TWENTY-FIVE

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Within a week, I was back on my feet. While my tongue was still intact, it operated differently. I couldn’t click it against the top of my mouth without sensitivity, and any hard words using my front consonants proved almost impossible. I resorted to beating around those words, finding ways to communicate without straining myself, using tap-code, and writing notes. The apothecary told me the words would return in time, but it would take practice.

That frustrated me, but I accepted it. After all, I could have lost my tongue entirely.

Or worse.

I used tap-code as my primary method of communication. Ryon spent hours poring over books so he might understand me without delay. Some days I still needed to resort to writing on notepads we left scattered through the tavern.

Marietta and Elodie, with their loud newborn Lester, eventually returned to their apartment in the city. I wanted them to stay, but their child was a nightmare, and while they were new parents, I was recovering. I needed sleep.

Elodie came almost every day, though, with Lester on her hip, and Marietta stopped by when she wasn’t working. To my surprise, they supported my endeavor to keep the tavern open. Even though Elodie seemed hesitant, she understood that there was no stopping me. By her own count, I was stubborn as ever.

No wonder we were sisters.

Yet, we came to a mutual understanding, and our relationship was on the mend. That’s all that mattered.

For the time being, though, we all agreed that for safety, the best thing to do was only operate the bed-and-breakfast. But we made plans to reopen to storytellers.

Our security measures were in place. Passwords remained.

But we added a caveat: new visitors always had to tell a story, no matter how ridiculous.

Thus, a secret member of the Guard would have to break their own code. And would they really do that?

And if they did, perhaps they would finally understand us.

 

About a month after the incident, Ryon and I lay in bed, practicing our kissing. That was one thing I didn’t expect to have to learn again. This time, Ryon taught me, and we adjusted to suit my own abilities.

We pulled back from the kiss, smiling. Ryon cupped my cheek in his bony hand. Despite eating plenty, he struggled to gain back the weight he lost, nor abolish the constant fear in his eyes. Lash marks and scars served as a constant reminder of his time in the Pit, and his breaths struggled to find a normal rhythm.

At night, he tossed and turned, mumbling in his sleep as the nightmares tarnished his mind. He told me some of what happened: they starved him, beat him, treated him like scum, shoved him in ice, and lashed him for fun. After all that, they branded his wrist with two dark triangles, forever marking him as a criminal in the eyes of the Order. They called it a cleansing. Of what? Humanity?

They didn't take it from him.

As we lay there in bed, I met his eyes. “Ry… I ‘ove you.” It was one phrase I still said without trouble. So, I said it all the time.

“I love you too.” He kissed my forehead.

“I wa… I… ca—” I gave up trying to pronounce what I wanted to say next. Instead, I rolled over and tapped my fingers against the end table:

.-- . / ... .... --- ..- .-.. -.. / .-. . --- .--. . -. .-.-.-

We should reopen.

I repeated the tap-code thrice to make sure Ryon understood.

“Reopen? You sure you’re ready?” Ryon asked.

I nodded.

“If that is what you want, then I am with you.”

I rolled over on top of him and kissed him hard. We melded together in a fit of giggles, kisses, touches, and embraces. I couldn’t wait to marry him. But we both agreed that we would wait a year for everything to settle. Too much happened over the last couple months to justify marriage now.

Yet, I found myself thinking about Yeshua and Gisela. Part of my heart broke after what happened with Ralph. Neither of them returned to explain or justify. Did they know about Ralph? Did they care about me? I don’t think I’ll ever know. I was just a one-time flame to them, diminished to embers.

They had their own story. 

 

Ryon and I spent the week preparing for the Grand Re-Opening of the Speakeasy. We redubbed it the Rosebud Tavern, a more appropriate title that kept suspicions more at bay. Elodie helped, much to my happiness. There was a new spark in her step, more reminiscent of when we were children. She was the child who used to tell stories with me, play make-believe, and have fun. She focused on making the tavern look pretty. While I liked our tavern, she had a whole new idea, with glowing lanterns and an array of liquors. I didn’t stop her. She always had an eye for interior decorating, especially with her fancy tastes.

As she bumbled about, she kept Lester fidgeting on her hip. I admired her. Despite her clear exhaustion, she acted with determination. Even if I told her to take a break, she refused, continuing to lay out plans. Part of it, she claimed, was to make the escape easier and derail the guards. She started by placing high seated chairs and tables around the stage so it would be difficult to confirm if a storyteller or musician occupied the stage. With the purchase of a new mahogany piano, she encouraged me to hire someone to play. It’d be enough to distract people, producing confusion over the actual performance.

All of us came together on opening night. Marietta and Elodie would trade off upstairs, monitoring Lester while also entertaining the bed-and-breakfast guests. I would stand behind my counter as always, while Ryon would vet the patrons downstairs after opening the Witch Tunnel.

Our first bed-and-breakfast guest arrived as the sun brushed the edge of the trees.

When I opened the door, if my mouth didn’t hurt so much, I would have screamed.

