Chapter 8

            My tongue lolled out of my wide mouth as I ran after my young master. I followed him loyally as I always did, weaving through the city crowd and past shops. Smells of cooked meats, treats, and street refuse danced in my nostrils.

            Then, finally, he came to a sudden halt. I was but a step behind him, panting and nuzzling his big hand with my muzzle. He smiled proudly and scratched my ears and back. He praised me with words of “good boy” and “good Baron”. In return, I licked his face. It was an equal trade.

            It was a happy memory. A pleasant one.

            And it was the one I woke up from later that evening. My headache had subsided and, judging from the darkened sky when I peered out the window, I had slept all afternoon. Still alone in the room, I discreetly relieved myself in a chamberpot tucked away under the bed. Then I brushed my hair and grabbed The Home of Magic: A History of the Mage Collegium by Martin Sevras. It was a practically pristine copy from the palace library by my favorite historian. Somehow I doubted they would miss it and the others I had taken, thinking I would return them.

            Book in hand, I descended down the stairs to find the tavern on the verge of being flooded with people. The ale flowed freely and raucous laughter filled the rafters. My new companions were apparently putting on a show dressed in garish finery and animatedly moving about. Casimiro and Allegra were presently acting as two thieves robbing a poor, ignorant Fiore blind. So they're actors as well as musicians.

            Clutching the book to my chest and filling my lungs with thick, sickly sweet air, I squeezed and weaved my way through the crowd to the counter where there was a free seat. I was on it in a flash, meticulously brushing aside stale crumbs of food before venturing to set the no doubt valuable book on the counter surface. Perhaps I would have been better off staying in the room. It would have been much quieter, of that there was no question.

            Nevertheless, I sighed and opened up to the first page.

            “So what'll it be, dearie?” the innkeeper asked, seeming to have materialized before me.

            Well, I hadn't really thought about getting anything. On the other hand, it had been awhile since I'd last eaten anything.

            “Could I have some tea?” I inquired, though I had a feeling I already knew the answer. She shook her head.

            “Sorry, lass, we don't have tea. Just beer, ale, and mead. Occasionally we get a shipment of wine in.” Tova responded with a shrug.

            Why is the tea always gone? I thought.

            “There's a tea shop in town about a few houses down from here. Should be open come morning.” she suggested kindly.

            “Thank you. I'll just have a bit of ale and some soup if you have it.” I stated politely. The woman smiled and nodded, then retreated back into the kitchen behind her. I was left with my book.

            The laughter grew as the show progressed and I read of the founding of the Collegium. The actual structure had been rebuilt several times throughout its history, typically due to involvement in various wars or magical experiments gone wrong. Explosions were not uncommon, if Sevras was correct, which I had no reason to doubt. It had been founded by two mages, a husband and wife who had been childless and thus established the Collegium in order to pass on what they knew to others. Each time it had been restored, there had been two new statues of the couple fashioned on either side of its grand entrance. They were still remembered quite fondly.

            It wasn't long before my food and drink had been brought out and placed in front of me, hot and steaming. The soup was a bowl of potatoes, peas, and carrots in a thick liquid. I closed the book and pushed it aside to tuck into my meal. I had but a few sips of the ale, reminding myself to visit that tea shop in the morning.
            That was when a gathered cloud of chatter drifted over to me, holding my attention as I made sense of the words.

            “Is that her?” questioned one girlish voice.

            “Yeah, that's her,” answered another. “That's Leandro's girl.”

            “A bit gloomy looking, isn't she?” a third commented.

            “I'll bet she's some highborn lady, what with the way she looks.”

            “Figures Leandro would land a girl like that. Probably swept her right off her feet.”

            Eyes widened, my spine turned to a rod of iron. My appetite deserted me as swiftly as a traitor and my hands gripped my skirts. I didn't know whether I was shocked or angry. Had the bards even bothered to tell the innkeeper the truth? Clearly not, for her misconception had spread. Did they think it funny to pass me off as Leandro's “girl”? I was no one's significant other, nor would I ever be. They could have at least had the courtesy to speak of this to me beforehand. If course I would have no, but still, one does not simply say such a thing about someone without their knowing. Oh, I had harsh words for them. Did I truly look so daft that I could be “swept off my feet?”

            My cheeks, my fingers, my belly, were all hot with fury.

            “What do you think he's like in bed?” one of the girls tittered.

