She doesn’t mean to. She is likely unaware of it. Where would she have even learned it? One of her parents or maybe a handmaiden, perhaps. Regardless, Evalina does not intend on initiating a staring contest, yet we are locked in a heated battle of seeing who will blink first. Years of training since childhood, though not when I was quite as young as she, has prepared me for such a match of wills. My eyes, after a prolonged time, begin to beg for a pardon. Blink, damn you, they curse me. But I will not yield. I will not bend to this toddler, this baby. Those big blue eyes as deep as the ocean and as dazzling as sapphires will not gleam in glorious victory. I will not give in. I will not blink. Not before she blinks. She is but a child, and her determination could and will never be greater than mine.

I blink. Fuck.

“I win!” she exclaims, bouncing in her seat. “I win!”

“Congratulations, little one,” I smile at her, envious of her unbridled joy. What I wouldn’t give to be that happy.

“Prize!”

She stops bouncing, the glee paused at my raised eyebrow. She goes quiet for a long moment, the delight bleeding out of her with every passing second.

“You want a prize for winning the game?” I ask, not able to take the sight of her fading smile any longer.

“Yes, please,” she says, almost sheepish. “Prize, please.”

“And what do you want for your prize?”

“I dunno,” she shrugs, the hem of her green dress becoming vaguely interesting. She runs her tiny fingers over the white lace; the material reminds me of doilies the Baroness kept on her desk in her office in the Tower of Lost Children.

“Okay,” I nod, tucking those memories away. “We’ll find you a prize next time we stop.”

“Prize!” The joy returns, and so does her toothy grin. 

“Sir Rokkoh?” Torvald calls as the carriage comes to a stop once more.

“I’ll be right back,” I tell the princess, sporting that recurring smile she inspires. She nods, her focus returning to her dress. 

Outside, with the carriage door closed, everything seems alright. No one lurks on the road behind or ahead. The boy doesn’t look frightened or worried. The enormous horse is calm. Curious, I move to the horse’s head, giving it gentle pats along the way. Once there, with my view of the other side of the road no longer blocked by the equestrian behemoth, I find the reason Torvald stopped us.

“It isn’t too late in the morning,” he postulates. “They’re probably still serving breakfast. I hope so, at least. I haven’t stopped thinking of that bacon.”

Nestled amongst the trees sits a single-level building. Made of a dark wood, its two windows covered by curtains inside, it gives off only a slightly creepy aura. Two small gargoyles, one white and the other black, stand guard at the door. Their hunched frames show off the ridges of their spines. Sinewy arms wrap around the poles of spears, strong yet bony hands holding tight. Their ears are long and pointed, upright and alert. For a moment, I can’t help but think they’re perked up due to our arrival. Their faces, to my surprise, display joyous smiles like Evalina’s. Perhaps these carved stone folk are unlike their bloodthirsty kin. Perhaps this duo, like my own brethren in the Paladin Order, are meant to protect.

“Only one way to find out,” I say, heading back to the carriage.

Evalina, to my surprise, waits in the open door. I glance around, looking for potential kidnappers, but we are alone.

“Were you trying to get out?” I ask her, a curious humor on my lips.

“Didn’t say I couldn’t come,” she explains, holding out her arms to me. “Uppy?”

“Fair enough,” I shrug, taking her in my arms and closing the door. 

Torvald joins us as we approach the building, and I glance at the sign hanging above the door. Elloriana’s Cure, it reads crudely carved. Under the name, etched more precise and clean, are three symbols: a triangular bottle topped with a cork; a fork and a knife crossed over each other to make an X; and a bed. Together they all form a triangle, the bottle and cutlery on top and the bed on bottom. A twinge of unease voices itself in my gut, but I ignore it as Evalina points to the guardsmen.

“Friends,” she says, waving to them. I watch the gargoyles for a moment, waiting for them to come to life and wave back. They remain motionless.

“Yes, honey, friends,” I agree with her.

“Personally, gargoyles always kinda freaked me out,” Torvald mutters behind us.

“Don’t be rude,” I scold him over my shoulder. “The princess says they’re friends, so they’re our friends.”

