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The woman led us up a narrow stairway and down a dark hall, and her candle was the only light in the dark space.
Sarolf looked into the empty rooms we passed, their doors wide open.
“Not many travelers here today,” he remarked. The whole inn was indeed as silent as a graveyard. No rowdy drunks singing soldiers’ songs, no prostitutes moaning or laughing.
“Not many people with coin in these parts,” the woman countered. “There are more beggars than flies out here.”
“We must be close to the border,” I said.
The woman stopped and turned to look at me. Then she spat on the floor again. “You not from here, ja?”
I realized for the first time what a strong Northern accent she had, her words sharply spoken, the usage ofjainstead ofyes.
“Are we in the North already?” I asked.
Sarolf pressed a hand against my back and pushed me gently past the old woman. “Mein woman was raised in the South,” he said. “Food and water, ja?” He handed her several coins, her eyes widening at the sight of them. She used her one good tooth to bite on each, her grin suggesting she was pleased with the outcome.
“And lock the horses and trunk in the barn with the iron bar,” Sarolf said. “If I find anything missing, I’ll come back for my coin and more.”
“Iron bar?” I wondered. Sarolf kept pushing me toward the largest door of the hallway. He opened the door to a moldy room with a large wooden king bed and two wooden chairs on each side of it. With the usual dirty hay as a mattress, there also was a fireplace with wood stacked inside it.
The old woman walked up to the fireplace and started a fire with her candle.
“I told you, it’s the best room,” she said with pride in her voice. Henrike and I looked around, speechless. It was true that there was no rain leaking in, but the red curtains were covered in mold, and there were rat droppings everywhere.
“Real ebony, the bed. The master loved it so, he decided to meet the gods in it.”
“Oh God,” I gasped and froze just as I was about to sit on the edge of that very bed.
The woman nodded, satisfied, and put her candle on the fire mantle. “A great bed indeed.”
Then she left and closed the door behind herself. We all waited until her footsteps faded in the distance.
“We have to be in the North now,” I said to Sarolf. He walked over to the window and looked out into the darkness.
“Right at the border. Only a mile or so away,” Henrike answered in his stead.
Did she genuinely just say something to me without an insult?
“Surprised that your great kingdom has such a filthy corner? Too much for the mighty princess to handle?”
Ah, there she is.
I sat on one of the chairs next to the bed and watched the fire swallow the wood. “I may gift this part of my land to the North. By the looks of it”—I stretched my arm in a gesture encompassing the room—“it seems like it’s more Northern than Southern to me.”
Henrike forced out an angry breath.
“Enough,” Sarolf barked at both of us—a lot harsher than usual. Henrike and I exchanged worried glances.
“What is it?” Henrike asked and stepped next to him. He was still staring out the window, as motionless as a statue.
“This is the only inn in half a day’s ride. There should be guests here.”
The tone of his voice spooked me.
“Is there something wrong?” I tried to hide my concern, but it broke through anyway.
“You said you received a signal back today?” Sarolf asked Henrike, ignoring me. Her face twisted in shock as she looked over her shoulder to see if I had heard.
