by as near a scowl as Oan had ever seen.
    “Is everyone so happy to see me?” Oan moaned before she could speak. “I was asked Meg—no, told to come back to town.” Her look did not improve. “Told, ok? So it’s not my fault.” He sighed loudly. “I wish I’d stayed at the brothel,” he whispered softly to himself.
    Alon laughed loudly, drawing Meghan’s deadly glare, the smith however had the good sense to look sheepish as her attention returned to Oan.
    “Told?” She finally repeated after a moment. “By that old fool Ebon no doubt. What was he thinking?” Oan dropped his eyes and shifted around uncomfortably where he stood, experience telling him that she needed no reply. Her eyes rested on Alon for a moment and a guarded look was exchanged that almost escaped Oan’s attention.
    “Well, nothing to be done for it now I suppose,” she continued much more calmly. “Have you eaten today?” The jolly face was back and her cheeks as rosy as ever as she smiled at him.
    “Ah…no ma’am I have not,” Alon was the one who answered, the grin he added to it disappearing as she frowned at him.
    Oan shook his head also. He hadn’t really eaten a proper meal, he thought to himself, his tongue worrying at a piece of mutton stuck in a tooth.
    “I guess I can fix the two of you something. I need to go to the market but later is as good a time as any I guess. Porridge ok?” They both nodded. “Good. Those two good-for-nothing helpers of yours went off without having any breakfast this morning, so I’ve plenty left.” Letting the apron fall from her hands she started down the stairs towards the kitchen.
    “Well, I can help you out at the market if you like,” Oan offered as they followed her.
    “No, no.” She replied cheerily over her shoulder to him. “I’ll manage just fine, and besides, Alon might need you to help him.”
    “Aye, that I will. I’m certain that Bryin had some work for us to do.” He winked at Oan motioning with his hand like he was drinking. “Especially with the others down at the docks and Jeb gone home.”
    “The docks were mad this morning!” Oan blurted out without thinking, forgetting his own earlier promise to keep quiet about it. “Ships have arrived and there are people everywhere. I’ve never seen so many. Royalty as well.’
    Alon stopped at the bottom of the stairs, halting Oan with an enormous callused hand.
    “How long were you down there?” Alon asked him, a serious look on his face. “Did you see anyone?”
    “I wasn’t really there long enough to see anyone,” Oan replied with a shrug. “Besides, who’s anyone? I know that Quillan is back, but I didn’t see him. Just the ‘gull. And the King rolled by in his carriage, but that only took a minute or so.”
    Alon was silent for a moment before the smile returned. He patted Oan on the back. “The King? That man is no king. Though the town is sure to be lively for a few days. Not to worry,” he said almost happily. “Let’s eat!”

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The Broken • Chapter 6 • part 4

