Book Two - Chapter Fifteen

“Man, the food here is way better than before,” Ander said as he walked into the inn room. “What could have happened in such a short time?”

“It has improved,” Lusya said without looking up from her book. “Quite the mystery.”

They were staying at the same high-class inn as the last time they had been in Larsev. The food had been fine before, a cut above typical inn fare, but there had been a remarkable jump in quality. Perhaps they had changed chefs in the brief time since Lusya and Ander’s last visit.

With a sigh, Ander settled down into one of the room’s chairs. Meanwhile, Lusya remained seated on the bed, reading The Tale of Dancing Tigers, the novel he had recommended, by the soft glow of an oil lantern the inn provided. He slumped in his seat, and, for a time, the room was as quiet as it could be. Music and shouts filtered in from the dining room, though the walls did a fine job of muffling them, interspersed by the occasional turning of a page.

“I don’t mean to take advantage of the situation,” Ander said without warning, “but would you be willing to talk more if Ariya isn’t around to hear?”

Lusya glanced up from her book at him. He had straightened his posture and stared into her eyes, determined.

“Perhaps,” she replied.

He frowned. “What does that mean?”

“It means I will judge based on what you wish to know, as always,” she said.

He grimaced but nodded. “That’s fair.”

“And you must promise not to relay anything I say to Ariya without my express permission,” she added.

“I promise,” he said.

She lowered her book to look more directly at him. “I take promises quite seriously. If you break it, I will kill you.”

Promise or no, she would have killed him if he had tried to tell Ariya anything Lusya did not wish her to know. Breaking a promise simply made it a graver offense, though that changed little in practical terms.

Ander flinched and took a sharp breath as if she had already attacked him. “I understand.” He scowled resolutely. “I swear on the last and next hundred generations of my family.”

That was a somewhat clumsy translation into Slarvish of an expression meant to emphasize sincerity in Wothan, which would have been Ander’s native tongue considering his origin. Lusya spoke Wothan, but they had continued speaking Slarvish regardless. It was working for them, so she saw no reason to switch or inform him.

She knew the expression meant nothing in any real sense. It was just words, as breakable as any other promise. Yet they accomplished their purpose of making it easier to believe he would keep his word. How perplexing. Promises made her behave quite strangely. It had not been a problem thus far, and she had no idea how to go about investigating the matter, so she had little choice but to accept it for now.

She nodded in approval. “Good. Then you may ask your questions.”

He crossed his arms and frowned. For a minute or so, he sat there in silent contemplation, occasionally letting out a thoughtful hum. He seemed about to speak a few times, only to stop himself.

“Are her parents really okay?” he asked at last, just as Lusya was about to turn her attention back to her reading.

She shook her head. “No. They are dead.”

He gave a pained expression and a small grunt, as sure as if he had been struck. “Her brother too?”

Lusya nodded. As long as he kept his promise, there was no harm in him knowing they were dead.

“What made you suspect as much?” she asked. She saw little reason for him to have inquired otherwise.

He gave a small shrug. “Just a hunch.”

“I see,” she replied.

“Di—?”

Ander clamped his mouth shut after that single syllable. He pursed his lips, opened his mouth, and shut it again. What he had been about to say, she had no idea. Something he had thought better left unsaid, obviously.

“Where are you from, specifically?” he asked.

“I do not know,” she replied. “I lived with my mother in my early life, though I remember little of it. That was likely in the northwest somewhere. Later, I lived in the central south, but I do not know what country would be an accurate descriptor.”

A stretching of the truth, perhaps, but the truth, nonetheless. She did not know where her mother had been from, nor where they had lived, but she could make a reasonable guess. As for her time with her father, there were multiple answers that could have been correct. She would have considered Miudo the best answer, but there was room for debate.

He frowned but nodded in apparent acceptance of that. Maybe his knowledge that she did not lie was working to her advantage here, lending her words more credence and preventing him from prying. She would have to revise her view on Ariya sharing that information.

“Where are you going, and why?” he asked.

“I will not answer that,” she replied.

“Why is Ariya with you?”

“I have need of her. I will tell you no more than that.”

He frowned. “If—”

Once again, he cut himself off, shaking his head.

“You mentioned a bad encounter with a Sacred Knight before. What happened?”

“He attacked Ariya and I,” she said. “We fought. I won.”

She would not mention that she had killed Kadel unless pressed. That would have been viewed far worse, even if it had been in self-defense. The only reason she would admit it at all was because she didn’t see any credible way to deny it if Ander asked.

“Makes sense,” Ander muttered. After a moment of silent contemplation, he sighed. “Well, I’m out of questions. For now.”

“I see,” she replied. “You are quite inquisitive.”

