I decided not to tell them about my prisoner, either.
The crowd noticeably relaxed at my tidings, and I claimed that as a small victory.
I spent all afternoon in the pub, learning the names of the Sionnachans there and speaking with the pub master. As I’d assumed, he was a descendant of the old Gershen. His name was Garrshek, and he proved himself to be a gregarious, grinning sort of Sionnachan. He recounted the local history with a finely honed memory for detail, filling me in on their village’s growth since I’d been gone.
There was something refreshing about it. About chatting with a Sionnachan who did not seem afraid of me, and who was not employed by me. If I did not have more pressing matters to attend to, I would have stayed there longer.
But as it was, I did have more pressing matters. I could not hide from Skalla and star-darkness and a certain honey-eyed prisoner for long. I’d gotten what I needed out of this visit - confirmation that the humans hadn’t done anything nefarious to the nearest Sionnachan population. Now, it was time to leave.
I exited the pub and stepped onto the street. The sun was setting, smearing the pink of the sky with scarlet and a deep, resounding purple that matched the village’s buildings. I was about to unfurl my wings and leap right into that sky when a building across the road caught my eye.
Like the pub, it had been standing before. I remembered it. Based on the silk and fur banners outside, the business was the same sort as well – a fabric shop. Wanting to hold on to just a little bit more of the world I remembered, I crossed the street and went inside.
Firestone lanterns flickered on the walls, casting a rosy glow over tables and shelves laden with fabrics. Not just fabrics, but also garments – vests and trousers and boots and cloaks. The man behind the crystal counter was wide-eyed at my entrance, but recovered quickly, flattening his ears and greeting me.
“Lord Wylfrael! Welcome, welcome!”
He didn’t seem nearly as bowled-over as the Sionnachans in the pub had been at my arrival. I wondered if someone from the pub had run over here, had spread the word through the entire village, that Ashken was sane after all and Lord Wylfrael really had returned.
“Hello,” I said, folding my wings carefully behind me so as not to knock down any of the fine fabrics and dirty them. “I am glad to see this shop is still here.”
“Yes, of course, my lord! Thank you, my lord! I am Hoshta. This shop has been in my mother’s family since... Well, since you were last here.” The shopkeeper was old, but tall, with a straight back and a mixture of grey and white down and fur. Despite a slight nervousness about him, I could sense the pride he held for this business.
I walked through the shop, stopping here and there to finger an especially fine bolt of silk or piece of leather. It was something that had already occurred to me, but that came back much stronger, now – the human would need clothing if she was to stay here.
A part of me scoffed at that. Let her wear her one outfit until it is filthy and falling apart. And then, let her be cold and naked in the tower.
But the idea of her naked and caged, waiting for my interrogations with nothing to cover her body but her abundance of silken dark hair spilling over her shoulders, was so shockingly, abominably erotic that I had to sharpen it into cold rage to keep myself from combusting on the spot.
“Fabric!” I gritted out. “I need fabric. For clothing.”
“Oh, of course! Yes!” Hoshta hurried out from behind his counter. “What sort of fabric did you have in mind? I have some really lovely silk this season. The palest pink you could dream of. And-”
“Anything extremely scratchy and uncomfortable will do,” I grunted, my jaw working. Now that the naked human had paraded, uninvited, into my mind, I couldn’t get her out. Of course, the only reasonable solution was to punish the real human for it by clothing her in the most irritating fabric imaginable.
“I am afraid I do not have anything that would qualify as scratchy, my lord,” Hoshta fretted. “We take great pride in the quality and comfort of our fabrics.”
“Of course, you do,” I said stiffly, trying to maintain some outward composure. “I should not have implied otherwise.”
Since there was nothing scratchy, or even remotely ugly, in the shop, I settled on the most basic and plain items. Soft brown wool, grey silk, and a white fur cloak with a hood. I asked Hoshta if he had any boots meant for children, knowing adult ones would be too large, and he told me regretfully that he did not.
She doesn’t need boots. She has boots! The human boots that carried her foolish little feet into this world without your permission, remember?
I dumped my selected items on the counter, brooding as Hoshta tallied it all up. It was only when he told me the total that I realized I’d come here without any Sionnachan coin.
“Of course, if my lord prefers,” Hoshta said slowly, as if worried he might offend me, “he can put it on credit. Despite your long absence, we have kept your account open for you.” His voice softened slightly. “My mother insisted on it, just as her mother did, and her mother before her. We always hoped you’d return safely, Lord Wylfrael.”
“Thank you,” I replied. I was not simply thanking him for the credit, but for keeping a place open for me for so long. A wry smile touched my lips. “I hope I have not left anything unpaid on the account. If there is interest, it must be a mighty sum indeed.”
Hoshta’s ears flattened and he gasped, affronted. “Interest! On Lord Wylfrael’s account! Certainly not, my lord! Besides, your staff have kept things relatively up to date. Now, there is a small sum on the account, my lord. Very small indeed, for orders your Mistress of Affairs has made recently that she has not yet settled.”
“They will be settled quickly,” I said firmly, reminding myself to deal with that upon my return to the castle.
“Very good my lord, very good. Thank you.”
Hoshta placed the items into a large satchel for me. Just as I took it and turned, something out of the corner of my eye froze me to the spot. A flash of gold and white that had become so familiar I thought for a moment that her eyes had followed me here.
But it was lace. Shimmering, delicate golden lace sewn onto the finest snow-white silk.
My breath felt sharp and greedy in my lungs. My claws curled against the satchel I held, wanting simultaneously to stroke the lace and to tear it to pieces.
Leave it, Wylfrael, my mind said.
But my hand reached for it anyway, and my mouth said something else entirely as my fingers made contact with the lace.
“This one too, Hoshta. Put it on my account.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN Torrance
Asha Wylfrael didn’t come back that day. I hoped he’d gotten bored of me, but somewhat doubted it after the nearly perverse way he’d stroked the angry bruise on my wrist.
And then there was the way my body had responded – a betrayal even more perverse. I’d been unable to even try to pull away, to do anything but hold my breath and shiver under his touch, hot and cold and confused.