DOTD Chapter 14

Rune's walk into town. He meets a strange, cloaked man who's in the market for a lock.

ed along the cobblestone streets, kicking a pebble as I went. I strolled aimlessly through the bustling town square, taking out my frustration on the small stone.

Who did she think she was?
Afraid?!
I’m not afraid! That’s a load of horseshit.

I scoffed, shaking my head down at my boots. No matter how many times I tried, it never mattered. After all the years, I kept showing up, kept fighting for her. It never made a difference. She would always see me as a cheater and a liar, and I…I would always be doomed to love her. Right now, I hated myself for it. Hated myself for wanting her the way I did. She was like a drug, a fatal one I stupidly kept consuming.

Who was this asshole anyways?

I knew that one day she would move on, put down our relationship once and for all, and finally cut the last thread. I knew I didn’t deserve her, that she should have the sun, the moon, and the stars combined. I told myself I would be happy for her, that any future but the one I could offer her would be better. But now that the moment was here, all I felt was rage. I wanted to destroy him, even if it was at the expense of her happiness.

That’s probably why she’s wearing his shirt, not mine….

If she thought I was no longer attending the ball, she would be rudely surprised. There was no way in hell I was going to let this guy, whoever he was, grab her waist and sweep her across a candle-lit ballroom. This Lord Asshat might be able to woo her with fine lace and roses but I had one thing no one esle would ever have… history. Years of shared memory and trust, trust I knew I’d damaged. Time was my friend. All wounds could heal with time, or so I’d been told. If I could stay in her thoughts for long enough, time would wash away my transgressions and we could start new.

But there was one thing I wasn’t sure I could fix…my arranged marriage to the town master’s daughter. Like hell I was going to marry some boorish barmaid! She was probably twice my size and missing teeth! If Father thought we could force my hand into some patched-up attempt at a covenant, he was sorely wrong. The subject had already been exhausted, time and time again, and for some months now had created an icy rift between father and son. As much as I respected him, I didn’t care. My freedom wasn’t something to be bargained for favor. My life was here. As messed up and complicated as it was, it was still…mine.
I chewed angrily at the piece of straw in my mouth, as if the incessant movement would erase my argument with Fluer still slick to my skin. The grinding of my teeth caused my bruised jaw to throb.

That pompous ass, James.

I had to hand it to him; it was a pretty good hit for an aristocrat. Unfortunately for him, I’d seen worse. In an effort to ease the financial burden and to hopefully sway Father’s mind, I’d taken up fighting. I worked with him in the markets during the day, and at night, I wound up at a small underground rink. The place was a grimy, shady sort of joint, but it turns out punching can actually make you a pretty penny. Of course, no one knew. I’d make up some excuse for the extra influx and tuck it away quietly in the safe. Father never seemed to suspect, bruises weren’t uncommon on the south side of the island, and I had grown rather friendly with the old icebox in the basement to minimize the swelling. Sleep was usually far and few, my body and mind sick with restlessness. Those were the times when she’d visit me, plaguing the darkness behind my closed eyes. Nine times out of ten, it led to me climbing through that damn window.

I ran my fingers through my sticky hair, the boiling sun beating down on me. God, it was hot. Even in linen, I was soaked to the bone in sweat. This time of year was unbearable. In all my years of living here, growing up alongside the mossy oaks and nosy townfolks, the summer months were the worst, the most suffocating. People were more irritable, noisier, the hot sun purging everyone’s business by the well. As much as I loved Innswood, the downside of living in a small town was that your personal matters were seldom kept private.
I approached the flower stall in passing, Lillian Suther’s three daughters, busily shucking thorns from rose stems. They all glanced from their work to me, their greedy eyes pinned on my shirt, slick with sweat. It was likely see-through judging the way their lips parted and eyes hungrily swept over my muscled chest.

“ Hello Rune,” they chimed in unison, the eldest twining her golden hair around her finger.

Usually, the invitation would appeal, but after today…after her. My heart lurched, refusing to allow any flirtation to emerge from my tongue.

“ Good morning, ladies,” I replied politely, continuing my stroll to Father’s stand.

They giggled, glancing at each other and smiling.
“Where are you off to today in all your glory?” trilled the youngest after me, her seductive grin asking me an entirely different question.

“ Duty calls,” I replied over my shoulder, hands stuffed in my pockets.

They all miffed like wounded animals, groaning like spoiled children.
“ Will you not stay and entertain us?” cried the middle one.

The question surged forward disgust. I stopped in my tracks. I was disgusted with myself, disgusted with my choices. For indulging in meaningless acts, stringing along foolish girls, all the while my thoughts were only of her. When my lips met another’s, I imagine they were hers. When they laid their head upon my chest, I pictured her mess of tangled, inky waves sprawled across me. None of it mattered. It was an empty cavity filled with sawdust, stuffed but never truly full.

“ Not today, ladies,” I replied and resumed my walk, rounding the corner to Maplecroft Lane.

Their replies were cut off, and I was grateful not to be reminded of my past actions once more. My boots met the familiar grooves of the sloopy pavements as I approached Father’s stand. He had quite the spread of goods today. To the right was a wooden cart, shelves stocked with tallow candles, oil lamps, even a stack of crudely cut thyme soap bars. To the left was a tabletop full of trinkets, sprawled out in no particular order. Watches, various pins and brooches, even an array of locks. Father stood at the center behind a table of children’s toys and curiosities. Gideon Fletcher, a man born for the labor pains of his trade, defending his craft and his pride. His tanned face poked out of a wiry, peppered beard, his warm green eyes smiling as he conversed with a customer. I leaned against the alley wall, watching him convince a round, lace-covered woman that her daughter simply cannot live without the small paper doll he held in his hands. I had faith that Father could sell a thimble to a king. He truly had a way with words.

