The Bowl of Souls: Book 01.5 - Hilt's Pride (10 page)

Beth looked back and forth between them and swallowed. “That . . . is a long story.”

“I told you my long story earlier,” Hilt said.
“Your turn.”

Beth looked at the two of them and hesitated. She didn’t tell people about her past. Every question would just lead to more questions and . . . she just didn’t want to relive it all again. However, Hilt had risked his life several times to save her and whether she had wanted his help or not, he had earned her trust.

“Okay, I’ll tell you, but I need to sit down.” She didn’t add that her feet hurt, her back hurt, she had a headache, and she was pretty sure that her entire left side was one massive bruise from when Hilt had dropped her. But she never had been a complainer. She had left that to her mother.

“Here,” Hilt said. He opened his pack and pulled out a small bundle of pink cloth about the size of a handkerchief.

“I’m supposed to sit on that?” Beth asked. Hilt chuckled. He was so quick to laugh. It reminded her a bit of her husband. “No. But it should keep you warm.”

He unfolded it and kept unfolding it. The cloth was thin and gauzy and by the time he was done it was the size of a large bed sheet.

“That’s supposed to keep me warm?” The pink thing fluttered in the breeze and if he let it go, she imagined it would soar off into the sky.

Hilt sighed and gave her that patient look she found so infuriating in men. “
It’s
elf made. Despite how it looks, this blanket filters out the cold. Don’t ask me how it works, but it keeps you warm even when it’s wet. Here try it.”

He handed it to her and as she wrapped it around herself, she got goose bumps. It was as if she had wrapped herself in a warm room. She could still feel the night breeze but for some reason when it passed through the fabric, all the cold was taken out of it. She looked closer at the fabric and switched to mage sight. Her vision shifted and she saw a deep black pattern of earth magic woven into the fibers of the blanket interspersed with tiny flecks of gold.

“Yntri, did your people make this?” she asked.

The elf clicked dismissively.

“It doesn’t get cold in the Jharro groves,” Hilt explained. “No this was a gift from the
Blotland
elves. It was given to me the last time I went on one of the prophet’s errands.”

“Why didn’t you just get this out in the first place instead of giving me your jacket? You have got to be freezing right now.” Beth scolded. She shrugged out of Hilt’s overcoat and handed it to him.

Hilt just shrugged and put his coat back on. “That blanket is very valuable. I didn’t want it burnt by the fire.”

He sounded sincere, but she knew it was more than that. After all, it was a more chivalrous gesture for a man to offer a lady his coat. Hilt couldn’t resist a bit of chivalry. It was a trait she found both charming and annoying in equal measure.

“So why the pink?” she asked, holding the fabric out. It wasn’t exactly a color she imagined the swordsman picking out.

Hilt gave her a flat look. “It was brown when the elves gave it to me, but it turned pink the first time I washed it. I think it was their idea of a joke. The
Blotland
Elves despise the other races, no matter how helpful we try to be.”

Yntri laughed and nodded.

“Well I think it’s quite pretty,” she teased.

Hilt put one hand over his face. “Don’t you have a story to tell?”

“Right,” Beth sat down with the blanket draped over her and began, “Well . . . I’m not really from Pinewood. I mean, I am.
Just not originally.
I’m from Dremald. My father was a merchant and though he and my mother had come from a poor family, father had a way with money. He became very wealthy, but not well respected. Father was obsessed with respect. His greatest dream was to become nobility. He tried every scheme he could think of: kissing up to the nobles, bribing officials, under the table deals, but there was no way they were letting him in.”

“It would take an appointment by the king,” Hilt said. “Dremaldria hasn’t had a new noble family in centuries. Either that or-.”

“Marry into one of the families, yes.” Beth finished. “When I was fifteen, my parents started bringing around suitors. They were minor sons of minor houses, mainly.
Pale, stork necked boys, whose parents were running low on money.
Marrying me wouldn’t bring noble families any prestige, but it would definitely bring a handsome dowry.

“But I wanted nothing to do with that. I didn’t care about wealth or prestige. I didn’t want some noble boy. I was only interested in one boy. His name was Coulton and he was poorer than dirt. He’s the one who taught me the bow. Or at least he was the one that introduced me to it. I saw him shooting with some friends one day and he let me try. It came naturally to me. It was like the center of the target called out to my arrows. I bought some nice bows and whenever my parents weren’t looking, I’d sneak out and shoot with him.

“I was able to keep it secret for a while, but then one day my mother was driving by in her carriage. She saw me with him shooting and got angry. I told her that he was only a friend and it was just about the bow. And it was! Or at least at first, it had been about the bow, but she had seen Coulton with his arm around me, helping me aim and-.”

Yntri laughed and shook his head, clicking something as he turned the meat on the spit. Hilt nodded, but didn’t translate right away.

“What did he say?” she asked with suspicion.

“Oh, uh.
He said that you didn’t need help,” Hilt said. She narrowed his eyes at him and he added, “And then he said, ‘lucky boy’.”

“Well, it’s true that I was a better shot than he was,” she admitted. “And I did enjoy letting him think he was helping. Coulton was such a sweet boy and charming. He had this laugh . . .” She realized that she was smiling wistfully and paused to clear her throat. “Anyway, it was over after that. Mother hauled me home and forbid me to see him again. Father paid a guard to follow me around.”

