Finding the River’s Edge tavern was easy. It sat exactly where Fern had said, on a market square one alleyway away from the river that lazily flowed past the city wall. But reaching the tavern while walking through the lively evening streets of Zudrugen was a nightmare.

  Stares as cold as winter air came often hand in hand with comments laced with vitriol. Beggars sat in the shadows on dirty blankets confined to the edges. Their filth was easy to ignore. I didn't have that luxury.

  I stared at my feet as I shuffled down the road. If strangers treated me this badly because of my appearance, what would Fern think of me?

  Down by the river, I tied the stallion to a tree and walked out onto a rickety wooden dock that hung low over the river's surface. Unfortunately, the water laid too low in the riverbed for me to reach while sitting up. Slowly, I lowered myself on to my stomach, avoiding the protruding nails, and hung my head over the dark water.

  The air froze in my lungs. Each short gasp shook my chest like a wagon rattling down a bumpy road. Dogs barked, men yelled, but I heard nothing. I closed my eyes and focused on calming my tumultuous thoughts.

  What do I want? I want to be somewhat clean when I enter the tavern. I want the dirt and grime out of my hair. I want to feel normal again.

  I exhaled, slowly releasing every last bit of air sitting in my lungs. I want people to stop staring at me more than I want to give in to fear.

  And I plunged my head into the cold, dark water of the river, forcing myself to hold it under long enough to wash out the black dye. In the dim light of the lanterns, I twisted a lock of hair around my finger. No amount of rubbing would return my hair to its light cream color. Regardless, I appreciated that the majority of the dye had been washed away. It would have to do.

  The stallion stomped his hoof on the cobblestone road that carved its way up the embankment of the river. I looked over my shoulder toward him. Small drops of water ran down my cheeks like rainwater on a steep roof.

  “What?”

  No snorts. No stomps. Nothing. I heard only the sound of my chattering teeth.

  “Fine. Don't talk to me,” I mumbled, grabbing the reins. “Let's go.”

  A lantern's light cast a shadow over the wooden sign with a painting of two mugs on a riverbank: The River's Edge. Tavern owners here bothered to write the names of their taverns on their signs. I don't remember seeing that in Zelheim.

  I handed my horse off to an eager stable boy who didn’t mind that I didn't have a coin to offer. He was new to the work and was happy for the experience. I shyly thanked him and took my first steps toward the tavern door.

  I hesitated to enter. What would I tell Fern? But more importantly, what would I not tell Fern?

  Two men left the tavern, startling me as they walked by. They didn't notice me, but I still quickly slipped inside. Warmth instantly caressed my face from the small fire crackling in the hearth. A pot of soup simmered above it, filling the small tavern with the earthy smells of vegetables and spices.

  Men laughed, clanked pints, and slammed mugs onto wooden tables. Some of the drunker patrons earned sharp slaps from young barmaids in short dresses, although I hadn’t seen what offenses had prompted them. Nobody looked away from their pints or the women long enough to take any notice of me.

  I took a seat at the oak bar and cradled my head in my hands while I watched the bartender work. He moved with practiced ease, laughing as he filled mugs from a keg and poured drinks from bottles lining the shelves.

  "What can I do for you, sir?” he asked.

  I studied him closely. He was thinner than Fern, but he shared the same dark hair and underbite.

  “My father,” I hesitated, “Fern is his name, told me to come here if we were separated,” I said. I stared at my hands, fidgeting with a string I found on the bartop. “He said he had a friend who could help me.”

  “You must be the boy Fern’s been worrying about.” A tall mug of frothing beer appeared in front of me on the bar.

  “I can’t pay for that,” I said quietly, trying to push it back.

  “Don’t worry, lad,” he laughed. “Seeing my brother’s face when he finds you alive and well will be enough. He should be back any moment now.”

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  ──── ? ────

  Falling asleep at the bar while waiting for Fern was the last thing I wanted. As much as I fought it, sleep slowly kept pulling me closer to its dark abyss.

  There was nothing better to do to keep me awake than drink the beers Fern's brother kept sliding under my nose. I protested every time that I couldn't pay.

