Chapter 27:

The Punjene Paprike Tavern

Tales from Zemliharos: Night of The Striga


Peter took another swig from his mead, though the bitter taste in his mouth had yet to wash out. The High Priest offered to house the three of them at the The Punjene Paprike Tavern, on the condition that Peter would come speak with him in the morning about his abilities as a Krsnik. With all the sudden spare time he had, he saw no reason to not oblige. Yet, the guilt he felt that the people who entrusted him with his life would keep being made into stew meat every day, while he was going to waste away in this tavern, felt as if it were going to swallow him whole. By the time he gathered enough forces and made the journey back to the city, it would be close to a month’s worth of time. How many would still be alive after facing such conditions, locked away in the dungeons while one-by-one, they were picked off.

The thought had Peter taking an even bigger swig than before. Jakov looked over to his lord in concern. “Your Grace, moderation is key when consuming mead.”

Lyana matched his swig. “That’s where you’re wrong, boy. It doesn’t work otherwise.”

Peter could feel his world swaying ever so slightly as he bellowed a messy laugh. Jakov didn’t share his enthusiasm. “She’s right. Where I’m from, it’s normal to play drinking games. You have any?”

Lyana stared at him, before nodding, “It’s a simple one. If I guess a truth about you, you drink. If I’m wrong, I drink.”

Jakov sighed, then looked at Lyana, “I can tell you’re the only heir left in your house.”

Lyrana threw daggers with her eyes at the scribe, but drank all the same. “And I can tell you’re the only one left of yours.”

A crescendo of sadness flashed on Jakov’s face as he sipped, “Aye, my mother died having me, my father disappeared on patrol, suppose it was those things. Sir Branković was all I had left.”

“And what a prick he was at that.”

Jakov drank more of his mead, getting the point of the occasion down, “I won’t deny it, he cared for our people though, and died for them. His honor was in tact til the very end.”

Lyana rolled her eyes, “And I’m sure his father’s was too in your people’s eyes, with his taste in young girls and all.”

“That was nothing but hearsay.”

“Oh, I can assure you it wasn’t.”

Peter slammed down his mug of ale. “This is supposed to be fun. Change of subject.”

“And what would you like it to be?”

Lyana felt a mischievous smirk come over her face. “One of you has been in love before.”

Jakov kept his mug still, but Peter chugged his mead. The topic though, was one he didn't want to be having with Lyana around.

“Interesting, and is she waiting for you back in your world?” Lyana stared deep into Peter’s eyes, their piercing gaze seeming to see through Peter’s every expression. He already was a terrible liar, and imagined himself next to useless when intoxicated. “No, she broke your heart, didn’t she.”

Peter took another nervous drink, trying not to let those feelings he kept buried down rise up to the surface once more. The topic was something he had no desire to entertain, especially on this evening of all places. “I don’t know if I like this game anymore.”

Lyana refused to back down from it, however, a mix of mischief and genuine interest eeked upon her face, knowing she had him pinned. “Was it the turning into a bear? No, you didn’t know you could do that then. I’ve seen the way you look at me, I bet I remind you of her, don’t I.”

Jakov looked flabbergasted as Peter got up from his seat, and stormed away. A deep wound felt as if it had been ripped open. It was one that eeked through in the mornings and evenings at his bedside in his old life, where his feelings of regret were at their strongest. Where he’d think about what he could’ve said differently, or done to make things work. But he knew deep down that he couldn’t change reality. Simply put, he loved someone who never had the capability of loving him back, who used that affection to help fund the trips they went on to Europe and Asia, the work he’d done to make sure she had the nicest clothes, a meal when she said she couldn’t afford one, only to be told that he wasn’t enough, and that she preferred to be with someone else, a former roommate she said not to worry about no less. It was when he felt his fate was sealed in his old life, that he’d be doomed to stay forever trapped in the life he was given, not the one he always dreamed of for himself, with a wife, a family, a home, a place to belong.

He knew there was a terrence at the top of the tavern, one where he could go and think, brood on the pain that he kept buried so he could keep going, before using the booze or food to distract himself and keep it from surfacing for a while more. The area had a small balcony, one that overlooked the bay of Ragusiic. There he could watch the ships coming to and fro, the endless amount of torchlight and candles lighting the city buildings, from the cottages, to the markets, to the fortress walls. All the people simply living their life blissfully undisturbed, at least that’s what he thought when he got in this mood. It was something he felt he was doomed to never have, for the way he was simply made it impossible for someone to genuinely care for him, unconditionally, no matter when he fell short or didn’t like something about himself.

The terrence reminded him of his favorite place to drink when he was in Prague while in college. It was a point in his life where anything seemed possible, where he’d finally be able to conquer life and live out his dreams of being a vagabond artist in his romanticized version of life, where he pictured writers like Ernest Hemingway and F. Scott Fitzgerald. Larger than life figures who traveled from exotic locations, looking to live life to its fullest. Seeing places and people most would only ever get to dream of seeing, having flings so passionate that biographies would speculate on them decades after they fizzled out, and then transferring these experiences into their work, so their thoughts and what made them human would live long past their deaths, inspiring others like him to be true to themselves.

Yet, this fantasy was always a fleeting wisp, where life simply does not give such luxuries to people like him. Instead, he saw himself as doomed to serve others, to constantly have to try and prove he was helpful and competent to the people who only cared if he served their own agenda within his line of work. To complain or stand up for yourself was to be outcasted, to then have to face the reality of needing to pay your bills without being able to eek out your own miserable existence in the process. While staring out over that bay, he felt as if he were maybe being given a second chance to experience that same sort of wanderlust again, to become what he had lost along the way. Yet, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was doomed to squander it yet again.

While he was lost in his thoughts, he didn’t notice that Lyana had joined him on the terrence, her also staring out at the city in front of her.

“It is crazy how many lives we come in contact with, but how much we tend to only concern ourselves with our own, as if we’re separate from all of it.”

“Suppose it’s a feeling you’ve come across with the company you’ve kept.”

Lyana stared at Peter, “I didn’t join their covenant by choice. My family was burned on a pyre for what I was, what your family did to me. I would’ve been violated and killed by a Branković, had they not intervened. Yet they used me to fuel their rituals at my expense. You aren’t the only one to feel used.”

“I know, I’ve seen it.”

“Then you know I should’ve been inflicted with the curse myself. I should be flying over Zemliharos right now, no better than those you seek to destroy. And I remind you of someone who hurt you, but you don’t hate me. Why?”

“Because you aren’t those things, or those people. You’ve helped keep us alive, given us advice where we’d be dead otherwise. That means something.”

Lyana smiled to herself, “You know, I thought you were going to be a pompous ass when I first saw you, another Zrinski who would see me as nothing more than a monster. I’m glad I was wrong.”

“That’s because I’m not a Zrinski, or any of this. I’m as lost as you are.”

“Do you miss it, where you’re from?”

Peter paused for a moment, “No, though I might’ve liked it better if I knew more people like you there.”

“Then we’ll just have to keep each other company then.”

The two of them stared out into the evening sky together, letting their thoughts pour out in silence while the evening continued on, continuing to spin forward as fate intended. 

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