            “Probably an absolute gentleman,” another answered dreamily. “Lucky girl.”

            That was it. I could not stand to hear any more. I released my hold on my skirts to grab my book. In seconds my feet were on the floor and I was stomping off back to the room, maneuvering through the crowd.

            And who should I bump into but the source of my trouble himself, garbed in extravagant midnight blue and gold, an overly decorative sword at his hip that could not have been real. A warm smile lit up his princely features as he recognized me.

            “So you finally woke up,” he said nonchalantly. “Are you feeling better?”

            Not anymore, I'm not, I thought frigidly.

            By the gods, were I a violent woman, I would have hit him. Seeing as I was not, however, I settled for glaring up at him witheringly. It had the desired effect, for he blanched a bit. Good. He had better. He shouldn't have gone along with Tova's assumption. Then, without so much as a word, I turned on my heel and took my leave of him.

            I sulked back into the room, lighting candles to illuminate the space. Three beds stood side by side, each plain but serviceable. The place was clean and well-kept, with not a speck of dirt to be seen. There was a table with chairs and a washbasin. A small rectangular mirror lay beside it. At the foot of each bed was a small wooden chest, likely meant to hold guests' possessions. Two paintings hung from the wall opposite that which the beds were pressed up against. One was of Riel the Victorious, the first great king of Angletern, accepting his crown beside his famously beautiful queen, the gloriously golden-haired Kirsa. The other was of a lively little dog, a large red bow tied about its scruffy neck. It gave a wide toothy grin as it sat in a wicker basket. Both were pretty and artfully done.

            The floor creaked ever so slightly beneath my feet as I crossed over to the window. Pulling back the drapes, my eyes beheld the town below with snow shoveled to the very edge of the streets, though some stuck in between the cobblestones. Sleepy little houses covered in white sheltered their grateful inhabitants. All were unaware of what transpired in Laeith. When would news spread? How much did the city know of its own predicament? It could be that it hadn't extended past the castle, though that was unlikely. But I had to keep all possibilities in mind.

            All possibilities? a voice in my mind mocked. How can you consider “all” possibilities when you know as little as these villagers?

            I have an imagination, don't I? I rebuked it. And the memories of thousands to work off of.

            I just needed the one to fix all this mess I had been tossed into. I knew nothing. Nothing but shade creatures and confusion.

            So thinking, I extracted my journal from my pack and laid it out on the table. Turning to a clean page, I began to make notes, things to look for when memory searching again. The more I understood, the quicker I would find it.

            Shade Creatures

         -wolves

         -creatures by magic

        Mages and Memoriums

         -gray uniforms

        -treachery

            It wasn't much, but it was a start. As more triggers became evident, I would write them down, try to find significance in them. What an idiot I was not to think of this sooner. As another note, I put:

            Time

         -thousands of years ago

         -prior to Alliance

         -possible conflicts with dragons

        That last part was more to do with time period than the actual memory. It would help narrow things down. It rarely did any harm to be specific. Maybe the Collegium and Coservatory had books to aid me. There had to be something. If this truly was as dire as Corim believed it to be, then there had to be some documents, some writing left behind of its roots.

            I was about to lie down and attempt to find the memory again. But instead I was disturbed by the door opening to allow the Farfallas to step inside. The show had apparently neared its end.

            Allegra was laughing mirthfully, her brother wearing a tense expression on his face. It only grew worse as he entered and our gazes met. He must have been dreading having to speak with me on the matter of my mistaken identity. I was still angry, but my temper had cooled a little since my departure from the common room.

            “So I have recently become your 'girl', it seems,” I stated coolly, sitting up and crossing my arms with an arched brow.

            A flush of embarrassment colored his cheeks as his sister closed the door behind him. She jumped onto her chosen bed and began to take off her colorful shoes. The girl hummed to herself.

            “Ah, yes,” Leandro said awkwardly and thrust his hands into his pockets. “I can explain that.”

            “Do tell,” I urged him pointedly.

            He leaned against the door, sighing heavily and looking like some flamboyant duelist. Allegra was not much better, clad in bright green and pink.

            “Well,” began Leandro. “When Tova mistook you as my girl, Casimiro thought it would be best to play along. You said yourself you're probably being pursued. We figured it would be safer if people didn't know who you were. So we went with it.”

            “And you didn't think to run this ruse by me first?” I sharply challenged him.

