Flame in the Palace

1. Midnight

Around midnight, the Morning Glory patrons eventually find their way to their beds or their horses, slowly emptying the dining room. Myria hurries through, collecting empty tankards and abandoned plates. She deposits the dirty dishes in the sink where Grandmother Iris scrapes off leftover food for the compost pile. The plates would be washed in the morning when the sun could light the way down to the river. Emptying the bucket of food would usually be Myria's last chore before heading to her own bed for the night. Tonight, she finishes the tasks before midnight and is outside with the bucket of scraps by the time she hears the bell from the nearby town of Everhaven ringing the new day with twelve strikes.

Before the twelfth strike rings out, she hears horses approaching the tavern, their hooves clattering on the cobblestone road as they reach the tavern yard. The voices of men drift to her ears before she can make out their faces in the dim moonlight.

"Are you sure the innkeeper is still awake now? I would hate to trouble them at this hour."

"Of course! I know that they have some wild celebrations here that last until dawn. It's why it's called the Morning Glory."

"And if you're wrong?" a new dubious voice points out.

"Then I know the owners! Everything will be fine!"

"Somehow, Geffrey's definition of fine troubles me."

"Geffrey?" This time it is Myria's turn to question the group of riders. The men, seeming just to notice her standing there, freeze suddenly. The one named Geffrey, a distant cousin of hers, eagerly jumps from his horse to embrace her.

"Myria! It's so good to see you! Please tell me you're still serving customers!"

A moment's indecision stalls her. Myria thinks of how her grandmother was balancing out the night's earnings. She must be already preparing to close the tavern for the evening, but then Myria remembers her grandmother's ever-present frown and what causes it.

"Of course!" Myria exclaims, forcing a smile for her customers. Geffrey releases her. "Go ahead inside. I'll take care of your horses."

There are four men with four horses. As she leads the horses to the stables, Myria thinks back to the last time she had seen her cousin Geffrey. It had been years, perhaps when she was still a teenager. She knew Geffrey belonged to a prominent family that was related to her, distantly, on her mother's side. She didn't quite know how. She just knew that Grandmother Iris didn't take very well to the thought of Myria's distant family members.

With the horses secure in the stables, Myria brushes the dirt from her hands onto her pant legs. She collects her abandoned slop bucket before returning inside to see the four men crowding around a table in the corner of the tavern. Grandma Iris had already discovered their presence, eyeing them warily from the bar. Myria follows her gaze and realizes that these are not ordinary men. Their jackets are silk with wide, billowy sleeves and elegant gold threading. Their shirts are white, too white to belong to common laborers. They were nobility, which was a strange event for the Morning Glory but even stranger for Myria to suddenly just realize about her cousin. Her mind grapples for the few memories she has of Geffrey, their fleeting visits as children. His clothes were always clean, his hair never smelled. His parents were overbearing and bossy, but Myria realizes she had never seen where Geffrey lives.

Grandma Iris doesn't move, keeping her vigilant, suspicious watch. Taking a deep breath, Myria approaches the table, maintaining a relaxed smile with the hope that they would tip well. "What brings you to the Morning Glory, gentlemen?"

The three others look her over as Geffrey answers for them. "Bring out your best bottle of wine, cousin!"

Myria does her best not to grimace, acutely aware of the worn nature of her baggy, wool pants, her stained shirt, and her messy hair. "We don't have any wine. It's just ale on tap, brewed fresh from Mossy Boulder down the road."