SIXTEEN

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The night passed in a blur of liquor and joy. I never laughed so much, throwing my arms around Ryon as we listened to each story, swaying to the steady beats of breathing and serenity. Somehow, we shut down the bar before Elodie awoke that morning, making our way back upstairs, only to collapse in a fit of exhaustion. The stories decorated my dreams, and when I finally woke that early afternoon, still wearing the clothes from the night before, a slight smile prickled at my lips.

Ryon snored beside me, his red hair sticking in every direction. I brushed aside his curls. “Ryon...”

He grunted.

“We did it,” I whispered in his ear. “The stories are back.”

“Mmm.”

I poked his cheek. “C’mon. Wake up!” 

“Headache,” he groaned.

“You drank too much.”

“I drank just enough.” 

“C’mon.” I leaned over him, pressing my nose into his neck. “I don’t want to go downstairs alone.”

“Who says anything about going downstairs?” He opened one eye and smirked at me. 

“Ryon, you devil!” 

“We need to celebrate.”

I threw myself into his arms, and we devolved into a fit of sloppy, morning-breath kisses. 

We only got as far as him unlacing my bodice when Elodie’s shriek from downstairs pulled us away from our cravings. My heart thudded. Did she discover our storytelling bar? Was she coming to kick us out?

Was she in labor?

Elodie screamed again.

“Want me to go see?” Ryon asked.

“No. I’ll go. She’s less likely to hurt me.” 

I pulled on my overcoat and rushed down the stairs. Marietta met me in the kitchen, exhaustion clear on her face, hair bundled in curling pins. We both sighed in unison when we found Elodie not by the cellar door but by the entranceway.

She cried out once more.

“Elodie, my love, what is it?” Marietta ran to her side. “What is it, my love?”

She pointed with a trembling finger out to the lawn.

At first, I saw nothing. 

Then, I saw everything.

I froze, bile rising in my throat at the sight.

From the tree in the middle of the front yard hung a body.

And it belonged to none other than the old woman from our tavern.

 

Ryon and I waited on the steps for the Guard to arrive. Neither of us spoke. We both had vague memories of all the patrons leaving the tavern in hushed tones. The old woman left with them. So, what happened? How did she end up hanging from our tree?

Despite the horror, I didn’t cry. Death is one of those strange things where tears often come later. I didn’t cry for my mother or father when they passed until much later, nor did I feel tears now. Instead, I sank into a hollowness in the pit of my stomach, huddled against Ryon in the brisk autumn wind. 

Captain Cordova arrived with an entourage of Guards. He marched past Ryon and me, paying a quick glare in my general direction and cocking one eyebrow before heading inside the house. Each of his lieutenants looked identical: slicked-back hair, dark, focused eyes, and glowers on their lips.

One man with dusty blond hair nearly kicked me as he followed his captain.

I stopped Ryon from shouting at the lieutenant, motioning him to follow me inside so we could listen. As I closed the door, I stopped for a moment, watching the cadets lower the old woman from the tree to throw her into their wagon. 

They treated her like baggage. Nothing more. 

No respect.

Just an object.

I shook off the anger and redirected my attention to the conversation in the kitchen, standing to the side like a mere fly on the wall. 

“I don’t know who she is or why she is here,” Elodie bemoaned to Captain Cordova as he paced the kitchen. “We just found her outside.”

“It mighta been a suicide,” the lieutenant who almost kicked me said.

“Thank you for the observation, Lieutenant Reynolds,” Captain Cordova grumbled.

“Why would she choose MY home, though?” Elodie asked. Marietta fidgeted beside her. 

“An area of convenience, perhaps. It’s far enough away from the city that no one would stop her, but by a home, so someone might find her. A cry for help? Attention? Only the Effluvium knows.” The captain closed his notebook. “It is a sad thing that happens. But alas, Death comes, and we have the choice to live or mourn.”

Elodie wiped her eyes. “There are plenty of other homes. Why us?”

“Why not? Why anyone? What excludes you from terrors, Ms. Lieu?”

Elodie’s lips drew into a line.

Captain Cordova bowed. “Thank you for reporting this, Ms. Lieu. If anyone here remembers any details that could help our investigation, please come by the Capitol Building. Understood?”

“Thank you, Captain. We will.” Marietta interjected herself in the conversation. 

The captain saluted, and with his Guards, filed towards the exit. He slowed as he passed me, his voice nothing more than a hiss. “And if you think of anything, Miss Ivans, I do hope you’ll speak up. I’d hate to see something happen to you.” 

I stiffened. 

The captain stayed no longer, marching into the yard where his guards finished placing the old woman in a body bag. Without a sign of care or sympathy, the biggest guard threw the body over his shoulder, and they marched back to their buggy.

In a blink, the midday fog settled over the landscape. And the Guard had disappeared, leaving Ryon and me on the doorstep. 

Silence sank into the air. I didn’t need magic or need to ask how Ryon felt. Was this our fault? Would the old woman still be alive if we had just behaved?