With my free hand, I reach for the door knob. Inches away, the round iron turns. The door swings open, swinging inward and revealing a stout woman, short but thick with strength. Her broad shoulders fill most of the doorway, and her head stops just shy of half the height of the space. A dress, white and flowing, covers her frame. Her auburn hair is pulled back into a thick braid that runs down the length of her back, two tendrils loose and hanging on either side of her face. Her face is clear, clean, devoid of scars or blemishes, almost as if it’s brand new, round with dimples in her cheeks. She eyes us for a moment, the unnervingly bright green things almost illuminated and glowing. They hang on me for too long of a moment, but then move on to my companions. An odd familiarity flickers in my memory, something not her but eerily similar. I can’t place it. Her sudden smile, wide and warm, snuffs that sparking would-be flame.

“You lot look a bit peaky,” she says. She steps aside. “Come on in. I’ll fix you up something to eat.”

The exterior does a disservice to the interior. While the outside is dark and eerie, the inside is brightly lit, clean, and cozy. A few small round tables dot the room, a couple chairs at each. Beautiful and intricate paintings hang on the wall here and there, landscapes and portraits alike. Logs burn in a fireplace on the wall ahead of us, a white wooden door on either side. On a shelf above the little pyre sit various items: an urn or vase (I cannot tell which) with painted flowers; the hilt of a sword, a bit of the broken blade still attached; a small velvet bag, fat and sitting upright with unknown contents giving it random misshapen bumps; a bit of cloth folded over twice; a stuffed bear, small and well-loved; and an empty glass with “In Case of Emergency” written elegantly on the label.

“Sit wherever, loves,” our host says, showing off the little tables. “I’ll get a special seat for the wee one.” 

She disappears through the left door, her footsteps silent on the wooden floor. Torvald claims the table nearest the front door, choosing the chair that would give him the quickest and easiest escape. I take the other, resting the princess on my knee. Out of instinct I didn’t know I had, it and she bounces.

“Horsey!” she giggles. I join in the infectious sound.

“This place seems alright,” Torvald says, looking around.

“Something you should know if you are to become a knight,” I tell him, my eyes still on the happy little girl, “is to always be on guard. You never know what will happen, what hideous secrets are just under the surface. Did you see her eyes? Product of unnatural magic. Keep your wits about you, boy. You’ll live longer.

“Tell me. You’ve traveled this road many times, yes?”

He takes a moment, counting on his fingers, then nods.

“Do you recall seeing this place before?” I ask.

Torvald thinks it over, retracing the courses from his many trips along the road. His eyebrows disappear behind the bangs of his blond bowl cut, a surprised confusion on his face.

“Didn’t think so,” I remark with a dark smirk.

The left door swings open, and the dwarf returns with a chair Evalina’s size. She sets the wooden thing down next to me; the little one could easily reach the table in this special seat.

“Do you mind?” she asks, looking from the princess to me. Despite the comfortable and homey aesthetic of this little eatery, those strange green eyes breed a mistrust.

“No, that’s okay,” I say, a courteous smile playing on my whiskered mouth. I lift the girl from my knee and settle her down in the high chair.

“So what can I get you?” she asks. There’s a glimmer of disappointment hidden under the cheery grin, a slight sadness in her eyes. They both seem to go away when her attention flicks away from me. Instead, she mainly focuses on Torvald.

“What all do you have?” the boy asks. I can nearly hear his stomach rumbling with the question.

“I have whatever you crave, dear,” she tells him. “Be it a potion to improve your abilities, a plate of bacon, or just somewhere to lay your head.” She leans in closer to him, a hand covering one side of her mouth as to whisper. “With or without company, but your father doesn’t need to know that tidbit.

“So what’ll it be?” she asks him, straightening up. “Perhaps a drink to start?”

“Water for the two of us,” I interject, motioning to Torvald and myself. “Milk for the girl, please.”

She looks to me in that moment, the pleasant aura surrounding her flickering for a blink. It turns sour, annoyed, aggravated. But the nice server returns just as quickly.

“Absolutely, sir,” she says, something new playing her smile now. Playful, wild, daring even. I have to admit, I kind of like it. “Would you perhaps like a special drink of mine? It’s called Hair o’ the Dog. Tastes like your favorite late-night beverage.”