The young man working the bellows looked up, saw Oan standing there watching and with no expression on his face murmured something to the other man.
    Straightening from his work the blacksmith plunged the red-hot metal into a nearby barrel of water, steam rising with a hiss as he turned around. Closer to seven feet tall than six, the man’s head barely cleared the low ceiling, his normally pale blonde hair dark and slick with sweat, plastered to his forehead alongside a thick white scar that ran just above his right eye. Another scar, almost like a splash of milk, discoloured one whole side of his neck.
    “Morning Alon,” Oan said in greeting. “Afternoon, I should say.” He coughed into his fist, “Damn smoke. How’s things anyway?”
    “What are you doing back here you great lummox?” he boomed as he walked towards him. “You’re supposed to be up at old Ebon’s!” Oan stepped back under the blue-eyed glare. “Jarleth will skin you alive!”
    “Nice to see you too, Alon!” Oan muttered with a shake of his head. “Ebon sent me packing last night if you must know…told me I was to head for town. Convinced me to leave right there and then, in the middle of the night, if you can you believe it. So if you want to yell at someone, try him.” He knew his tone was short but he was irritated by Alon’s reaction. “Oh and, by the way, he just happened to mention something about a tourney. Perhaps you failed to mention it when last I saw you?”
    “What’s that old fool playing at,” Alon grumbled, his forehead creasing as it always did when the man was confused. He chewed at his bottom lip—another sign—for a moment longer before he spoke again.
    “Jeb!” he yelled even though the younger man stood right behind him. Hitching his apron off over his head he hung it on a peg. “Finish things up here for me and then take the rest of the day off. Tourney starts tomorrow so I may be needing you at some point in the next few days.” Jeb looked at him quizzically. “Well, go on!” Alon spurred him into action with a wave of his hands.
    “Tourney starts tomorrow?” Oan said, surprised. “Ebon told me it was today.”
    “Who knows what he was thinking,” Alon shrugged walking over to some barrels that lay against the wall. “I still want to know why he sent you back here.” He cupped his hands and drank a mouthful from the nearest barrel. “Blah!” He spluttered. “That’ll be the salted one!” Oan watched as he proceeded to dunk his head and half his torso into the barrel next to it. Water sloshed heavily onto the floor as he squeezed his giant frame into it, spraying it further into the air as he flung himself out with a gasp and coming dangerously close to splitting his head on the thick wooden beam above him.
    Picking up a shirt that lay nearby Alon sniffed at it carefully, wrinkling his nose slightly before pulling it over his head. “Right!” he said loudly, running his hair back from his forehead with a sooty hand. “We’ll have to go see if he’s about. He’ll definitely want to know that you’re back I’m guessing.”
    “Who?” Oan asked, tilting his head up as the man approached him.
    “‘Who’ he says!” Alon scoffed. “Jarleth of course.” Gripping him behind the neck with a huge hand, firmly pushing him towards the other doorway.
    “I thought he was in Mira Atoll?” Oan said, surprised as they headed further into the house.
    “He was. But now he’s back,” Alon replied. “Well, he should be anyway. Tell me…” he carried on as they began climbing the stairs to the second floor. “If you left old Ebon’s last night…on horse mind…then how come you only turn up here nearing halfday?”
    Oan felt his cheeks warming as the big man’s face broke into a wide grin.
    “Well…” Oan began, not really knowing what to say.
    “Don’t tell me. You went to see that girlie of yours first didn’t you?” He laughed. “Can’t say that I blame you after been up in them mountains with that old windbag and all for the past while.” He chuckled, the puckered scar on his forehead standing out white and prominent against his heat flushed face. Although well into his thirties, the giant blacksmith seemed much younger to Oan. Laughter especially seemed to melt the years from him.
    “Seems like I made a good choice as well,” Oan replied. “Better Kacea’s face greeting me after a week in the mountains than that ugly one of yours!”
    “Yeah…her face,” Alon agreed dubiously as they reached the upper floor.
    Although they were two separate buildings, the smithy and the house next door were in fact joined by a small door and corridor on the first floor. It had always been there as far as Oan knew, a bridge between the two houses. Jeb, who had only been apprenticed a few years ago, had only recently taken up residence but he hardly ever slept on the premises. Grady and Finn, the other helpers, spent nearly all of their time in their rooms or across at Bryin’s Inn. About the same age as Alon, the three of them lived in a jumble of rooms above the smithy. The two “journeymen”—as they preferred to be called, much to everyone’s amusement, for reasons Oan could not fathom—had been at the smithy ever since Oan could remember.

