Page 77 of Nocturn

A sharp ringing of a bell began.

“What is that?” I asked. It scratched at the surface of a memory . . .

Unsurprisingly, Lord Draven did not give an answer, but the mystery was solved as Abrax trotted into a village.

Brick shops began, opening onto a park with lush grass and a cobbled pathway perfect for a stroll. A bit further, the dirt path split into a four way intersection.

A young boy cycled past, one hand pumping to cause the ringing from the bell in hand.

“Curfew!” he shouted, sounding the bell to ensure everyone was within walls.

A Ringer.

Hollows could not cross into a home with protection, and lingering outside was challenging the Saints with your life.

The spindly creatures, with knobby joints wherever they bent, were a true terror outside of the Kingdom.

Straw-covered shacks came into view far off ahead of us, and dusklight haloed around more structures. Abrax took the turn and Lord Draven tugged the reins, guiding him to a well-built structure made of wood paneling and stone materials. Horses were being guided by a stable hand into the barn behind the structure.

Lord Draven dismounted.

East End Inn was scrawled across the board above the entrance.

“What are we doing here?”

Instead of answering, he reached up, gripped my waist, and hoisted me off with ease.

“Staying for the night.”

He grabbed the pack strapped to the side of Abrax and pushed it to me. I hugged the leather material to my chest and followed him.

The door swung open to an older man with thin features and pale skin that marked those with Eastern Sycarious ancestry.

He lowered his head to enter through the door. Nothing outside the Kingdom of Sycarious fit his big form.

“My lord,” the innkeeper bowed his head. “We are pleased to host you again.” His smile was too toothy. “Any special requests?”

Lord Draven grunted. “Bring a meal to my chamber.”

“Would you care to sample blood from our new wench?” He waved a young girl over; her gown was especially tight at the bosom. She kept eyeing Lord Draven from under her lashes.

The coy look on her face swelled the urge to stand before him—as if I could block him from her lustful gaze.

“A mortal meal,” he clarified.

“Ah.” The innkeeper’s gaze flicked to me. “Yes, Your Highness. After you are situated, could you hear some of the grievances from the villagers? There are some issues we have been sending to the council and have yet to hear any news of when we are to bring our petition about the increased Hollow attacks to Sycarious Court. Of course, only if you are able.” He bowed so low it looked painful.

The corners of Lord Draven’s eyes pinched almost imperceptibly, and he worked his jaw.

“I will return once I have situated my mortal.”

“Thank you, Your Highness. Thank you,” he wheedled. “I will escort you to our best chamber. The one you have enjoyed plenty of times.”

The innkeeper continued talking despite Lord Draven’s obvious disinterest.

I jolted forward to follow him, the words echoing. His mortal. The manner it rolled off his tongue re-emerged the nervous flutters—foolishly.

I ascended the wide staircase behind Lord Draven while he kept having to duck his head.