Jaida Heartz stood there, a suitcase in hand, a wide smile on her face.

“Ai-a!” I tried to pronounce her name.

“Do you have a room for a few nights?” She grinned.

I threw my arms around her, then ushered her inside my home.

As she put her suitcases in one of the guest rooms, she spoke excitedly as usual, but with a touch of sadness.

“My brother returned to Newbird’s Arm and told me what happened. He’s not coming back here for a while. He’s going to deter the Order’s forces back in Newbird’s Arm, but there are already talks about replacing our Captain with someone from Knoll. They began construction on the Pit despite my complaints.” Jaida frowned. “Unfortunately, this is much bigger than my brother and me. There are too many other factors at play.”

“Oh…” I bowed my head in defeat.

“But!” Jaida protested and turned to me. “I am back here! I have so much news to share with you from my brother! You know the Senate voted to send Captain Cordova back to Knoll, right? They agreed the captain was out of line, not having a warrant or anything! They offered Captain Oberland his position back, but the man is enjoying retirement. So, who knows what will become of that division? Hopefully, for a while, storytelling is safe.” Jaida grinned, “Which means this should be a success! People will continue telling their stories. And while of course I came back for you, dear, as I was extremely worried… I have a proposition.”

I raised my eyebrows.

“If this is successful, more people will come out of the shadows to tell their stories. You cannot handle them alone, and keeping only one location will be detrimental! I say we open more of these. I have connections with plenty of tavern owners throughout the Capitol and beyond who would take part. Stories run taverns, a’ight? We could find more Witch Tunnels and alternate between different taverns. But I think it might be beneficial to your business.”

I furrowed my brow, considering what she just said. It was definitely a fantastic idea. If we took the inflow away from one location, then the Guard might never know where to look.

I responded, “I be’ieve—” 

She raised her hand. “You do not have to reply now, dear. It will take a lot of work and discussion.”

I nodded.

“Now go back to work. I am sure you have a busy night ahead of you!” She ushered me from the room before I processed what she said. 

I meandered downstairs, pondering her proposition, and joined Ryon in the basement. I didn’t have time to tell him what happened. Moments after I arrived, a knock in tap-code reverberated around the room.

... - --- .-. -.-- - .. -- .

Story time.

We upped security with a secret knock and password. The knock and password changed every day. Rather than having Ryon go out to tell people, Marietta suggested we take advertisement space in the paper. We created a code, telling patrons to find the misspelled words. That would give them the password. Ryon went out once to tell people what to look for, but he would never have to do so again. This further protected us. The last thing I wanted was Ryon back in the Pit.

But even if they knew the password, they had to tell us a story upon entry, even if it was just a whisper to Ryon or me.

Soon, the bar bustled with stories and music. We capped attendance at twenty people for our opening, but that was enough to get drinks sold and laughter held. People came over to me, asking if I was okay and leaving tips worth more than their drinks. I said little; it was tiresome to reply to everyone. But every thirty minutes, Ryon bounded over and planted a kiss on my forehead, taking control of the conversation.

I listened to the stories from afar while one woman played a gentle tune on the piano. People laughed. My mind wandered.

In the end, could the Guard stop us? Stories were a part of our nature. We couldn’t let them go. Just like how those with magic can’t stop performing their magic tricks. 

It’s our version of magic.

Jaida came down eventually. She waved at me, took a glass of whiskey, then parked herself in a chair. I would consider her offer. It was a good idea. It meant we didn’t have to run this tavern every night, and the Guards wouldn’t know where to search!

Jaida and I didn’t catch up that night. My attention turned instead to Elodie as she came down the stairs and joined me at the bar.

“You’ve done a good job, Nanette,” she patted my hand. “I am sorry I didn’t see it at first.” 

“I ha’ help,” I whispered.

“But you led the change. You kept your head high. Father would be proud.”

I squeezed her hand in reassurance. “He ‘ove us. Always.”

“And we’ll always be sisters.”

“Yes bu’…” I shook my head and tapped on the counter.

... - --- .-. -.-- .-.-.- / -.-- --- ..- .-.-.-

Story. You.

“Story…” she recited. “I need to tell a story?”

I nodded. “You ‘ew...” 

Elodie squirmed.

“El…” I begged.

“You’re right, yes, fair is fair. Fine...fine.” Elodie rose from her stool and walked across the room. She glanced back at me once, uneasiness on her face.

If she did this, she would break the spell the Order had over her. It had to be scary. She wanted to fit in with Rosada after all this time. But stories were the one way to fit in with the entire world.

She only had to tell one.

Elodie sat down on the stool, her eyes never leaving me. Ryon glanced at me from his spot by the wall and raised his eyebrows. And even Jaida looked perplexed.

But I believed in Elodie.

She cleared her throat, fidgeted with her fingers, and fixated again on me. “I haven’t told a story in a long time, so I apologize in advance.”

Most people were too drunk to care. But I nodded. It would be okay.

So she began, “There once was a girl who set the world ablaze. Her name is Doris Nanette Ivans.”