Always yourself, Part III

Two and a half months after the Cursed King's defeat.

For the last pair of weeks, looking after Prince had been more akin to caring for a flower than an actual animal. The little guy would spend over ninety percent of the day sleeping, then wake up early and all but fly around my tent for twenty or so minutes. Once he got tired he'd stuff himself with food and fall asleep clutching either my fingers or hair.

So far so good. I interpreted his daylong naps as part of his growth and his hyperactivity as a sign of health. He'd also molted a few days ago. The process went smoothly, and I even decided to keep the molt. A glassy replica of a pincerless miniature Cursed—I found it increasingly fascinating the more I looked at it.

This morning went no different, at least when it came to Prince.

"Let's go there," Betta stated in a dry tone while we were passing next to Hallowcliff. That city had been one of the main stops during our journey to the Western Frontier, but we'd agreed to skip it on the way back since we had plenty of provisions left.

Before waiting for an answer, she steered Amanita towards the city. Oscar and I shared glances then followed her.

Most other human settlements used deep bodies of water to keep Cursed at bay since they could only crawl along the bottom. Hallowcliff had a cliff. Well, more like a chasm that surrounded the entire city. A high fall that might not always be lethal, but definitely crippling for anyone—the Cursed being no exception. The walls were also steep enough to make climbing challenging even for a mountain goat.

Supposedly it wasn't a natural formation. An old legend spoke of a team of Paladins that founded the city for people who'd lost their homes to the Cursed. It was said they'd dug this fissure with their powers.

Could our team replicate such a feat? Possibly. Would it take an absurd amount of work? Absolutely. And for what? As far as I was aware this city—and most if not all human settlements—had never suffered an actual Cursed attack outside of dubious ancient tales.

I shook my head, forcing myself back to the present.

Getting too caught up in the wrong kind of thoughts.

"Hey hey! The heroes are back," one of the bridge guards greeted. "Great to have you step on our humble rock again."

His companion pushed him aside. "Come find me after my shift, I want to treat your team to some drinks."

The first guard shoved him back. "Don't force the Paladins to waste their time on you of all people."

"What was that, weedhead!?"

Both started bickering like last time we met them.

Oscar got down from his buffalo to try and break them apart. He succeeded after one of them accidentally elbowed him and then apologized on loop like he'd committed a capital offense. I couldn't hold back a giggle.

Betta rolled her eyes with a barely concealed grin. "Let's leave the clown show for later. Mind letting us pass?"

"Absolutely," both chanted in unison as they got out of the way.

Our rides proceeded through the bridge. It was a solid wooden platform—strong enough to hold the heaviest trade carriage while being a simple system to control passage into the city. Despite it not being a liftable bridge, the guards often boasted it could be burned down in case of an invasion, as Hallowcliff had access to a small forest and lake with enough resources to last indefinitely. Pointless precautions.

ᗢ᠃ ⚘ ˚ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ 𖦹 ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘᠃ ♡

Evening wouldn't arrive for at least a couple hours, yet Betta insisted on coming to the tavern. 'Insisted' meaning she said to follow her without further explanation, neither of us caring to find out what would happen if we refused.

Once inside the tavern hall—which was cleaner than some mansions I'd visited—she jumped to get on her chair then pointed with her chin for us to sit too. A waitress glided forward right away, her dress white as marble.

Betta looked at us. "You two want something? I'm paying today."

"Neat. I'll have a fruit salad and a jug of orange juice."

"Oscar, I think she means something of the stronger variant."

"No, that's fine," Betta said. "I'm not forcing you to drink with me this time. Just have whatever you like."

Huh.

"Alright, sure. I'll have the same but with apple juice, please."

She snickered. "You two are such a pair of kids." Her head turned to the waitress. "Bring me two bottles of your Forty."

I blinked twice, and so did our attendant.

"M-miss, those are quite the luxury item. Are you certain you can—"

A clinking of marks resounded as Betta placed an entire purse on the table. I recognized the money—a portion of it used to be mine before it went to Betta, and then to Jacks.

No further objections came from the waitress, only a polite bow as she took the payment and left at a brisk pace.

She really gave away that money?

I wanted to say something, but what would even be appropriate? My usual strategies to deal with the Betta swing might end up backfiring because of how odd she was being today.

"If you're paying, does that mean I can ask to try that wine?"

Oscar, are you sure?

"Yes."

Betta, are you alright?

I sighed. "If it's not too much trouble, can I try one cup too?"

"Of course you can." Her deadpan tone was more unnerving than if she'd been passive-aggressive. It was like we'd flipped the Betta coin and instead of landing on either side—snarky or grumpy—it got stuck upright in a gap of the tiles.

The wine arrived. Betta asked for two extra cups before pouring herself and gulping it in one go.

"Bleh. Still as disgusting as ever."

"Then why did you even order it?" Oscar was feeling really bold today.

"Heck if I know." She took out a pouch of sugar she always carried and put a few spoonfuls in her glass before filling it with more wine.

When our cups arrived she served each of us.

Describing the flavor was like trying to talk about a complex piece of art without knowledge. It was lighter than I expected, I guess, and a mixture of a lot of subtle flavors—many of which I couldn't give a name. Most prominent was a hint of…

"Dried cherries, a sour kind I can't get enough of," Jacks had said last time we visited. I'd forgotten he ordered this same wine.

Afterwards, Oscar started a conversation with me—prompting me to abandon this line of thought. Still, from time to time I'd glance at Betta and find her drinking the rest of the first bottle at a slower pace, her eyes resting on the thin liquid between each sip. She didn't pay us any mind, likely immersed in her own thoughts.

ᗢ᠃ ⚘ ˚ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ 𖦹 ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘᠃ ♡

Betta never opened the second bottle and instead took it to her room at the inn.

After checking on Prince—ensuring he was still sleeping soundly—I lay down to rest on my bed, but not snuffing out the lantern yet.

Thinking.

About Prince.

About Jacks.

And about Betta.

Until I heard the door of the room next to mine open.

A little late to be going out.

I wasn't worried. If anything, I'd be sorry for whoever tried to mug Betta thinking she was an easy target.

But I still decided to head to my door and open it, catching her right before she went down the stairs. The hallway was dark except for the light of my room and the oil lamp she held on her right hand. Her left carried the unopened bottle of wine.

"Umm… good evening," I said, low enough to not disturb Oscar or the other guests.

She lifted a brow, then shrugged. "Since you're awake, accompany me for a while."

"Oh. Yeah, sure."

I didn't know what I'd expected to happen—but Betta asking me for a night walk wasn't among my plans, nevermind the fact that I had none to begin with.