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The Broken • Chapter 6 • part 3

It was not much of a ride to where Oan lived, little more than a series of narrow lanes, the odd turn here and there in the back alleys of the Merchant’s Quarter then on into the area of Glaswater he called home. The buildings began to change with the transition in wealth, becoming more tightly packed, upper storeys looming over increasingly narrow and muddy streets. The projecting sections gave the laneways a confined, hemmed-in feel and even with the sun full in the sky, little light penetrated to ground level and the hard packed dirt was nearly always wet.
    After about ten minutes of weaving, Oan finally eased Thunder to a halt outside the fairly ordinary looking house where he had grown up. Smoke-stained wood and crumbling daub like nearly every other building in the street, being hard up against a smithy was the only thing that set it apart.
    Almost directly opposite was the Glaswater Inn, smoke
spewing from a scattering of fluted chimneys on its slate rooftop, a faded sign bearing its name swinging casually above the nearest door. The width of two houses, Oan suspected it had once been just that.
    He smacked his lips together at the thought of a frothy mug of ale but it was still early and at the last instant he changed his mind and decided to stop in at home first.
    Cutting down alongside the smithy was a tight alley that led to a yard at the back of the forge. Oan dismounted and led Thunder around, stabling him in one of three empty stalls that butted against the high unmortared wall separating it from the house behind. The bay was restless as he took the saddle from its back, snorting and shifting as he relieved the animal of all its accoutrements. No doubt all the stopping and starting, journeying from one stable to another had the animal agitated. He placed the saddle across one of the low stone walls that divided the empty stalls.
    “Sorry boy,” he said to the disgruntled animal, “I promise I’ll leave you be now.” Oan rapped him firmly on the neck, closed the stall gate and headed inside.
    A rush of warmth greeted him as he entered the smithy. The smell of charcoal lay heavily within smoke, the hearth the only thing breaking the darkness with its intense orange glow.
    Two men worked around the shimmering coals. One, hardly older than Oan with closely cut brown hair and matching stubble, pumped the bellows whilst the other man wielded a hammer against a glowing rod of metal. The metal was held steady on the anvil by long pincers and sparks burst into the air with each measured blow of the hammer, spraying like fireflies into the dark around them.

The Broken • Chapter 6 • part 2

Scooping up the bread and cheese and, as fortune would have it, a cold leg of mutton from the storeroom—half-eaten but looking nice enough—Oan hurried out the small door that led to the narrow alley that ran alongside the neighbouring house.
    He tore into the mutton leg as he walked, it was a little dry and tough but welcomed by his stomach all the same. He ambled round to the stables, stuffing his mouth with bread, then cheese, then mutton and then repeating the order till all he had left was the mutton leg.
    Ban was already saddling his horse when he got there.
    “Hey Ban,” he called out to him, his mouth full of mutton, “careful of that one…he’s a biter!” The boy turned towards him, Oan proffering the mutton as he neared him.
    “No thanks, already eaten twice today,” the boy said, jumping back as Thunder snapped at him. “Besides, you probably need it more than me.” He rapped the horse gently on the nose, a grin on his face.
    Oan shot him a look as he walked over to a large barrel filled with water. He should have taken a mug of ale from the kitchen, but he hardly fancied going back and risking Malvin’s wrath. Scooping a handful of water from the barrel he slurped it down, following it up immediately with two more before the rank taste of it got to him.
    “Horses have been drinking from that,” Ban called out. Oan shrugged and the boy, detecting the nonchalance, added. “And I took a piss in it as well!”
    Oan walked over to the boy standing with a cheeky smirk on his face.
    “I’d be careful with a mouth like that,” Oan warned him. “You’re asking for the back of someone’s hand.” The boy didn’t appear bothered. “But, as it turns out, I like horses and if you managed to lift your piss up high enough to get it in that barrel, especially without Verica seeing you, well…I congratulate you.”
    “Gear’s all on the horse,” Ban told him straightening it back down. “And some of it cleaner than when you came in I might add.” The small boy shook his grubby face. “Beats me why they look after you here…never see no coin from you do they?”
    Oan handed him the mutton bone in exchange for the reins. Ban looked at it briefly with distaste before launching it over Oan’s head towards the back of the house. It struck the open door with a loud rap of bone on wood and bounced inside.
    “Nice throw,” Oan nodded approvingly before swinging up into the saddle. “I help out when it’s needed,” he added. Ban looked at him dubiously as he moved to open the gate. Mischievous little bugger. Oan looked back at the house as he waited for him, his face pricking up into a smile as he spied Kacea waving at him from her window. He waved back to her but cut it off immediately as he noticed someone standing at the back door; Verica, one hand on her hip the other holding the mutton bone between thumb and forefinger.
    “Thanks Ban!” Oan muttered sourly, whipping his head back round. “Now let me out of here before she gelds me!”
    Ban snickered as he lifted the latch and swung the gate open. Oan threw a wave back in the direction of the house for whoever was watching and not looking for any reply he nudged Thunder into the alleyway. Reaching into his pouch he fished out a coin and tossed it at Ban, the boy snatching it from the air before gripping it between his teeth.
    “It’s real!” Oan laughed, “you cheeky little arse!”
    Ban just shrugged like it was common practice and closed the gate behind him.