            “To be fair, you were sleeping like a stone when we decided,” Allegra pointed out, shrugging.

            “Still, I should have been told. You could have waited until I woke up.” I pressed.

            Leandro sat down at the table, putting the costume sword on it. He ran a hand through his golden curls.

            “Believe me, the rumor was already spreading by the time I came back down. I very nearly had to threaten Casimiro not to make up some wild tale about how we met.” the man answered tiredly.

            As loathe as I was to admit it, there was some sense in this performance. Those looking for me certainly were less likely to take notice of some bard's lover. They probably were not even expecting me to hide my identity, or be with a company for that matter. This might throw them off, for a little while at least.

            “Alright, fine,” I exhaled in resignation. “For the duration of our stay, I'll play along. Mind you, however, there will be only minimal romantic gestures if there are to be any at all.”

            “Understood,” Leandro agreed respectfully.

            We fell into silence then. I decided to put off my search for the memory until tomorrow, not wanting to worry my companions so late in the evening should it result as last time. Eventually we changed clothes, each turning away from each other. They were done within seconds, adeptly stripping off their elaborate attire and changing into their bed clothes. I took longer, ill at ease in the presence of other people while changing. With Corim, I had valued my privacy, with the bards, the term seemed nonexistent. I donned the same nightgown and robe I'd worn the night before.

            I could hear the door of the room next to us open, followed by laughter and lightly spoken words. Faintly I could make out soft, wet sounds. A shiver of revulsion raced down my spine.

            Oh, please no, I silently pleaded. I've had enough for one day. I don't need much more.

            Between the general's memory, the pretense of a relationship, and the whole bloody situation I was in, this was the last thing I needed. Could Casimiro not have taken his company elsewhere?

            My eyes shifted from Leandro to Allegra, who appeared utterly indifferent to the whole thing. Surely they were not so used to it. How could anyone tolerate such a thing right next to them? Allegra was but a girl and yet she sat there on her bed playing some card game with her brother as if nothing was going on. I would have been near mortified to be in such close proximity to that at her age. Such things were supposed to be private, not announced to the whole world (or at least our floor in this case).

            “Does he do this often?” I asked exasperatedly, wanting to shove my fingers in my ears.

            “Yep.” Allegra answered, not even glancing up from her hand.

            “In almost every city we stop in.” added Leandro as he placed a card in front of him, which caused his sister to smirk for a fraction of a second. “You'll get used to it.”

            As if in direct response, the noise on the other side grew. I knew not whether it was vexation or embarrassment that made my stomach seem to twitch, but I was certain that I didn't like it. Like hells I would get used to it. I curled up with a book cradled in my lap, trying desperately to block out the sighs and moans and creaking bed that burrowed into my ears. Needless to say, it didn't work. Soon I found myself glaring at the wall. The Farfallas were getting into bed.

            “How can you possibly sleep with that?” I questioned them in disbelief.

            “After awhile you can ignore it. He usually doesn't go all night though.” Allegra yawned, pulling the covers up to her chin. She had taken out her braids and golden ringlets framed her small face.

            “Has he done that before?”

            “Quite a lot actually.”

            “And you never asked him to be a little more considerate?”

            “He'd probably forget.”

            Well, I certainly won't put up with it, I thought as I clapped my book shut. I slid off the bed to stand in front of the wall. Had I been wearing my boots, I would have given it a good swift kick. As it was, however, I decided to make do. With as much strength as I could muster. I slammed my fist into the offending wall. Without so much as waiting for some indication that I'd been heard, I raised my voice and spoke.

            “In case you have not noticed, there are people trying to sleep. Kindly keep it down!” I shouted loudly, then turned on my heel.

            “I like her,” I heard Allegra mutter as I returned to my bed.

            Leandro, on the other hand, thought differently, judging by the aghast expression on his face.

            “He probably isn't going to like that,” the man warned me.

            Yet I didn't care. For the moment, their din of misplaced passion had weakened and I would take ample advantage of it. I climbed into bed with nothing more than look that said “it's his own bloody fault”.

            The Farfallas were still asleep when I awoke that morning. As quietly as I could, I pulled out a set of clothes (sadly the bards had fewer black clothing than I thought, so the cloak would have to do for mourning), then tip-toed out into the hall. Luckily, there was a passing maid who directed me to the baths. Even more luckily, there was no one there. After a quick bath I dressed, collected my things, and then descended into the common room.

