The tavern had a fish painted on the wooden sign outside. Ameth had not read the name.
She sat in the back corner with two walls behind her. The full room stayed in her view.
She always chose this seat.
The barkeep had walked over once. She ordered water.
He looked at her face and left to get it without speaking.
That was the right response.
Thirty minutes had passed.
The cloth pouch rested on the table in front of her.
She had counted the coins twice.
Once in the corridor after leaving the dungeon. Once on the palace steps. The count matched both times. Aurora paid exact amounts. Always.
She did not count them again.
The tavern filled with evening noise.
Two men stood at the bar. Their argument had started on a clear topic and drifted into loud insults. One slapped the wood.
The other leaned in and raised his voice higher. Near the window a group of merchants sat with a map spread open.
Cups kept sliding onto the paper. One man pushed them aside while another pointed at lines and shook his head.
In the center of the room a family occupied a long bench. The children slept against each other. One boy’s mouth hung open.
The parents tore bread and passed pieces without speaking.
Several drinkers sat alone at separate tables. Each one faced slightly away from the center. One man stared into his cup. Another traced slow circles on the wood with one finger.
Ameth faced the room.
She looked at the pouch.
She had delivered people to Aurora before. Several times across the years.
The work stayed simple. Find them. Watch them. Hand them over.
The coin stayed clean.
She never thought about those people after the handover. They were finished. She moved to the next task.
Tonight she sat in a tavern.
She had never done this after a handover. She always returned to her cart or her cottage or the next job.
This time she walked here instead.
She sat down. She ordered water. Thirty minutes later she was still here. The pouch sat on the table.
Nothing waited for her.
She picked up the water cup. It was empty. She had finished it earlier and not noticed.
She set it back down.
The weight in her chest started the moment she left the palace.
It was not pain. It was not guilt. She knew what guilt looked like on other faces.
This was different. It was not regret. It was a weight that had not existed that morning.
Now it filled space inside her. She had no exact word for it.
The closest word she found was blank.
A blankness that took up room.
She looked at the pouch again.
Gold worth months of work sat inside the cloth.
The stall. The timber. The jobs she never named even to herself.
Sitting right in front of her.
She should feel something about that.
She should be extremely happy.
She should treat herself tonight.
But...
She felt the blank thing instead.
She placed both hands flat on the table on either side of the pouch.
She looked at the cloth. She did not move.
The family in the middle began gathering their sleeping children.
The mother lifted the smaller one. The father took the other. The merchants folded the map away.
One of them drained his cup. The two men at the bar found a new argument. Their voices rose and dropped again.
A shadow crossed the table from the left.
Ameth had not heard anyone approach.
She looked up before the figure reached the chair.
The girl stood across from her.
One hand rested on the back of the empty chair. She had not sat yet.
She looked down at Ameth.
Black fitted pants clung tight to her legs. The fabric followed the shape of her thighs and hips with no loose folds.
A black top sat short and tight across her torso.
The hem stopped above her navel. Bare skin showed in the gap. Smooth.
Warm under the tavern light. Short dark hair fell straight around her face. It was damp at the temples.
Fresh bruising ran along the left side of her jaw. The skin was still red. It had not turned fully purple yet.
A few hours old at most.
Her eyes dropped to the cloth pouch on the table.
Ameth pulled the pouch off the table and into her lap in one motion.
The corner of the girl’s mouth moved.
She pulled the chair out and sat.
The black top stretched across her chest as she settled.
The short hem rose slightly when she leaned forward. The bare strip of her midriff stayed visible.
The fitted pants pulled tight across her hips when she shifted her weight.
"Ameth," she said.
"Kuri."
Kuri turned toward the barkeep and raised two fingers. She did not look to check if he had seen her. She turned back to the table.
"I don’t drink," Ameth said.
"I know." Kuri placed both hands on the table. Her fingers were long. The black sleeves of the top stopped just above her wrists.
"Both are for me."
Silence sat between them.
Kuri leaned back in the chair. The top rode higher across her midriff. She looked at the ceiling for a moment. Then she looked around the room. Then she looked back at the table.
"It’s been a day," she said.
The barkeep set two large mugs on the table. The wood made a dull sound under them.
Kuri took the first mug and drank without stopping. A good portion of the liquid disappeared. Her throat moved with each swallow.
She set the mug down. She looked at the second mug. She left it alone.
She picked the first mug up again.
"Especially since this afternoon," she said.
She did not explain further. She looked into the mug. The bruising along her jaw shifted when she spoke.
The red skin stood out against the rest of her face.
The fire in the far hearth shifted. Wood cracked. Sparks rose and vanished.
The two men at the bar laughed. One of them nearly spilled his drink. The last of the family moved toward the door.
The parent carried the smaller child over one shoulder.
The older child walked beside them, still half asleep.
Ameth looked at the table.
The pouch sat heavy in her lap.
The blank feeling stayed where it was.
Chapter 334: The Weeknd Afternoon 10
5 min read