I approached the stand as he finished with his customers.

“ Thank you for your business,” he said to the woman, “ And you, little girl, treat that doll well.”
A warm smile spread across his face as he bid them farewell. I waited till they disappeared down the street before making small talk.

“ Busy day?” I ask him, ducking my head under the awning.

“ Busy enough,” he replied, scribbling down the transaction on a scrap of parchment. His cheeks were warm with heat, sweat seeping through his clothes much like my own.

“ You should rest. I’ll take over for a little while,” I said.

He continued his notes, ignoring me. “I'm fine, Son.”

“ Father, it's my turn. Go on inside,” I demanded, slipping the paper from him.

He turned to face me, analyzing me over his readers. “I'm not even going to ask where you have been. How many times have I told you to stay away from her?”

“ Father, that's not where I wa-”

“ Don’t lie to me, boy, it's all over your face,” he interrupted. “ The Undergoves are trouble, Rune, always have been mixed up in shady dealings, and no matter how much you think she cares for you, she will always be the daughter of a Duke. You have responsibilities here.”

Responsibilities.
Is that what he called selling his son off into marriage?
Anger twisted inside me at his words as if the sun’s blistering heat penetrated past my skin and into my bones. My lips pressed into a thin line, exhaling out of my nose.

“ I’m aware,” I mumbled under my breath.

“ You’ll do well to take heed to my words,” he stated, adjusting his glasses. “ Things are going to change very soon. You’d better be prepared.”

“ So you keep reminding me,” I retorted, snatching the graphic pencil from him.

He studied me, wearing a face of warning and concern. After a few moments, he released me from his gaze. “ I need to run an errand for Old Tom. I’ll be back in a couple of hours,” he said, tightening his cap.

“ Fine then,” I replied, avoiding eye contact and plopping down onto the rickety wooden stool below.

I could feel his eyes on me still, the hesitant shuffles of his boots in the dirt. He cleared his throat once, then twice, then walked away. I absentmindedly fiddled with the cedar pencil, twirling it across my fingers, as I listened to his footsteps disappear. Everything was such a mess, and it appeared at its very center was me. Propping my legs up on the table, I ran my thumb along the tip of the pencil, jabbing the sharp edge into the rough pad of my fingertip. I imagined Fluer’s new suitor, a bitter taste growing on my tongue. She’d even smelled like him. Would he be puffed, brooding, sporting a crimson waistcoat and polished leather shoes? Was he someone perhaps her Father found suitable? I pictured a primped, curled mustache, smiling to myself with amusement. Maybe a top hat and a ‘How do you do?’. No, I knew Fluer. She would settle for nothing less than greatness. She’d already been with one screw up, I seriously doubted she’d make the same mistake twice.

“ Excuse me,” called a gruff male voice. “ How much for the locks?”

I huffed, easing my legs off the table one at a time. It was my responsibility to emulate Father when it came to customer interaction, but today, everything and everyone felt like a large pill I had to swallow.
“ Depends on which one,” I said flatly.

“ The one I’m holding, idiot,” he replied, reaching out a massive paw and shoving a dusty lock in my face.

I glanced up in annoyance, my sour disposition swelling with this conversation. My brow furrowed into a hard line, up to my ears in people giving me shit.
“ Who are you calling idio-”

My words stopped when I beheld the man in front of me. He was tall, even taller than me, and brimmed with muscle. Even in the blistering heat, he wore layers of black leather and a large hood, shadowing his face from view. All I could make out was a strong stubbled jaw and….his eyes. His eyes were the color of molten gold.

Strange.
There was definitely something off about this guy.

I cleared my throat, breaking my eyes from him. “ Ah- em, let me see it.”

He revealed a silver lock in his hand once more, small winding symbols etched into the foggy metal. I stared at the piece with confusion, remembering my inventory take last night. I reached for Father’s ledger, scouring through the pages and descriptions.

“ I’m not sure where that one came from,” I said, perplexed, nose still buried in the book. “ I don’t have it listed here.”

“ Well,” said the man matter-of-factly, “ Name a price. I don't have all day.”

I slammed the book shut with exaggeration, and gleered up at him. “ You know you're awfully demanding for a buyer. I could list off any price I feel,” I mused, deciding to play a game.

“ And I can take my business elsewhere. Name your price, Prick,” he barked back.

I scoffed, wishing I could put this arrogant fool in his place, but I knew we needed the sale and Father would never let me hear the end of it if I messed it up. Still, this asshole could use a little humbling.

“ Twenty gold pieces,” I said, a smug smile tugging at my lips. “ Take it or leave it.”

Twenty gold pieces could pay a month’s rent, and this dusty, old lock was barely worth three, but I was hot and tired, and this guy was getting on my nerves. My grin grew wider in the silence, eyes flashing with challenge.

THUD.

He threw a satchel on the table full of heavy gold coins. I stared in shock, eyes wide in disbelief. I hadn’t been serious, but this idiot was actually willing to pay the amount. He didn't even hesitate.

“ It’s all there. Count if you like,” he stated. He tucked the lock into his pocket, drawing back his cloak to reveal an enormous sword strapped to his belt.

“ You’re a fool for paying that price,” I dared to say, grabbing the stachel and slowly retracting my arm.

“ You were a fool to sell such an item in the first place,” said the man. “ Good day.”
He turned, his cape blowing in the wind behind him, and mounted a horse as pitch as his clothes. I watched as he flew down the street, a fleeting shadow amongst the bustle of the market.

Who the hell was that guy?