            It was relatively quiet with few people. Only a couple of serving girls meandered about, providing eggs and sausages. The giant Garth stood at the door like a vigilant guard dog, winking at me cheerfully. I only nodded and took a seat at a table to have some breakfast before I went out. It was only a quick meal and I was out in minutes.

            Snow fell lazily to the streets from the opaque gray sky. Not the smallest sliver of sun could be seen behind them. Flakes of white fell upon my damp hair and dissolved.

            The innkeeper said the teashop was about a few houses down. But is it left or right? I pondered, trying to look past the vendors setting up shop for the day.

            “Excuse me,” I politely spoke up to the one nearest to me, a pudgy man with a scarf over his nose and mouth. “Could you tell me which direction the tea shop is?”

            He pulled down the scarf to reveal a bulbous red nose and wide mouth.

            “That way, just five houses down,” he answered, pointing to the left.

            “Thank you,” I said, then left him.

            The shop was a modest little establishment, not nearly as big as the inn. But it was warm and cozy and smelled of a unique bouquet of different leaves and spices with a hint of candle wax. Glass and clay containers lined the shelves, neatly organized and all labeled. A couple of cats greeted me at the door by scattering, two disappearing behind something, the other jumping onto the store counter. A man in green stood behind it and smiled congenially at me.

            “Welcome, how may I help you?” he inquired.

            A brooch in the shape of three fanned leaves was pinned to his chest, marking him as an herbalist. They were only given to those who had graduated from a Healers Academy. That he was merely a merchant for tea was unlikely.

            “Yes, I would like to purchase some tea leaves.” I said, lowering my hood.

            “Peruse my stock then. Tea is in the back.” he told me as he gestured to said back.

            Taking caution to avoid one of the cats that trod underfoot, I examined the merchandise. Some of them, to my surprise, were quite exotic. A few were all the way from the East. As tempting as they might have been to try, I selected some old favorites instead; mint, rosehip, ginger, and marigold. I was careful to take a sufficient amount, enough to last for a few weeks. Then as I was turning to walk back to the shopkeeper, something caught my eye. Pressed so tightly between the end of the shelf and Amiri vase that it almost went unnoticed was a slim leather bound book with a green ribbon snaking down the spine. Intrigued, I pulled it out and examined it. The cover held no title or author. When opened, it revealed pages and pages of sketches and notes of plants and herbs, all done by hand. Nowhere did I see a name.

            Still leafing through my find, I returned to the counter. I placed the tea ingredients in front of the merchant before holding out the journal.

            “Is this yours? It's quite detailed.” I mentioned with admiration.

            He looked it over analytically then shook his head.

            “No, I keep all my notes in my office. The handwriting is far better than mine too.” he informed me with a shrug.

            “Would you be willing to sell it?”

            “A scholar, aren't you?”

            “Every inch.”

            “Twenty drakes for it then,” he stated in a business-like manner. “Eleven for the tea.”

            After some digging for my coin purse, I made my purchase and departed with a word of thanks.

            Memorium jobs typically paid well. Our services were sometimes done as an act of benevolence or a favor. Otherwise, they ranged from five drakes to a full crown. Corim had always split the money between us, even when my only job had been to observe. By all rights, he should have had possession of all of it. Yet he never failed to insist on giving me half, more if I had done the task myself. It had been his thought that I should always have a little coin on hand. I had about two crowns on me. I was, by nature, frugal. My funds had frequently outlasted Corim's.

            With any luck, I could take a few jobs along the way. I was already relying on the minstrels fro food and shelter, but I'd be damned if I ever borrowed money from them or anyone else.

            Just outside the door stood a figure all bundled in blue and hands in his pockets. It seemed that any time away from the entertainers would be in short supply.

            “I wasn't expecting to see you yet, Fiore,” I said, adjusting the strap of my bag. “Donatella isn't with you?”

            The flutist shook his head and jerked his thumb in the direction of The Laughing Dragon. The idea of husband without wife was close to astonishing. Prior to now, they had appeared attached at the hip.

            “Yes, well, it was nice seeing you. I'll see you back at the inn.” I excused myself, stepping to the side.

            I had plans to take a walk, to simply spend some time on my own. Regardless of the cold, it would have been a relief. Despite our closeness, Corim and I had often had time on our own to wander about or buy things. That had seemed necessary traveling with just one person. Five made it seem crucial.