“That happens when someone’s super mysterious,” he replied. He seemed almost defensive, though she had not meant it as a slight. Quite the opposite.

“So it does.”

“Especially when that someone is a beautiful woman stronger than over ninety percent of the continent.” He chuckled. “Maybe your looks distracted that Knight.”

“Perhaps,” she said.

He scratched his head. “That last part was a joke. I don’t mean to insult your skills or anything.”

“I thought as much,” she replied. “I am growing accustomed to your mannerisms, although my ability to detect humor in general is not very keen.”

“That’s a shame,” he said, “seeing as you’re a natural-born straight man.”

“I am a woman.”

Ander started to laugh, then abruptly stopped. “That was on purpose, right?”

“I thought I would try it,” she said. “Was I successful?”

“Pretty much. See? You’re perfect. Er, for the role. Not that you’re not good in general, just…”

“The ‘straight man’ is an easy concept to grasp,” she said. “But I do not understand why it is ‘funny,’ and other forms of humor tend to elude me entirely.”

Ander grimaced. “Well, that’s no good. You’re missing out on so much.” He thought for a second. “What did the egg say when it lost a bet to the chef?”

She recognized the seeming non-sequitur as the setup of a joke. “I do not know.”

“‘Well, you’ve got me beat,’” Ander said with a grin. “Well? You know, because you beat eggs when you cook them?”

“It is my understanding that explaining a joke is considered poor form,” she replied. “That said, I understood. I still do not find any humor in it.”

“Well, that one’s not really supposed to be laugh out loud funny. Let’s try another.” He was quiet again as he thought. “So, a man, we’ll call him Rahb, walks into the town square—”

“Of what town?”

“Doesn’t matter,” he said with a dismissive wave. “Anyway, he declares that no one can beat him in a fist fight and offers thirty gold to anyone who can prove him wrong. Naturally, no one thinks this guy’s actually invincible, and if they win, they’re set for life.

“So, everybody in town takes up the challenge. A big, burly man goes first and loses. The guy after figures the ‘invincible’ man is tired, but then he loses too. But surely, after two fights, he’s tired enough for the third challenger to win, and so on.

“But one man, a weak, sickly man named Bell, gets clever. He gets in line to fight, but then lets everyone go on ahead of him, until everyone else in town has fought and lost. By now, Rahb is panting, he’s sweating, he’s clearly tired, but he’s sticking to his word. So, Bell walks up and throws his single, best punch. It’s the weakest one anyone’s thrown all day, but it knocks Rahb right to the ground.

“‘No! How can it end like this?’ Rhab cries.

“‘It’s quite simple,’ Bell answers. ‘I simply waited for the end of the punchline.’” Ander looked at her expectantly, the biggest smile she had seen from him yet on his face. “Well?”

She blinked and took a second to contemplate the joke. “I suppose that one was amusing.”

“It’s meta-humor,” he said, as if that would improve her opinion.

“Once again, I understand the content,” she said. “And while I do not believe I was as amused as intended, I believe I do understand the humor of it. Thank you.”

He smiled. “No problem. Hey, why don’t you tell a joke? It might help you.”

She took a moment to think. She did not know any jokes by heart, so she had to create one. Ander stared at her, obviously eager.

“A man was born without a left arm or leg,” she said. “What was wrong with him?”

“What?”

“Nothing. He was all right.”

Ander smirked and snorted in the way mortals did when something was mildly amusing. “Not bad.”

“Homophones are a common source of humor,” she said. “I do not understand what was amusing about what I just said.”

“Maybe it’s just not your kind of joke,” he replied. “But it sure sounds like you understand them better than you give yourself credit for.”

“Perhaps. I appreciate your efforts to help expand my understanding.”

“Don’t mention it,” he said. “I’m just glad I got you to admit something was funny.”

That was not what she had said, but she supposed it was close enough.

Ander yawned and stretched his arms over his head. “Well, I guess we ought to get to bed if we’re starting early tomorrow.”

“That would be wise,” she said.

She took note of the page she was on, not that she had been reading for the past few minutes anyway, and shut her book. She stood and placed it on the table beside Ander’s chair for the night. With her cloak already off and hanging on the bed frame, she began to unbutton her blouse.

Ander suddenly sprang out his chair, his face bright red.

“W-w-what are you doing?” he sputtered.

She cocked her head and blinked twice. “Preparing to sleep. I prefer to do so undressed when practical.”

“But this is my room!” he exclaimed, slapping a hand over his eyes.

She blinked again as she finished removing her blouse. “We only rented a single room.”

“Frostbite! There was one less of us, so I got one less room without thinking about it,” he said. “I’m going to go get another for me. You can use this one yourself.”

“I do not see a problem, so long as you do not attempt—”

“It’s just not right!” He bolted to the door and threw it open. “Good night!”