Eventually, Elodie rose, placing her hand on her pregnant belly, and wobbled across the room to where Ryon and I stood. Her eyes pierced us, her blue eyes piercing like a sapphire, then fixated solely on Ryon. “What did you do?”

“Elodie!” Marietta clamored to her feet. “Don’t accuse him of anything!”

“It was him! He’s a no-good slob, and I do not want him in my house!”

“I didn’t do anything!” Ryon objected.

I gripped his arm to hold him back.

“That is a load of malarkey!” Elodie gauged. “You cause trouble. I’m sure you robbed her or something, then she came to find you, and then you killed her!”

“He did no such thing!” I raised my voice. “Don’t you dare accuse him of murdering someone!”

“Come on, Dor—Nanette, he’s scum!”

“I was with him all night! He didn’t leave my side!”

Before Elodie could shout back, Marietta held out both hands, hulking over my sister and me, her eyes dark and stern. Her voice rumbled, “Enough!”

I recoiled back into Ryon’s arms.

“You two are acting like schoolgirls. An old woman has died, and you are bickering!” Marietta pressed her fingers to the bridge of her nose. “Elodie, my love, you shouldn’t stress yourself. And Nanette, you look exhausted. Both of you must go to bed at once.”

“But—” Elodie and I protested at the same time.

“NOW!”

I pivoted towards the stairs and grabbed Ryon’s hand.

“Ryon, I’d like to talk with you,” Marietta stopped me.

“Oh. Alright.” Ryon said.

He released my fingers and smiled at me. His eyes didn’t have their usual joy. I partially blamed myself. Perhaps this was all for naught.

“Go take a nap,” Ryon whispered and kissed my knuckles.

Elodie gagged.

I stared at him and nodded. Then, without a word, I walked up the stairs into our bedroom.

I passed out as soon as I hit the pillow and dreamt of the old woman telling a story about pirates.

 

Ryon woke me at sunset. The setting sun painted the room orange, and my stomach growled from missed meals. Ryon’s own hair blended with the room, and for a second, I thought he melted into the walls.

“Hi, love.” He grinned at me, stroking back my hair. “Sleep well?”

“I’m hungry.”

He pulled a tray over, embellished with steaming soup, fresh bread, and mashed potatoes. “I knew you would be.”

I ate in silence for a few minutes, pushing the potatoes to the far side of the tray while I snacked on the bread. Once my stomach stopped trying to interrupt the conversation, I turned to Ryon. “What did Marietta want with you?”

He turned to the window. “She…has a proposition.”

“A…proposition?” That wasn’t what I was expecting. I expected Marietta to tell Ryon to destroy the tavern and for us to leave. I didn’t foresee any bargain or, as Ryon put it, a proposition.

Ryon wiped my mouth with his handkerchief. “She wants to move Elodie into the city. She thinks it would be better for her.”

Elodie loved being in the heart of it all. The city was where all the richest and most fashionable individuals lived; Elodie could walk to the Gallery and the Temple. 

I couldn’t imagine Marietta there, though. They didn’t have that type of money…unless they sold the house.

“Oh…” I put my spoon down on the tray.

Ryon continued babbling, “She also thinks being closer will provide new opportunities for their babe and everything…and fewer expenses for cabbies and the like. I think it’s ridiculous. The city is loud and bright. You don’t see the stars. Great to go there during the day but to live there? No, thank you. But that’s not the point. The point is Marietta needs to sell the house for this to be possible.”

“Right…”

“But she made an offer. She told me that if we can squander up the savings for a down payment over the next month, she can get us a good loan from the treasury.” Ryon squeezed my hands. “We can keep the house and make it ours if we want. She’ll give it to us at a good rate too.”

“But we only have one job between the two of us,” I sighed. “I guess I can go get work somewhere as a wench or something.”

“You’re already a wench!” Ryon’s lips parted into a wide smile.

I glared at him.

“No! I mean it! You’ve got yourself a tavern downstairs.”

“You’re not seriously saying we should keep it open… even after what happened?”

“Especially after what happened! There is no way that woman committed suicide. That was the work of someone…and whoever that was, I bet they were trying to send a message: stories are illegal. But they clearly didn’t know about the tavern. They just saw a handful of storytellers out and about last night.” Ryon leaned forward. “So what do we do? We show them we’re not afraid. They can’t prove we’re telling stories. We’re just a fancy little tavern, right?”

Ryon’s own confidence wrapped around me. It was magic in its own way. I smiled at him. We talked about this; we spoke of the risks; people told stories knowing the possibilities. But storytelling is a human condition, and everyone has the right to speak easy.

“So, I run the bar, and you go work in the capitol? Seems like we swapped roles.” I smirked at him. “What happened to my little cabby driver?”

Ryon grinned. “I stopped being a barn is what happened.”

“You’re not a barn anymore?”

“Nah, not at all. I’m in your arms.” 

His smile was contagious as always, and I pulled him close to me.

Only to have the bowl of soup clatter off the tray and spill all over the sheets.