An Offer of Hospitality

The flame of solemn oaths burn deep in my chest, the great trinity quest. To hear all myths, to play all music, to see all places. 

-Excerpt from “The Skald-Knight Saga”

If you have gotten this far into the tale of my life, you have probably picked up on a few things. I am a genius when it comes to academics, swordplay, and magic. My music is unmatched, and I am excellent with money. And, unfortunately, I am woefully ill-equipped to deal with romance.

Part of the blame for my inadequacy falls on my parents—I was never given a healthy role model for what love should look like. Part of it falls squarely on my shoulders for mingling with unsavory types, the drunkards and wanderers of the world. But if we’re being honest, the lion’s share of the blame goes to my hormones. Amidst the whirlwind of late puberty, love and sex were mainstays in my daydreams, and absent in my life.

With that out in the open, it should come as no surprise that I found my first love both enthralling and utterly mystifying. We spent the better part of a month winding slow circles around one another, unable to bridge the gap between desire and reality.

I first spoke to her after my final performance in the Royal Capital. I strummed the last note, packed away my lute with hurried precision, and stepped lively towards her with the boldness of a bird of prey. Our eyes met for the barest of moments, and I was drawn inexorably towards her.

“You’re the storyteller,” she said, her hands resting in her lap. There was a faint blush in her cheeks, and I felt as if her feelings mirrored my own. Surely she was as intrigued by me as I was by her.

“I am,” I said, trailing off as I gazed at her. She shuffled in her seat, then looked away awkwardly.

“What? Do I have something on my face?”

“Oh, no, I apologize,” I said, bowing to her with practiced grace. “I am Deryth.”

She cocked an eyebrow, resettled herself, and flushed a deeper shade of crimson. “A court bow?” She asked. “I’m Elma, pleased.”

“May I share a drink with you?”

“I—“ she started, then stopped, fiddling with her skirts. “I’m afraid I am currently soaking in my last one. Another time, perhaps?”

I was not sure what she meant, and I hesitated for a moment before giving another bow. “I shall be here tomorrow evening as well, should you care to take me up on my offer,” I said. I silently kicked myself at my hasty words. I was supposed to leave tomorrow, dammit. What am I doing?

Elma gave a wry smile and nodded. “Perhaps I shall,” she said. “Say, do you know where one might find a launderer?”

Her abrupt topic change pulled me up short, and my brain did somersaults trying to keep up. “Um. There’s a washhouse three streets over called Waschen. It is where I have my clothing laundered. Just tell Madame Ermine that Deryth sent you, she will be certain to take care of you.”

“I appreciate it,” Elma said, then made to leave. Something squelched, and she blushed again, straightening her back as if she had not intended to leave after all.

“Are you… perhaps literally soaking in your drinks?” I asked, stifling a laugh.

“Quiet, you. That’s of no concern—“ She half stood to scold me, but the sound of wet skin on the hardwood bench stopped her short.

“I see, ‘tis a shame dear lady that my rooms have both wash and bath unattended,” I said, putting a touch of drama in my voice. “If only there were a fine lady to attend to them.”

Elma eyed me, her ruddy face otherwise impassive. “I’ve fielded many attempts to get under my skirts, but never one quite so domestic.”

I pulled my room key from my pocket and set it on the table, keeping it covered so no one else could see it. “I will ask the innkeeper to send up hot water,” I said. “Rest assured, I have other things to attend to in town, I shan’t intrude upon you.” I unbuckled my cloak and draped it over her shoulders. She pulled it over her mouth, covering her embarrassed blush, and nodded.

I watched her shuffle away, still holding the hem of my cloak across her face. She walked with surety as if she expected the crowd to part for her without a word, and to my surprise, they did. It’s often said that common folk have an instinctive desire to avoid the aristocracy, an almost genetic self-preservation mechanism that keeps them in line—and after seeing the otherwise rowdy drunkards step out of her way, I could believe it.

I scanned the room until I found the barkeep, and made my way to him. He grinned at me, eyebrows raised so high that his forehead threatened to flee past his hairline.

“One of them finally caught your fancy, eh?” He asked, voice dripping with curiosity. “She’s a looker alright, but careful with her. I think she’s some high-ranking maid or something.”

“It’s nothing like that,” I said, and shrugged. “Just helping her out. Would you mind sending some hot water to my room, please?” I glanced at the crowd and frowned. “And make sure no one bothers the lady. I’d hate for one of these ruffians to lay hands on her.”

“Aye after what happened with my serving girl earlier, I can appreciate your concern,” anger flashed across his face at the memory. “Rest assured, I run a clean establishment. Hot water was it? Shall I send soap and a towel as well?”

I pulled out one of the coppers I had earned busking earlier in the day and pressed it into his palm. “If you don’t mind.”

He grinned and pocketed the money, then nodded. “I’ll make sure no one goes near your room besides my girl,” he said. “And I can stay down here a bit later into the night, if you want some privacy?” His voice upturned at the end of his statement, turning it into an inquiry, and his eyes flashed lecherously.

“That won’t be needed,” I said, holding up a hand to forestall him. “She won’t be staying.”

“A shame, I thought she might have ensnared you,” he said, then turned to call over a serving girl. I slunk away while he was busy tending to my requests.

I suppose I should find something to occupy me for a while, I thought. It was too cold to go out without my cloak, so I took a seat and ordered a drink, settling in to wait.