C12 Chapter 12

The man raised an eyebrow. ”Well, you'd have to leave the city at the very least. Find a place out of sight of the law. Not a good time for that, though. You should wait until things quiet down a bit.”

”I can't wait too long. He'll rot.” The sentence was sour in his mouth, and he felt his eyes burn.

”Right.” The man turned around and back again. ”You could keep him in the cold room, if you'd like, as long as you keep him covered.”

”Next to the vegetables and meat?” Brenn grimaced.

”Got any better ideas?”

”You're not against keeping a dead body with the food?”

”I don't mind if you don't mind. You're my only patron at the moment. Everyone is leaving the city, I think. I don't expect to have any tenants for some time. Who's going to come into Goryeo after that?”

Brenn nodded. ”I'll think about it. Thanks for the drink.”

”I can't keep the soldiers out forever.”

”I understand. Gove me as much time as you can.”

”I'll do that.”

Brenn extended a hand. ”Brenn.”

The innkeeper shook it. ”Nest.”

Brenn tried a small smile. ”Family name?”

Nest nodded and smiled back. ”Short for Ernestos. My mother is Gerelan.”

”Thanks, Nest.”

”Let me know if you need anything, Brenn.”

He returned to the room. Keren stood by the window and looked into the alley behind the inn.

”I keep hearing screaming and yelling,” she said. ”I can't see anything from here.”

”The owner says a lot is going on out there,” Brenn said. ”He said someone is looking for me, too.”

Keren faced him. Her eyes went wide and filled with energy. ”How could they know who you are?”

”I don't know.”

”Who do you know that knows you're here?”

”No one.” But then he stopped to think about it. ”Ilisso. Ana. But they wouldn't have a reason to tell anyone. Oh, Odlik. I hope Ana is okay. I hadn't thought about her. The puppet theater was right next to the colosseum...” He sat on the bed and ran a hand through his dirty hair. He brought his hand back and was almost confused that it was covered in soot, but after a moment, it made sense. ”I need a bath,” he mumbled.

Brenn looked at the lump beneath the blanket. ”The innkeeper says we'd have to leave the city to bury him because they don't bury people here. I forgot about that.”

”So, let's take him out of the city.”

He shook his head. ”Too much chaos. He says everyone is leaving Goryeo, and I think soldiers might be arresting Soduqir on sight. I think that's who's screaming.”

Keren frowned. ”What? Why? What did they do?”

”The First Tribe blew up the colosseum.”

”They don't represent the entire Soduqir people.”

”I know that. Methyo Genlas has a history with them, though, what with the Sawelan conquest a hundred years ago and Krazor just a decade ago...”

”So, what do we do?” Keren held her hands out by her sides at a slight angle, as if she wanted to throw them up in despair but was too exhausted to try.

”With Denzin?”

”Yes!”

”Nest said—that's his name—he said we can keep him in the cold room until things quiet down, and we have a chance to take him out of the city.”

”Put him with the meat and vegetables?” Keren grimaced.

”It won't be for long.”

”Why can't we take him out of the city and bury him now?”

”That's not a good idea for either of us right now,” said Brenn. ”Better to wait a few days.”

Keren went to the bed and held Denzin's hand beneath the blanket. ”He's so cold.”

”He won't be for long.”

She nodded. ”Will you tell Nest I'd like to take a bath next time you go down? And you need one too.” She went into the small washroom and closed the door behind her.

Brenn carried Denzin downstairs. Nest cleared away a table in the cold room, and Brenn placed his friend on it.

”Lor's sword, he's just a boy,” said Nest. ”No older than my youngest.”

Brenn didn't tell Nest that Denzin was thirteen years old, and he looked so small because something stunted his growth after being abandoned in the forest as a baby with no food. He wiped away a small tear with a single finger. ”Could we get some water for a bath upstairs? Two baths, if you have another tub.”

Nest called for one of his sons, and the boy put on a cauldron of water to boil in the fireplace. While he waited, Brenn looked around the cold room and found a barrel labeled ”Tierla Kierne Ieme.” It had not yet been tapped.

When the water was boiling, the boy poured it into four large buckets. Brenn and Nest helped him carry them to the room. They set the buckets at the washroom door, and Brenn knocked.

”What,” Keren said.

”Your water's here. I'll be downstairs.”

Sitting at the bar, Brenn asked Nest, ”How much for the barrel of Blue Bay?”

”The whole barrel? For you, I'd do a full sun.”

”How about sharing it with me?”

Nest smiled. ”In that case, I'll take just three moons for it, and I'll gladly drink with you.”

Nest tapped the barrel with a spout and filled two tall steins with the pale yellow-brown drink. It tasted like lemon, blueberries, and mint. After two hours, the barrel was empty, and Brenn was drunk. He climbed the tilting staircase into the room and struggled with the doorknob, then fell onto the bed with his boots on, soot, and dirt still in his hair. He dreamed of smoke and bones and heard screams and crying outside the inn from within his dreams.