“Don’t tell me that worked.” Hilt said with a smile.

Why did it seem like he knew her so well? “I was pretty determined. I escaped from my ‘guard’ a few times, but no matter where I looked, I couldn’t find Coulton again. No one knew where he was, not even his friends. A few weeks later my parents found the suitor they liked best. His name was Huber and he was the son of Duke Karl
Wolden
.”

“Ah, the
Woldens
,” Hilt said. His voice carried a sympathetic tone.
“Such a boring lot.
One of the oldest families and one of the poorest.
Not that they acknowledge it. They spend so much time focused on their past that they ignore the present. I had to go to
Wolden
parties often as a child.
Lavish monstrosities.”

“That describes them perfectly,” she agreed. “It was the match my father had been waiting for. He needed a noble son. They needed to replenish their coffers. A marriage deal was struck. The date was set for the week after my sixteenth birthday.

“I couldn’t stand Huber, though honestly it wasn’t his fault. He was polite enough and better looking than half the other suitors my parents had dragged me to see. He was just dull like the rest of his family. Oh, I was so mean to him. By the time my birthday came, he was terrified. I hoped that he would convince his family to call it off, but both our parents were determined. To this day I have no idea what father promised them.”

Hilts eyebrows were raised. “So how did you escape that trap? Or didn’t you? Should I go back to calling you my lady?”

She glowered at him. “I was saved by magic.”

V

Yntri clicked and whistled, interrupting the story. He gestured at the meat on the spit. The snake was a golden brown on the edges and the bits of fat in the squirrel meat popped and sizzled as it dripped into the fire.

“Time to eat,” Hilt said.

Beth was famished and the smell had been making her mouth water for a while. The herbs the elf had rubbed into the meat had a savory aroma. The three of them stood around the spit and pulled pieces of meat off of the spit, careful not to drop any into the fire. The meat was hot and Beth burned her fingers a few times as she tucked it into her mouth, but she didn’t care. The flavor of the herb Yntri had used was different than she had expected, both salty and sweet and slightly bitter. Mixed with the flavor of the meat, it was heavenly.

Once they were finished, Beth sucked the grease from her fingers feeling happy, though a bit disappointed that there wasn’t more. As she looked into the eyes of her companions, though, her mood faded. The two men were curious, waiting for her to continue her story. She began to feel panic bubble up inside her. There were parts of this story she had never told anyone and there were parts of this story that could very well change their opinion of her. She began to feel a bit queasy.

“Are you okay?” Hilt asked
,
his face etched in concern.

“I . . . I can’t tell this story without something in my hands . . . Just, um . . . I know what I can do. Turn around for a second, will you?” Hilt dutifully obeyed but Yntri just watched her expectantly. She frowned.
“You too, Yntri.”

The elf shrugged and turned around.

Beth untied the leather strips binding the split halves of her dress to her legs and tucked the edge of the blanket under her chin while she undid the buttons on her dress, keeping an eye on the men as she did so. She trusted Hilt not to turn back around, but the elf on the other hand was iffy. Once she had removed the torn and soiled dress, she stood in her undershirt and short hose and wrapped the
elven
blanket around herself, tucking it under her arms.

“Okay, you’re fine now,” Beth said and the two men turned back around.

“What are you doing?” Hilt asked. Yntri just shrugged and went back to sucking the marrow from the squirrel bones.

“I . . .” Beth shook out the dress and reached into her pocket, pulling out her needle and thread.
“Am doing some alterations.”

She sat down and began lining up the small tears in the arms and bodice from her tumbles during the day. It looked like she had just enough thread to do what she planned. She began sewing up the holes with short practiced strokes.  The familiar repetitiveness of the needlework helped her put her mind in order and she felt the tension drain away. “Ugh, this thing is filthy. I wish I had a way to clean it.”

“You were telling us your story,” Hilt reminded.

“Right,” she said, continuing to stitch as she talked. “The week of my wedding, Huber’s family threw a series of ridiculous parties, bankrolled by my father, I’m sure. One of them was a traveling menagerie run by some beardless dwarves with odd accents. It was a stunning display. Exotic colorful animals I have never heard of, acrobats, stunts-.”

“The Dwarf Rider Menagerie,” Hilt said. “I saw them once as a child. I was awestruck by it all, but my father told me that they were just smugglers masquerading as a legitimate business.”

“Well I was fascinated,” she said. “The last act was billed as a display of the most dangerous animals in the known lands. They started bringing out cages filled with poisonous snakes, huge spiders,
bears,
enormous mountain cats . . . Something strange began to happen to me. I-I looked at these creatures and saw their minds. They were scared. They were trapped and hungry and didn’t understand the sounds and smells of the hundreds of humans around them.

“The next thing I knew, people were screaming. Rough voices were shouting at me. I was standing in the middle of the cages with my arms wrapped around the neck of a huge
treecat
. The beast was at least three times my size, yet I was scratching it behind the ears like a kitten.

“These angry dwarves dragged me away from the beast and locked it back in its cage. I was stunned. I don’t remember leaving my seat, don’t remember walking into the center of the menagerie, and I definitely do not remember opening the
treecat’s
cage. The dwarves told my parents that I was lucky to be alive. They said that particular
treecat
was a vile beast with a known taste for human flesh.