Ashes to Stardust | Sihtric Kjartansson

Chapter 7: The Boot

I had no idea why the owners renovating was a necessary piece of information until I stepped into the room at the inn. When I swing open the door and force it shut behind me, my gaze immediately scans over the furnishings. A small hearth that crackles directly opposite me. A single stool in front of it. A single armchair in tones of red and gold in front of that, a single bookshelf tucked away into the corner at my right. And to my left, a singular old bed. A room full of singular items made for one singular person. Great.

The light coming in through the window above the hearth fades away with each passing moment, moonlight creeping its way into the sky outside. The worn wooden walls, painted a faded sage green, are peering through peeling paint as they creek and groan slightly at the wind outside threatening to push them inward. As does the rotting floor beneath my feet protesting every step, decay evident despite the attempt to conceal them beneath ugly, threadbare navy blue carpets. So many colours attempt to mask the age of the small chamber that it looks as though the horn itself has thrown up all over it.

The room is tiny and undoubtedly all they have left during their much needed renovation. As I take in the scene before me, I am oddly unfazed by the disarray. After all, it's been far too long since I've known the simple comfort of a bed beneath me so I can't bring myself to care about any of it.

Tilting my head to peer down at the ornate silver buckle that ties around my waist, I give it a final glance, admiring the craftsmanship despite my own discomfort then begin to thread the sky-blue belt back through it. I slip the cloak away from my shoulders and toss it onto the armchair ahead of me. One foot lifts onto the stool that sits between the chair and the fire and I reach down to unlace my boots. I finish the first and slip my foot out of it, rotating my ankle twice and planting my bare foot onto the scratchy carpet next to it. Lacing the next boot and just about slipping my foot away, a shadow dancing across the corner of my eye steals my attention away from my task.

My shoulders tighten and my stomach clenches as I rip my head toward the direction of the door. My hand instinctively grazes over the hilt of the dagger that is tied around my waist.

Sihtric casually leans himself against the open-then-closed door frame wearing a cat-like smirk across his face as he watches me begin to undress.

"Please, don't let me interrupt just as things are getting interesting."

Fear turns to relief, then is overcome with burning fury and raw hatred within a heartbeat in my chest. It'd been so long since I had had my own chamber that I didn't even think to lock the door behind me. A mistake I will not be making twice. Without an inclining of hesitation I rip my shoe from my foot and hurl it towards his head with all of my strength. My more considerable strength after today's good meal and rest. Unsurprisingly and annoyingly he effortlessly slips my attack with a single graceful movement. The boot whizzes past his head, smacking with a thud into the wood of the door.

Sihtric snaps his head toward me rapidly as I reach for the next boot where it lies abandoned on the floor and curl my fingers around the worn leather with fierce determination. I raise it aggressively above my head preparing my next attack. Shock flickers in his widened eyes as he abruptly pushes himself away from the frame and takes a step toward me. I flinch forward slightly in threat, but he rapidly stretches a muscly arm out in front of himself and a single finger points in my direction.

"Don't. Even. Think about it."

Through the heat of my rage, I hesitate. I stare straight past his challenging finger pointing directly at me, unwavering in its intensity, and into his authoritative eyes. My vision is tinged with red as I meet his gaze head-on from across the room, my own narrow and locked into a silent battle. His nostrils flare in the growing silence as he waits for my reaction then slowly, cautiously, he begins to lower his finger ever so slightly and my own arm, now burning from holding its own weight, threatens him with another subtle flinch forward.