“Perhaps another time,” I return the look before going to the little one. “Is there anything you particularly want to eat, honey?”

“Um,” she hesitates, thinking it over. An idea sparks wide eyes and an ecstatic smile. “Frobsta Fritchen!”

Evalina looks up to the dwarven woman, expectant glee glowing in her grin. Torvald and I wear confused curiosity. Our host, however, smiles back at the girl.

“Ooh, a classic Walterian breakfast!” she muses. “A wonderful choice, darling. Would you like me to cut them up for you?”

“Cut please!” Evalina, satisfied with the acceptance of her order and the additional request, wiggles in her seat. It seems like an uncoordinated little dance, and like with most other things she does, it lights a happiness in me.

“Can I get some bacon?” Torvald asks. 

“A few strips or a plateful?” she asks in return, turning her grin to him.

“A plateful, please,” he says with a brimming excitement in his eyes.

“You got it, sonny,” she winks. Those bright emeralds find me once more. “And for you?”

“You said you have whatever I crave?” I inquire with an raised eyebrow.

“I did.” Her dimples catch my eye. I hadn’t noticed them before. I like dimples.

“How about dragon meat? Or wyvern?” 

“Someone has dangerous taste buds,” she giggles. The others join in, and I give a huff of breath out of my nose. “What kind of dragon?”

“You have a variety?” I doubt her, glancing to the door she had come out of. “This place isn’t that big. Can’t have much room for all that stock.”

“Never underestimate a hostess, honey,” she quips.

“Bronze or blue,” I tell her. “But I prefer blue if you have it.”

“I oughta have some blue lying around,” she says with a slight nod. “How do you want it? Steak, rare?”

“Steak, yes. Medium rare, though. Don’t want it too bloody, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course,” she says, that hint of coy in her lips shining brighter. “Not squeamish, are ya, sir? Can’t imagine a man in armor like that faints at a bit o’ red.”

“No,” I chuckle, airy yet dark. “I’ve seen my fair share of the stuff. Don’t imagine my days with it are done. I’m just not big on digesting it.”

Evalina’s tiny hand reaches out and pats my gauntlet. My gaze goes to her, finding the scrunched blonde eyebrows and worried look.

“Potty,” she pleads.

“I thought you said you were all done,” I say, a little confused.

“Gotta potty!” she urges, a nervous little bounce overtaking her.

“I can take her,” the dwarf offers.

“That’s alright,” I say to her. “My boy will help her.”

On cue, Torvald gets to his feet and takes the princess in his arms as she reaches for him. 

“Right door, third on the left,” the woman tells him, giving him that pleasant smile. 

“Thank you, ma’am,” he says with a slight bow before rushing off through the door on the right of the fireplace.

Yet, she does not move. She watches the two of them leave the room, and then focuses back on me. The mask of charm dissipates until there is only a formidable glower in her fixation. After another moment, she holds a hand out to her side and summons an unused chair to her. She sits, crossing her short legs and folding her hands in her lap.

“Is this the part where you reveal you’re not actually going to prepare breakfast for us?” I ask, doing my best to hide my intrigue. “Because she really needs some… whatever she called it.”

“What are you doing here, Paladin?” she demands, the uncanny near-glow intensifying with her question. 

“The sign suggested you had food,” I answer.

“Where are you headed?” she asks. It is unclear whether or not she accepts my words as truth, or if she is simply brushing past the subject.

“Home, eventually.”

“Who is the girl?” The question comes after a brief silence, her eyes narrowing and glowing brighter still. 

“Are we playing a game of questions?” I ask, crossing my arms over my chest. “If so, I’m owed two questions now.”

“Who is she?” she presses, leaning closer. Heat fills her words.

“Are we going to get to have our breakfast or not? Shouldn’t you get to work on it?” A smirk cracks across my lips at her growing irritation. Perhaps it will become too much for her to bear and she will feel compelled to punish me. Sweet Lavender would get to play, then.

“My boys are working on it already,” she huffs, relaxing into the back of the chair. She blinks and looks away, mindlessly gazing upon one of the paintings. I don’t follow her gaze, vigilant in case of attack. 

“She’s so captivating,” she breathes, almost with a taste of sorrow. The flame in her has subsided. At least, for now. 

