Ravaged

Chapter 9

There are three specific metals that Feng needs, and after two days of perusing Britana's massive library, he manages to find mention of all three, as well as a book about all the different crystals--including the three he'll need for the weapon he's going to make.

Feng uses the money from his first sale--a simple repair job on a pathetic looking sword, which was so awful that Feng reinforced it with new double tempered iron for no extra cost--to buy a journal, ink, lightweight travel sacks, new clothes, and to pay the tab at the inn for three more days since Skylar isn't healed yet.

That night he copies the passages about the items he needs into the small leather bound journal, coaxes Skylar into eating something--again--and then lays on his bed staring at the ceiling until the sun rises. Again.

It's been three days since they arrived in this city. Skylar has regained enough strength to be moving around a bit, but she hasn't left the room yet. He can tell she's starting to feel caged, though. She'll probably try to wander the inn today.

He watches the sunrise over the river, noting the way Skylar's body rises and falls, her back to him. She's not sleeping, either. She passed out two nights ago, from sheer exhaustion no doubt. Feng was hoping she'd fall asleep on her own eventually, but it looks like he'll have to mix up a sleeping draught.

Or he could just buy one.

He doesn't trust other people with herbs, though.

Well, he doesn't really trust other people with anything.

He climbs out of bed on silent feet and pulls his boots on, snatching a clean shirt--this one light blue--from the nightstand. He tugs it over his head as he walks down the hall and then the staircase. He's been setting up shop in the main river square, advertising himself as a tinker who fixes anything.

He got a commission yesterday to fix some children's toys--which he refused to let them pay for, despite needing money. Thankfully that earned him some bread from their mother, which was his lunch.

He's so bad at this.

Hopefully today he'll get a few more jobs.

He waves to the innkeeper--the actual innkeeper, a middle aged man with sharp eyes and a soft smile, who is the father of Thea, the girl who helped him the day he came in--before heading outside into the chill air. There isn't any snow on the ground, but it feels as if it might snow later, and the river has swelled in the few days Feng has been watching it.

His shirt is light, not meant for this kind of weather, but even without his fire Feng doesn't feel the cold. Even if he can't shift, he's still a dragon.

He tugs the sleeves of his shirt lower over the shackles. Passing them off as a fashion statement would make him look strange, so he'll hide them unless he needs to. He doesn't want to scare away business.

Feng enters the river square, waving at the fruit and vegetable vendors who are set up on the other side. There's also a pair of Fae mercenaries who have been trying to get work since yesterday. Since they're still sitting on the fountain this morning, he assumes they haven't found any.

Feng pulls the tarp off the the two crates he set up side by side and sinks onto them, pulling out the small packet of tools he filched from one of the inn's guests the first night at dinner. They're shoddy, but they'll do, and there's a smithy around the corner where Feng has gotten permission to work if he gives half his pay to the smith. He doesn't mind that, even if the forge is dirtier than Feng's standards would normally allow.

He pulls a lump of iron from a pocket and absently starts shaping it with a small thimble, using it to make grooves and presses on the surface. He whistles while he works, smiling at anyone who passes through the square. It gets a lot of traffic since it leads down to the river, and the vendors--both permanent fixtures here, he learned when he asked the day before--get quite a lot of business.