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The Broken • Chapter 6 • part 1

Oan’s stomach rumbled with enthusiasm as he glided down the stairway inside the House of the Rose. His rush to see Kacea that morning had somewhat suppressed his appetite, but now his mouth watered at his stomach’s proposal.
    The kitchen was tucked away at the back end of the house and, although relatively basic, they were still larger than any household kitchen Oan had ever seen. It was bustling with activity as he strolled in, the head of the kitchen, Malvin, a bald sickly looking man with drooping eyes and a short, bristly moustache was busy yelling at one of the kitchen helpers while the others rushed about their duties, cowering to avoid his attention.
    The spiky hair on his upper lip seemed to be bristling more than usual today, Oan noticed, the cook’s bony arms waving madly in the air, great flaps of skin hanging from each elbow quivered as he yelled out instructions in his nasally voice. Oan feared for the man’s wiry frame, all loose skin and jowls, animated almost to the point of losing control.
    Having scattered his helpers, the last scurrying off sweaty and red-faced, Malvin turned, dabbing at his own sweaty brow with the dirty apron strapped tightly about his waist. His face twitched when he caught sight of Oan and let his apron fall. Oan had always thought the cook must have borrowed someone else’s skin, the man was only in his mid thirties after all, but Sepp had said that he was once the size of two men but had lost it all after some illness. Maybe that could explain it. Either way he did not look like a happy man.
    “Sorry,” Oan said warily, pretending not to have heard what the man had just snapped at him.
    Malvin gritted his teeth and exhaled loudly before he spoke again. “I asked you:” the drooping cook repeated, clearly trying not to yell, “what the hell you were doing in my kitchen?” His voice rose a few octaves towards the end. His beady bloodshot eyes reminded Oan of a mountain vulture, especially alongside that large hooked nose of his. “Well? I’m waiting.”
    “I was, ah, just after some food…if possible. I missed breakfast is all. Maybe some leftovers if there’s any?” He smiled.
    “Leftovers!” Malvin scoffed. “The last time you came in here you almost ate half of my stock!”
    “Mal, what do you expect? Your food is just so good!” Oan threw the lie back at him, hands held out defensively.
    “Save it!” the cook said sourly, “There’s some bread and cheese over there and maybe some of yesterday’s mutton if you’re lucky.” He waved his hands vaguely over to his right as he turned back to the bubbling stewpots and roared. “Wood!” A young lad of twelve came rushing in spilling logs with each clumsy step.
    “Thanks Mal,” Oan said, moving to a safe distance, eyes lighting up as he spied the aforementioned food.
    “Oh…and Oan,” the cook added turning back towards him, leaving the poor lad scrambling to pick up the wood, “it’s never a surprise to see you around, but if you ever, I mean ever, come in to my kitchen scrounging for food while I’m preparing a meal…well, let’s just say I’ll be making sure you lose something very important to your visits here.” The ingratiating smile he gave Oan made him shiver, the once fat cook turning his back and yelling loudly at the boy gathering the wood and for anyone else that was game to show their face.

