DARKHAVEN | "Three Sisters" Book One

Chapter Twenty

Roslin

Roslin was in pursuit. "Come here!" she called after the little black ball of skin and bones and ragged fur. "I have a whole castle for you!" The narrow cobblestone streets blurred beneath her feet, and she braced herself against a building as she took a sharp corner to keep from sliding. Around corners they went, the stone walls looming close on either side, the scent of wood smoke and eateries hanging between the alleys.

She gained on the little dog. He was almost within reach. And then, in a sudden burst of speed, the puppy darted beneath a high wooden fence where the alley dead-ended and vanished from sight, leaving Roslin alone in the quiet alley. She skidded to a halt, chest heaving with each breath. She leaned forward and rested her hands on her knees as she caught her breath.

"Damn it." No puppy and no idea where she was. Roslin righted herself again and smoothed her hair, which was no doubt a frizzy mess. Most of the flowers she'd so nicely woven into it this morning had fallen out and littered the streets with little purple phlox petals in her wake. She huffed and tapped her foot. 

It can't be that hard, she thought to herself as she began retracing her steps. The village isn't that big, and besides, I can always just start screaming. Blodwyn will find me. She smiled to herself. Or Gia. Or Jon. Or Novak. The thought of Novak disappearing with that annoyingly alluring woman for reasons unknown made her hesitate mid-step. Maybe not Novak. Maybe he can't hear me while he's doing...whatever he's doing.

Around a corner, she passed a pair of barrels that looked both familiar and unfamiliar. Had she come this way at all, or did all these streets look the same? She was behind some kind of a smithery when a familiar, cold creeping sensation skittered up her back like the cold legs of too many spiders. The spirits were warning her.

"Miss Adair!"

Roslin had half a mind to open her mouth and start screaming like a banshee to summon Blodwyn, but that wouldn't be very acceptable in the middle of the town, would it? She sighed, put on her polite, diplomatic "lady" facade, and faced her right. "Mister Lazaro."

The man came lumbering from the crook between two buildings. He was sweating profusely, his hair and patchy beard oiled to the point of shining. "Funny finding you in this part of town."

Roslin looked around. "I don't know what this part of town is." None of the shops were marked from behind, naturally, and she hadn't even known where she was going.

Lazaro raised his eyebrows. "So you don't know where you are?"

"No." Bit by bit, she began side-stepping the direction she'd initially been headed before he stopped her.

"And the Lord–Lord Novak–he isn't with you?"

No, she thought, he's with a woman with twice the tits as me and I'm chasing stray dogs through an alley. "He stepped away for a moment. Business. Just waiting for him to get back."

Lazaro was uncomfortably close. The smell of him was unbearable–cologne and sweat and spices now, too. Roslin inched away, but he stepped around in front of her, putting himself between her and the exit. Behind her was the dead end she'd come from, and a glance to her right told her the direction the minstrel had come from was also a dead end save for backdoors to shops unknown.

"They're no real men to leave you alone," he told her. Even with such a bold assertion, his voice wavered. Spineless.

Roslin felt a pang of defensiveness wash through her. "I know a real man when I see one, thank you. If you'll excuse me–"