The next morning the sun came through the window in the main room of the inn and flooded it with yellow light but little warmth. Brenn woke and found himself on a bench beside the fireplace and wondered when he had come down last night. He shut his eyes to the sunlight and pressed his hands against his temples. Someone rustled around in the kitchen, and Nest emerged from the cold room with two mugs. There was an orange froth on his upper lip.

”Morning,” the innkeeper said. ”Hope you don't feel as bad as I do.”

Brenn tried to open his eyes and speak, but the sun sent knives into his brain, and he didn't dare open his mouth to speak in case he threw up instead. He stood, slowly and with care, opened the front door, leaned out, and puked over the porch outside. He kept one hand over his eyes to shield them from the sun.

Down the road was a post with a man tied to it. A small crowd of soldiers sat around a cookfire beside it. One soldier looked up and saw Brenn, then raised his hand in greeting. Brenn waved in return and went back inside.

”Can I get a drink?” he asked Nest.

”Sure, here.” Nest gestured to the second mug. ”An old remedy. I'll make more. You'll need a lot.”

The drink smelled like cinnamon, orange zest, and vinegar. ”What is it?” Brenn asked.

Nest shrugged as he brought a crate from the kitchen and set it on the bar counter. ”It doesn't matter. I promise it's nothing foul. Nothing poison.”

Brenn took a sip. It was sour and full and warmed his body and belly and cleared his head of pain for a few seconds. It tasted how it smelled, and he took a long drink.

”So, what's in it?”

”Vinegar and some spices,” said Nest, swirling around his own mug. ”Mostly water, though. Secret family recipe.”

”It's almost good.” Brenn finished the drink while Nest made more. He filled Brenn's mug and his own, and they drank together.

Nest asked, ”Was that a normal amount for you last night?”

Brenn shook his head and then winced as his head rang like a bell. ”I don't usually drink.”

”Why start now?” Nest waved a hand. ”No, sorry. Stupid question.”

”Don't worry about it. I guess I just needed a knock-out after...after everything. Have you seen Keren since last night? My friend, the girl I came with.”

”No, but it's still early. I'm sure she's just asleep.”

Brenn finished the rest of the sour remedy that tasted like orange peels and cinnamon and climbed the stairs to their room. He opened the door to find Keren on the bed, staring at the ceiling with her arms and legs outspread. Her arms were bleeding, staining the sheets.

”Keren, what in the name of—” He saw Keren's dagger beside the pillow and took it, putting it in his pack, then found a handkerchief. He grabbed Keren's arms to clean the wounds, but the cuts weren't deep and had already stopped bleeding, mostly. Keren stared at the ceiling as he fussed.

”What happened?” he asked.

”I didn't cry all night,” she said evenly. ”I tried, but I couldn't. I thought maybe I was dead too.” She lifted an arm and stared at the red lines with apathy. ”Denzin is the lucky one.”

”Don't say things like that.”

”The best thing any of us can hope for is never to be born at all or else die as soon as possible. I heard the screams all night. I opened the window and leaned out as far as I could to see. They strung up a man and tied him to a lamppost, and everyone gathered around and threw rocks at him and punched him and spit on him, and the man just prayed and prayed and prayed... He died a few hours ago, I think. He's lucky too.”

”Stop saying that,” Brenn hissed, his face growing warm.

”What should I say?”

”That you're happy to be alive.”

”But, I'm not.”

”Say it anyway.”

”No. Being grateful to be alive is like getting a gift you never asked for, and the gift hurts you all the time, and people tell you to be thankful you got a gift at all, even though no one asked if you wanted it before they gave it to you.”

Brenn pointed to the door. ”You really think he's better off than you? He's under a blanket, lying with cabbage and cheese.”

Keren said nothing.

Brenn said, ”Don't tell me that your life is worse than Denzin's death.”

”He got out before he could see what life is really capable of doing,” she said.

”Don't say he got out as if he had any kind of choice. He was thirteen years old. What could've happened to him that would've shown him how horrible the world can be?” He wished he hadn't asked as soon as the words left his mouth.

Keren stared at him, and he looked away.

”I'm sorry,” he said.

”How dare you,” she whispered. ”You know very well what a kid his age can go through. So do I.”

Brenn nodded.

”You're a bastard.”

”I said I was sorry.”

”You were twelve when Leif was killed, and not much older when your father went missing.”

”Yeah, I get it, it was a stupid question—”

”And I was only twelve when...when you found me. Seriously, Brenn, how dare you.”

”Sorry.”

”I heard you the first time.”

Brenn said, ”Denzin never went through those things though. Well, he was too young to remember when he did...”

”He died before things got worse for him. Like I said, he got out.”

”I don't want to argue. I have a headache.”