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The Broken • Chapter 5 • part 8

By the time he had laced them up Kacea had finished and when he raised his head she was standing there watching him. She was utterly breathtaking; the clinging black of her dress was made of a fabric he didn’t recognise but it seemed to hug every curve.
    He straightened to look at her, all of a sudden she seemed to be even more alluring with her clothes on and Oan could feel himself stirring at the sight of her. Aware of the look on his face she laughed, a gentle husky sound mixed with the giggle of a girl.
    “There’s no time for that now!” she said rolling her eyes elaborately as she laughed. “Unfortunately. But if you come by late tonight…well,” she smiled wickedly, “I’m all yours.” Grabbing his head she brought it down to hers and kissed him passionately. “Now you must go or I’m sure Verica will have Sepp throw you out!”
    The door opened as she started to spin him around and a young girl of about eleven or twelve entered, a startled look leaping onto her lightly freckled face.
    “It’s okay Kaytie,” Kacea said to the young girl, her almond shaped eyes as brown as her dark hair, “he was just leaving.” The girl nodded quietly as Kacea pushed Oan towards the door, the young girl stepping aside as he was ferried past.
    Oan turned as he reached the door, stopping to look at Kacea who continued her struggle to push him. He held his ground with little effort, smiling at her all the while.
    “Come now Oan,” she said, her voice halfway between laughter and feigned exasperation. “Kaytie is here to help me get ready…I can’t keep her waiting.” She stopped pushing at him and put her hands on her hips, a dangerous look on her face. “And if you don’t go, then I might just have to call Sepp myself!”
    Oan grabbed her, almost roughly and pulled her towards him, kissing her firmly. She might have been about to speak but it was lost as he held her tightly, pressing his lips against hers. He drew back after a few moments, leaving her with a dazed expression, a smile soon creeping across her full lips.
    “Okay,” Oan said loudly, a sly grin on his face. “Now I’m going!” He turned smoothly and headed down the landing towards the stairway leaving Kacea standing in the doorway, a vacant smile on her face. It was not until Kaytie gently tapped her on the arm that she turned and went back into the room, her head twisting around to look at him one last time before he disappeared from view.

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The Broken • Chapter 5 • part 7

Oan pressed the door shut with a click and turned towards the bed. Kacea was seated on its edge, her fingers working at the mass of disheveled hair until she held it back behind her head with one hand. She rose gracefully, letting it all fall as she moved toward him, her naked body graceful and seductive, a slight curve of a smile working at the edge of her mouth and her green eyes bright as she swayed towards him.
    “What’s the matter?” She asked him, frowning slightly at the look on Oan’s face. “I can see you tonight…for a few hours,” she added trying to ease his troubled look. She leant up and kissed him, Oan let it linger briefly before pushing her away with both arms, his hands resting carefully on each shoulder as he spoke.
    “I don’t want you to work here anymore,” Oan blurted out, his blue-gray eyes locking with her green ones.
    She seemed taken aback at first, looking away briefly before composing herself, reaching up to gently stroke at his cheek with her hand.
    “I love you Oan. I do,” she said with a soft, sympathetic smile, “but this is my work. My job. Verica, she looks after me, all us girls, you know that. Besides what else would I do?” Oan tried to speak but she cut him off. “The money is good and only the very wealthy come here, not just anyone off the streets. I….I like it here.”
    “I’m sure you like it!” Oan replied, a little too vehemently, looking away at her alarm and biting at his lower lip. She reached up and turned his head back towards her, tenderly but firmly holding it until he would look at her.
    “It’s not that part I like Oan. That part is work. Nothing at all like when we’re together.” She smiled at him. “Now stop being silly. We can talk about it later. Right now, I need to get dressed.”
    She kissed him again before heading back across the room. Watching her move made Oan ached with longing. Almost trance-like he watched her and it was not until she was nearly dressed that he suddenly realised he was still naked and began to pull on his own freshly dried clothing. It took him no time at all to scramble into his clothes, noticing that even his muddy boots had been cleaned and given a light polish.