“Who is?” I dare to ask in the settling quiet.

“The child,” she says, those greens meeting my blues once more. “You’ve already had someone come for her, haven’t you?”

“Why would anyone try to take her?” 

My hesitation gives away too much. The corner of her mouth stretches as she looks away again, tapping her crossed foot against the air in a slow rhythm. Thoughts race beneath her auburn braids, but I cannot decipher them. Pulling from the shallow wells of magic in me, I reach out with my mind to see into hers. A block is in place, whether by nature or her design I do not know. My lungs protest the attempt as it draws out the air within; I draw in a heavy breath to compensate for the theft. It is difficult to tell whether or not the dwarf noticed; her attention, I’m guessing, is still on Evalina.

“What are you?” I finally ask, quelling my curiosity and snuffing the silence.

“The eyes don’t give it away?” she responds, the playfulness returning.

“Wrong color for a necromancer,” I postulate. “Definitely not a demon of any kind, far as I can tell. Is it just an illusion, perhaps?”

“Would’ve gone with a much more ordinary color had I any control over it,” she confesses, her smile returning as her other corner rises.

“What is it then?”

“For you, an enigma.”

A door opens behind her. Out from the left-hand door emerges two beings, lean muscles stretching over tall frames. Surely they would stand a foot taller than me, at the very least. They make the dwarf look like a toddler in comparison, much like the princess and myself. Raggedy pants and sleeveless shirts made of brown cloth cover their flesh; one’s skin is alabaster, the other obsidian. They approach, barefoot, each carrying a tray of full plates. They appear to be some breed of elf with their long pointed ears and elegant facial features. Almost as if they had been carved from stone by a master artist. The gargoyles guarding the front door come to mind as they set out the plates. 

“Thank you, Eaf,” the dwarf says to the darker one. “Thank you, M’rak,” she addresses the other. They bow to her in tandem and retreat through the door from whence they came, silent as statues.

“Interesting company you keep,” I think aloud. 

 The steak, a perfect caramelized brown, still sizzles before me. The scent alone tingles my nose, and my mouth waters. Torvald’s plate has been made the base for a mighty mountain of crispy bacon, and for a moment I wonder if the hungry boy would allow a strip or two to defect from the pile and take up a temporary residence with my bit of dragon. Maybe the princess would want some too. Her meal, while cut in clean squares, seems to be composed of three thin golden cakes topped with colorful syrup-covered fruits. Mostly red strawberries, matching the hue of the sugary sticky substance, there are various berries thrown in as well.

“They help out around the place,” she shrugs the comment off. “Their magic is limited, but I’ll take what I can get. Makes cleaning up after guests a lot quicker, thank the Novhina.”

She breathes out a short chuckle, looking around at the place. My eyes stay on her. Can’t take any chances.

“Speaking of which,” I say, trying to garner her attention, “for a magic user, I have yet to see any symbols of your deity. Most shopkeepers and restaurateurs I’ve come across will display a shrine or an emblem. Where’s yours?”

“Hidden in my personal quarters,” she answers after a moment of hesitation. The grin holds, but its flavor goes sour again. “I’m not one to advertise any god. They can obtain followers the old fashioned way. Always seemed to work.”

“Hidden, huh?” An airy chuckle of my own accompanies the curious arched eyebrow. “Most things that are hidden and done so in shame or fear of being found. To whom do you pray?”

“Oh, are you wanting to convert me?” she laughs, full and hearty. “I am fine with mine, thank you. Besides, I’m pretty sure yours wouldn’t want my kind anyway.”

“The Mother of the World accepts all,” I tell her, smug. “Even dwarves.”

“No, Madam Skrolba certainly would not want me,” she argues with a forced smile. “Our divine friends don’t play well together.”

“Ah, I see.” A slow, knowing nod leads to my hand preparing to draw out Lavender. “And what keeps me from sending you to Scommortod?”

“You won’t,” she says, carefree. She rises, letting the feet of her chair drag on the wood as she takes it back to its proper table.

“So sure of that, are you?” I ask as Lavender begins to beg.

“I am.” The answer comes quick, light, without a trace of worry. “Because I have no intention to send you to Skrolba. I only wish to give you and your children a good meal so you may continue on your way. They’ll be back in a moment, by the way, so best keep your blade in its place. No need for them to see any more violence.