            Apparently that was not even possible, for Fiore loosely grasped my shoulder and again shook his head. I frowned, hoping he was not saying what I thought he was. Did they really want someone to supervise me like a feckless child?

            “You cannot be serious,” I objected incredulously. “I'm taking a walk, not wandering into a dark forest.”

            The bard made a walking motion with his fingers, then pointed to himself. There would not be any getting rid of him. He would walk with me whether I liked it or not.

            Arguing with a mute is impossible, some memory rose up. It wasn't mine, I knew that. They did that occasionally rose up on their own, triggered by something. Most of the time it only happened with recently assimilated memories. In my current case, it was one of thousands, possibly millions.

            Sighing heavily, I walked with him, he smiling pleasantly and I with my arms crossed. I gave up on leading when Fiore started to tug at my sleeve every other block or so to pull me in a different direction. He had not sought me out without a destination in mind.

            “Where exactly are we going?” I asked irritably after what must have been the seventh tug.

            His quiet smile grew wider as he pointed to a tall house across the street from us. It was clearly old and had weathered many winters. The roof had been thatched multiple times and an old exotically colored bird watched us from the window. Fiore led me to it, then knocked on the door. He had barely finished when a man as elderly as the bird answered, his hair gray as ash and his robes serviceable but threadbare. His stern visage softened when he laid eyes on Fiore.

            “I was starting to wonder when I would see you, Senor Oralba. The enchantment is holding up well, I hope.” he remarked invitingly as he allowed us inside. His gaze landed on me. “And who is this?”

            “Serinda Belwyn,” I replied promptly, saving Fiore from finding a way to answer.

            The bard removed his cloak and coat, dropping his winter clothing onto a chair before a fire. He unwound his wool scarf and pulled at his collar to loosen it. And I saw what made him mute. Across his throat was a broad, savage red scar that made my skin crawl to look at it. He noticed me staring and gave me another quiet smile. I dropped my gaze to the carpet beneath my feet, ashamed at my lack of decorum.

            “It's alright,” I heard him rasp in a strained, reedy voice. “I'm used to staring.”

            So he wasn't mute. He could speak. His silence was the result of a slit throat. Few survived such an experience. He must have been unbelievably lucky, whatever misadventure had given it to him. Somehow there was always more to these bards than met the eye.

            I turned away to allow the men to speak, though our host naturally did most of the talking. The entire room was nothing but books; piles and piles of them creating spires and walls all around. It was a wonder, a marvel. Having traveled with Corim for years, I had never been able to acquire this vast a collection. It filled me with awe and envy. This must have taken years to achieve.

            Corim would have loved this, I thought with a pang of sadness. For as different as we were, my master and I had shared an appetite for knowledge, mine was simply more voracious.

            Absentmindedly I followed the men as their conversation traveled up the stairs, engrossed in the never-ending treasure trove of books. Their talk began to drift away as title after title and author after author passed my wandering eye. What I wouldn't give to have such a blessing. My fingers itched to stroke the spines and turn the pages. I could already smell the ink and leather, picture the tales, histories, directions, observations in my head. How lucky their owner was to obtain all of them.

            Soon I found myself alone, having lagged behind in the trance the books had held me in. A step backwards took me into an area that looked to be an office. Like the rest of the house, books were everywhere. I had to take care to step over those situated on the floor. A telescope stood behind a desk littered with crumpled papers and fractured gems, a globe perched precariously on the edge, and a pipe that still smelled quite strongly of whatever had been in it. Strange structures decorated the space here and there made of mysterious combinations of metal and rock. I sat down at the desk, delicately pinching the page of an open book between my thumb and forefinger.

            “The Theoretical Functions of Mind and Magic,” I read the section aloud under my breath. “Half of those theories were disproven years ago.”

            Regardless, I continued to examine it, wondering why a mage would by studying an outdated volume. After all, surely there were more recent texts on the subject. Perhaps he was making comparisons, or using this one as a reference.

            In the midst of this wondering, a faint scrabbling reached my ears, stepping over the papers in its path. I glanced up from my reading to find a rat standing right in front of me on its hind legs.

            It was the most adorable little thing. Big enough to fit in the palm of my hand, its soft fur was a black hood and white posterior. Its twitching nose, delicate ears, tiny feet, and ropy tail were a light pink hue that reminded me of infant raspberries in spring. Beady black eyes watched me curiously, whiskers quivering excitedly. It was a healthy beast, neither too plump nor too thin. I doubt I had ever seen such a precious creature.