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The Broken • Chapter 5 • part 6

“You know there’s only you,” Oan whispered breathlessly, “…only you.” She smiled knowingly. “I was made to take a bath that’s all,” he added, gently grabbing her.
    “I guess I should be grateful for that,” Kacea laughed softly, tilting her head back as she slowly moved her body against his. Oan ran his hands gently across her goose-pimpled skin. Her head came forward, lustrous black hair cascading down as she forced her mouth upon his and all further talk was forgotten.
    It was sometime later when the sun was high in the sky that Oan stirred. Kacea lay against his chest, breathing softly as he twirled a piece of her long hair gently between his fingers. He breathed deeply, content. It felt good, her warm body pressed up against his own. Even if it had only been a week he still missed her and from all accounts she had certainly missed him. He had never seen her so passionate as he had that morning, and after a long night of travelling beforehand their lovemaking had left him exhausted. He lay there, almost unable to move, further sleep evading him as thoughts tumbled randomly through his head.
    Brushing the hair from her face he looked down at her and smiled; maybe he should think about taking her away from this place. She was a year older than him but maybe he could marry her and find her a job, maybe at the inn. Bryin was a good man and Oan knew she would be well looked after working for him. Oan reflected back to the very first time he had met her; if only he knew then what he did now, perhaps he could have changed things. A year and a half seemed like a lifetime ago but deep down he knew he could never have stopped her. By the time they had become close and Oan had discovered what she actually did at Verica’s it was too late. Too late for him; he would forgive her anything.
    A knock at the door broke him away from his thoughts, a gentle rap but enough to gain attention. He carefully rolled Kacea aside and she murmured sleepily as he reluctantly climbed out of bed and headed to the door. He opened it carefully, just enough to look out, the rest of the door covering his naked body.
    It was Verica, one eyebrow rising slightly at the sight of him, but her eyes immediately shifted past him and into the room beyond. She thrust his neatly folded clothes into his hands without looking, forcing the door open enough to make him jump.
    “Kacea?” she called past him. “Kacea, honey, some ships have come in this morning. Royalty. You know what that means. I’ll be needing you soon…you can bet on that!” She returned her gaze to Oan who stood anxiously behind the protection of the door. “And you my boy best be somewhere else.” She shook her head before turning and striding out of sight.

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The Broken • Chapter 5 • part 5

It seemed like an age before he had finished with his bath. His damp clothes had been taken away and replaced with an orange silk robe, kindly borrowed, much to his dislike, from one of the other girls. Not only was it was precariously small for his muscular body, his legs felt barely covered at all. He was certain he had seen other, less-feminine and certainly less revealing robes that the patrons would wear from time to time and from the smile his gentle inquiry received he knew it to be true. Brown-eyed Sara just giggled, her short russet-coloured hair whisking to and fro as she shook her head, a quick glance at his legs sending her into a fit of sniggering as she scurried off. He suspected Verica was behind it all, that and the rousing of the house. Everyone he happened to pass on his way from the bathhouse either smiled or made comment, but by the time he reached the door to Kacea’s room he was laughing just as hard; particular after Sepp had joked what a lordling would pay for someone as pretty as Oan.
    His amusement was cut short as he reached Kacea’s door. Allowing himself one final chuckle at what his friend Rowe would have thought seeing him standing there in that gaudy silk robe. He opened the door without knocking, gently pushing it open and slipping inside before closing it behind him with barely a sound.
    The room was dimly lit with the morning light that managed to peek its way beneath the heavy drapes, his eyes taking a few moments to adjust to the darkness. Dark patches clung to the corners of the room but soon he could make out Kacea’s shape asleep on the bed, the gentle curves of her body rising and falling beneath the covers that shielded her against the morning chill. The sound of her breathing, the smell of her room, the familiarity that her presence suddenly brought to him made Oan’s heart begin to race. He stood there for a moment absorbing it all before allowing his robe to slide to the floor.
    Kacea rolled over towards him as he slid in next to her. The weak light from outside highlighted the paleness of her skin; smooth as it brushed up against his own. Her long, raven-dark hair hung loosely against the pillows, a direct contrast to the stark white of the skin it lay across, curling its way around her neck and partially covering the soft curve of her breast. Oan’s body tingled as she pressed against him, his hand running down the smooth line of her hips as she looked at him in the semi-darkness. Those jade green eyes that melted him.
    “I heard you playing at swords with Ban,” she whispered as she drew herself against him. “But what kept you after that?” she added, almost purring, pressing her lips lightly against his own. “Were you visiting another before me?” Even in the diffused light he could see the pout of her rosebud lips as she drew back. She smiled teasingly as she rolled him onto his back, lifting her naked body onto him. She gasped as he entered her, Oan groaning as she pressed herself down onto him.