“Besides,” she adds, “my boys would not have let you come so close if they felt you were untrustworthy or malicious. You wouldn’t have even spotted the building.”

“What do you mean?” I inquire, loosening my grip. “My boy has been up and down this road and never seen you before. Are you saying he holds ill will?”

“Him? Of course not. He’s harmless.” For once, I agree with her. “Staying in one place has never suited me well.”

Her eyes dart to the door on the right of the fireplace. She makes her way to the left door. As soon as she passes through, Torvald and Evalina return. He sets her down in her chair, and then takes his own. His eyes grow wide at the sight of the great bacon summit. The princess squeals and claps her hands at her Frobsta Fritchen. They both then dig in, the little one utilizing the fork next to her plate. Torvald wiggles a strip of bacon in front of her, and she attempts a “please” through the mouthful of cake and fruit. He sets it down on the edge of her plate, which she grabs immediately and devours. 

The steak waits for me, ready. Taking my own utensils, I cut into the meat. The knife slides through with ease, separating chunks and revealing a mostly red center. Poking a small square of the steak with my fork, I raise the bit to my mouth. As it nears my mouth, the wild electric tingle tickles my lips. Chewy, warm, and juicy, it fills my mouth with a mild shock that trickles through my teeth and down my throat. Most blue dragon steaks cannot reach this perfection, yet the dwarf’s does. Exquisite.

Her door swings open again, and she reappears with a tray of cups. She sets one down for the three of us, and then tucks the tray under her arm.

“How is it so far?” she asks, looking between the two younger ones.

“It’s pretty scrumptious,” Torvald says once he has swallowed a swig of water.

“Obthta Ithch!” Evalina kicks her feet in joy.

“Wonderful,” the dwarf says with a gleeful grin. It remains as she turns to me. “And you, sir?”

“Best damn blue dragon I’ve ever had.” The genuine compliment lights up her face. How strange, yet heartwarming it is to see a necromancer smile.

“Thank you, kind sir,” she says, containing her elation. “Well, I’ll leave you lot to it. If you need anything, just yell.” There’s a slight skip to her step as she returns to the back.

The meal passes, wordless yet satisfying. Torvald throws a couple strips of bacon my way, and I pass him a cut of the steak. The little charge of lightning he finds on his tongue rattles him for a second, but he approves of it. Evalina, on the other hand, spits out the tiny piece I give her. She allows me a small bite of her meal in a sweet gesture, and I make a mental note to request it if I ever find myself in Walteria after all this. Torvald enjoys his little offering as well, likely thinking the same thing. Soon enough, our plates are empty, our cups drained, and our bellies full.

“Uppy, please,” the princess requests, stretching her arms out to me. I oblige and take her into my lap as the dwarf returns.

“Need anything else, my dears?” she asks, stacking the empty plates and cups. 

Torvald relaxes into the back of his chair, his hands resting on his gut, and shakes his head. I offer a simple “No thank you” and look to the little one. Her eyes are glued to something; at first I think it’s the woman. Following her gaze, it leads to the shelf above the still crackling fireplace. Of all the objects sitting there, I imagine I could guess which has caught her attention. The thought, though, of her wielding the broken blade and saving us all from imaginary monsters warms my heart. Instead, she points to the bear.

“Prize! Prize!” she exclaims. “Want prize!”

The woman looks from the girl to the bear to me. A puzzled yet humored smirk on her mouth, she asks with her eyes.

“We were playing a game on the road,” I explain with a light little laugh. “She won, and I kind of promised her a prize whenever we stopped. I had forgotten, but I guess someone else didn’t.”

“Prize, please,” Evalina says to the dwarf, a big goofy and toothy smile plastered between her rosy pinchable cheeks. 

The dwarf returns the look with a sweet smile of her own. She holds out a hand, eyes still on the girl, and the bear drifts midair toward her. She catches it without looking, cradling it like a baby. Her eyes break for a moment, going to the stuffed animal. Its fur, a rich brown, has a few sewn areas likely due to old tears. Its stomach is fat with stuffing, as are its round paws. Dark marbles make its eyes, watching endlessly and unblinking. Two half circles rest atop its head, perfect ears. She strokes its face, pure love pouring into the little soft toy. If I didn’t know better, its small stitched smile seems to be from her touch. Soon, she looks to the princess again. She kneels before her, and to a lesser extent me. Within her emeralds glimmers an ocean.

