The Hidden Crystal

Chapter 3

Saturday was more of the same, just without the interruption that was Kayla. Iris was glad about that. She really didn't want to punish Kayla by not playing with her on Sunday. Kayla had always been difficult, ever since her parents dropped her off at the church when she was three years old. She could just barely remember their faces. That was a blessing and a curse. Iris was a baby when she came to Father John, so her imaginings about her parents were just that: imaginings. But Kayla remembered bits and pieces, and sometimes, it really got to her. That was when she'd run off somewhere, looking for Iris or hiding from schoolwork, her external actions masking the pain of abandonment.

Iris hated punishing her. There were times it was unavoidable, but she always hated it.

The skies above were cloudy, the breeze heavy with moisture, and yet it didn't rain all day. Iris prioritized her outdoor jobs for the morning, just in case. She saw the stranger in black at the market when she passed through. He didn't speak to her, and she didn't speak to him, but that chill ran up her spine again.

He couldn't be following her. The market was a busy place. It wasn't unusual for travelers to spend more time there than elsewhere in town. She had no cause for concern.

Except for that cold feeling sinking into her bones.

Was he a mage, too? Was that why she got that feeling? Was it just something to do with magic?

What did she know about magic?

Nothing. That was the answer. She knew nothing about magic, and she didn't want to learn anything about it, either.

The inn was even busier that night. She tied her apron on and jumped right into the fray, escorting Mr. Jones to the door again and wiping up the mess he made, thinking once again what an odd pairing he and Mrs. Jones made. She was all about appearances, dressing and making her face up as if she were the epitome of fashion and beauty. Maybe she had been in her youth. He was a portly little bald man, friendly butcher by day, friendly drunkard by night. She couldn't imagine Mrs. Jones ever meeting a butcher, let alone marrying him. But they were both so kind and friendly. Maybe that's what brought them together.

"Iris, watch the bar for me, will you?" Mr. Tumes asked at one point, emerging from the kitchen with a plate of food and a mug of ale.

"Sure. Who's that for?" she asked, lifting the bar top door to get into the narrow space between the bar and the wall. She held it open for Mr. Tumes to get through.

"The mage," he replied.

"Oh, I can take that," she said out of sheer reflex. The words tasted like bile in her mouth.

Mr. Tumes shook his head. "He was asking for you," he said simply, walking away.

That was a red flag. The moment a tenant started asking for her personally, Mr. Tumes took over tending to their room and bringing them their meals. She breathed a sigh of relief that she wouldn't have to deal with the mage anymore and picked up a rag, polishing the glasses. A pair of soldiers seated themselves on the barstools across from her.

"What'll you have?" she asked pleasantly, glancing at the mugs in their hands. One looked like ale, the other...maybe whiskey? She didn't handle the drinks much except to serve them.

"How 'bout a little time with you?" one of them said, smirking. His friend snickered.

"Sorry, I'm not on the menu. Try the brothel across town," she replied coolly.

"You're prettier than any of those wenches. C'mon, isn't it time for your break or somethin'?"

"Not happening. Maybe it's time to cut you off," she said, reaching for his mug.