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The Broken • Chapter 5 • part 4

“Keen are we?” Sepp chortled, eventually moving back to allow Oan through. “You’d best be on your way to her then and I’ll stop me belly-aching.” He chuckled some more to himself, sniffing loudly as he turned and nosed his way in the direction of the kitchen. Oan watched the burly minder disappear down the hallway before hastily venturing further into the house.
    The opulence of the Rose nearly always made him gape. This morning however not even the massive vaulted ceilings of the entry room, nor the giant staircase with its polished intricately-carved oaken balustrade winding its way past gilded panels to the upper levels gave him pause.
    Oan made it halfway to the upper floor before he was halted by a sharp voice, cracking like a whip from below.
    “I hope you’ve washed yourself young man,” an elderly woman called out striding purposefully into view, her tone making it a statement more than a question.
    Oan groaned, staring skywards before reluctantly looking down.
    In her late forties, Verica was not unattractive. Wisps of white hair streaked through an otherwise abundance of long brown curls framed a face that was more handsome than it was beautiful.
    “Yes ma’am—I mean—no,” Oan stammered. “I just got back from the mountains. Seeing Ebon I was—I came straight here.”
    She frowned with obvious disapproval, clucking her tongue before she spoke. “That boorish old fellow,” she muttered shaking her head, “I thought that old rapscallion would be dead by now.”
    “No ma’am, nothing can kill him, not even old age.”
    “You might be right about that,” she agreed, a faint smile creeping onto the stony façade and disappearing just as quickly. “But you of all people should be aware that everyone must be clean before they see any of my girls.”
    “But Verica? You know who—”
    “I know,” she interrupted him, “that I allow, against my better judgment, one of my girls to have a lover.” Oan began to speak, his weak attempt further trampled as she continued. “But even he must abide by the rules of my house!”
    Oan groaned, turning and lowering his head as he descended miserably back the way he had come.
    “Very good, I’ll have Sara pour you a bath.”
    Oan, head hanging low, caught the little smile that momentarily twisted her lips.
    “Okay…” he mumbled. “Would you care to wash my back for me?”
    Verica held her stony glare for barely a few seconds before she laughed, much to his relief. It was a rich musical sound that carried around the vast room. “You have spent far too long with that old fool,” she said. “You’re just as incorrigible as he is!” Her features softened slightly. “But I guess I can see why Kacea likes you.”
    “You look very lovely this morning,” he said to her, taking the last few steps in one quick leap. “Considering what time it is.” His hands went to his hips as he landed lightly next to her, not unlike the acrobats he had seen in the town square. He grinned at her insolently.
    “Don’t try anymore of that sweet talk with me young man. Bath! Now!” And with that she was off, her long dress twirling at the bottom as she turned, leaving only a faint hint of lavender hanging in the air.

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