            A smile tugged at the corners of my lips as I held out my hand for it to sniff. Its nose brushed the tip of my finger, then scrambled into my open palm. Contrary to most, I had been rather fond of mice and rats ever since I was a child. Back in my parents' home in Greenvale, my mother had chastised me countless times for trying to give the mice in our house food or sneak them up into my room. Once I had managed to hide four in a drawer in my room before she had caught on. We had gotten a cat shortly after. Unfortunately for my dear mother, the cat had proved to be more interested in milk than mousing. I had loved the creatures. I adored their size and quiet nature. They were so sweet and innocent. I was drawn to them, even if other people found them foul.

            “Aren't you a little dear?” I murmured sweetly as I stroked it between the ears. Its eyes closed and it leaned into my touch like a contented dog. It stood on its hind legs a second time and I saw that it was male.

            “You have an intelligent look to you, very dignified.” I praised him endearingly. As if it understood, it seemed to stand a little straighter, taller.

            I assumed it was the mage's rat, seeing as it was in his office. Perhaps he was a familiar, the practice was not uncommon. There was also the possibility that he was used for experimentation, though I didn't want to consider that. Or he could have just been a useful pet. Either way, it was another way in which I envied the mage.

            The rat yawned and shook its head, showing long, thin teeth. I stroked beneath his chin. The bobbing whiskers tickled my skin even through the glove. I crooned compliments and played with him. After a good deal of tickling and petting, he scurried up my arm to my shoulder. He pressed his nose to the shell of my ear. I shivered at the slightest trace of wetness, the feather light touch of fur.

            The memories came. A single brush of contact was all it took.

            A nest full of bald brothers and sister. Cracks and holes in the wall. Nibbling on food stored away in the pantry. A world of giants and dangerously big feet. Books and wet markings easily ruined by a misstep. Slowly, ever so slowly, the markings become letters. The letters become words. The words become sentences. There is understanding.

            The mage casts strange spells. Foreign colorful things in different forms. Many make noises. Some explode. He puts some into stones or other things. He does not notice me watching beneath his piles of stray papers.

            Then, only an hour ago, the girl. Simply sitting down to read. Curiosity sets in, interest. And now...

            I looked to the rat perched on my shoulder, wriggling his nose at me. I'd heard of accounts of animals gaining intelligence through exposure to magic, never to the extent of a human mind, but still a remarkable amount. The effects were varied, ranging from a prolonged lifespan to comprehension of human speech. Regrettably, an animal's memory was different from that of a human. An animal did not think of its mortality, nor did it keep account of passing time. One day was like another. Comprehension was easier to detect, though rather subtle. Humans had moment of “aha, I understand this”. Animals did not. They merely accepted it. When I had time, after all this was over, I would be sure to further study the rat's memories.

            I brought my hand to the level of my shoulder to lower the rat down to the desk. Before he could take a step, however, a masculine shout shocked me into stillness. It had held but one word: rat. Standing in the doorway was Fiore and the mage, one perplexed, the other staring at me in disgusted astonishment. Or rather, at the rodent I was being so friendly with. Well, the memories certainly did not imply he was a pet. I though, instinctively placing a protective hand over him.

            “What is that thing doing in my office?” he demanded to know.

            “He came up to me,” I answered calmly, as if the man was not yelling at me so rudely. “I did not realize you found his presence so offensive.”

            “Of course I find it offensive!” he barked at me. “It's a revolting, disease-carrying vermin! Get it out of here!”

            I didn't even deign to make a response as I rose to my feet, rat in hand. Giving the man a look of frigid affront, I left the room. Not a word left my lips. We descended the stairs and waited outside the door.

            The creature continued to gaze up at me, snow dotting the black of his pelt. Gingerly I brushed it off, offering him a slight grin.

            “I suppose you need a name, don't you?” I murmured. “How about Martin? That's a good, dignified name.”

            His ears seemed to perk up in recognition. I supposed it was safe to say that he comprehended me. Not much later, Fiore stepped outside, wrapping his scarf around his maimed neck. His gaze landed on my new pet. What expression he wore, I could not say.

            “I apologize for that,” I sighed. “I had no idea he would react that way.”

            Fiore only shrugged and led me back to the inn. I held Martin to me, keeping him warm next to my heart.