“Sweetheart,” she says soft, sweet. “This is Borso.”

“Hi,” Evalina says, waving her tiny hand at the bear. The dwarf waves a rounded nub, which is meant to be its paw, back.

“Borso has been my best friend for a very long time,” she continues. “My papa gave him to me when I was your age. But lately he’s just been sitting on that shelf. I think he’s been waiting for a little girl like you to come around. Would you like to be his new friend?”

“Please!” the princess squeals, bouncing on my thigh. “Borso friend!”

“Okay,” the dwarf says. 

The ocean roars, making itself big and tall as it crashes on the shore. Two streams race on the beach. Sentiment, rooted deep, makes it difficult for the dwarf to hand over the bear. But she does. Evalina takes it in her arms, giving it a gentle but loving hug. The dwarf’s heart breaks in the best way, sending another round of tears down her face.

“Something you should know, little one,” she says, wiping away the wet. “Borso is a needy bear. He likes cuddles at least three times a day, and absolutely adores going on adventures. Do you think you can handle that?”

“Uh huh,” the girl promises, not letting the bear out of the hug.

“Good,” her voice quivers on the word. A hand, weathered yet soft, reaches out and strokes the little one’s cheek. “You take care of him, and he’ll protect you from scary monsters and mean people.” 

“Tank too!” Evalina coos in joy, leaping from my lap and into the dwarf’s arms. The latter, overcome by the surprising jubilant embrace, lets more tears escape. 

“You’re welcome, love,” she says, giving her a tender kiss on the cheek. She finally pulls back, setting her back into my lap. 

“You be good, sir,” the dwarf says to the bear. Part of me thinks she’s just being silly for the girl’s sake, but there’s a strange genuineness. Evalina makes him nod, and the dwarf’s heart just about breaks again.

“You’ve been quite generous,” my words distract her. “What do I owe you? I have coin.”

“No,” she laughs, a soft sound. “This princess’s happiness is more than enough.”

My heart jumps in my chest. Does she know? Has she guessed the secret? Or has she been stringing us along throughout our stay, waiting until we finished eating for the sleeping draught to kick in so she could swoop in and steal the girl? If not an elixir to render us all unconscious, perhaps a poison meant to bring us within the clasp of death. Or, worst of all, perhaps she intends to kill the boy and me and raise the princess as her own little abomination. 

The thought boils in me, but it remains just that: a thought. There is a sincerity to her, an absence of malice or greed, a goodness. How odd for a necromancer, how perplexing. For what purpose then does she use her magic? Though she may have trained in that dark art, who’s to say she even practices such evil anymore? Perhaps she has been reformed. For her sake, I hope so.

“Well, you lot be safe on the roads,” she goes on, rising to her feet and stepping away. “Feel free to come back at any time. Borso will help you find me again if you so desire.”

Torvald and I leave the table, Evalina in my arms and fascinated by her new friend. The front door closes behind me, and in my head I can almost hear the two little gargoyles bid us farewell. The macabre ambience of the exterior remains unchanged, despite witnessing the pleasantness within. A spell, perhaps, for warding off fools. Strange, then, that Torvald had spotted it. Maybe it was like the dwarf had said: only those who bear no ill-will can see the place. Clever.

“Such a nice place,” Torvald says, climbing up to his seat. “How does she make the outside so unlike the inside?”

“Illusional magic can work wonders in the right hands,” I answer, setting the girl in the carriage. “Find the right wizard and you can look however you want. Or so I’ve heard.”

As I get comfortable in my spot, the idea of the dwarf putting something in our food comes back. Evalina cuddles Borso on her side of the carriage, slipping into a nap shortly after we resume our journey. My own eyelids grow heavy. A rare concern for Torvald comes to life in my head. Every part of me wants to call out to the boy, make sure he is unaffected by this uncanny onset of fatigue.

Yet…

Continue to Chapters Ten and Eleven