  “It's on the house, lad. Don't worry about it,” he said, ignoring me every time.

  The beer was oddly refreshing. After a few mugs, my stomach stopped its nagging prodding and a strange lightness crept into my head. Sleep tugged at me more often. With each pull, my body relaxed further. A feeling I thought I'd long forgotten.

  After a couple more beers, the room felt strange. I wobbled on the stool and folded my arms on the bartop to keep from falling. As much as I fought it, they eventually became my makeshift pillow. I could barely keep my eyes open while I watched Fern's brother serve other patrons.

  I closed my eyes completely. The noise of the tavern bellowed in my ears. The voices overlapping, laughter pounding against my skull. A wet rag landed on my head. I didn't bother brushing it away.

  Next to me, the clanking of chainmail and heavy boots stopped at the bar. Each clank pounded in my head. I focused on what felt like circles being drawn behind my eyes.

  "No, good sirs," Fern's brother replied, failing to hide a nervous laugh. "Haven't seen no lads like that." He snorted. "Aqua eyes, huh?” His hands drummed on the bar. “What does your master think about you tellin’ the whole kingdom about his runaway kid?”

  The guard muttered a curse. Another man spoke up, his tone laced with suspicion.

  "What's wrong with him?"

  My heart slammed against my ribs. I held my breath as long as I could without feeling sick to my stomach.

  Fern's brother laughed. "Oh, one of them farm lads. First time in the city. Drank himself unconscious on his first pay." I felt a hand pat my head, wincing as each pat sent a jolt through my skull. "Sent for his master already. He'll be here any minute now."

  "Tell his master to whip him good. Disgraceful." The man cleared his throat, and a small spit hit the stone floor beside me.

  "Will do, sirs. I'll clean that up for ya. Good day!"

  Heavy boots retreated. A hand settled on my shoulder, and I heard him slowly release his breath.

  "That was too close, lad. Let's get you to bed."

  ──── ? ────

  The door rattled on its hinges. The wool blanket itched incessantly, but I didn't have the energy to scratch. My head throbbed. My throat felt like sand that the sea couldn't reach. For a moment, I thought I had woken from a vision. Visions left memories behind. This was only emptiness.

  A shadow from a mug on the nightstand fell across my face. The water pricked my tongue as it slid down my throat. It took all my willpower to keep it down. My stomach bubbled, and nausea overtook me. The room slowly spun. I left the crackers on the nightstand untouched.

  The door rattled again, and a thud filled the quiet room. I groaned and covered my ears. Two voices pounded in my skull. I crawled back under the blanket and buried my head beneath the pillow. That didn't help at all. The voices continued their assault.

  “Now you're not gonna believe what the cat dragged in while you were gone!”

  Fern answered, sounding tired and distraught. I could barely heard him through the door. “Vine, I’ve been tearing this city apart looking for my boy. I'm not in the mood for your bullshit today.”

  “Fern...”

  “Move, or I will make you move."

  The two men shoved against the door, rattling it in its frame. The iron handle jiggled a few times, but the door didn't open.

  “Fern!” Vine snapped. “You can’t go in there yet. Please. Just trust me.”

  “I’ve lost everything, Vine.” Fern said, his voice faltered. “If I manage to find him, it’ll be by sheer luck. I’m one man against an entire royal guard.”

  I couldn’t stay silent anymore. My heart fluttered wildly in my chest. Or was it my stomach? I couldn't tell.

  All I knew was that I wanted Fern. And I wanted him now.

  “Fern!” I regretted yelling. Nausea crept into the hollow my breath left in my belly.

  "Well, you can go in now, Fern. You woke him up," Vine chastised his brother.

  The door flew open and slammed against the wall. Heavy footsteps hurried to the bed pounded in my ears. It sagged as a heavy weight sat down next to me.

  “Vine,” Fern growled, “if I pull this pillow away and find a whore in this bed...”

  Fern never got the chance to pull the pillow away from my face. I hurled it aside and retched beside the bed.

  Fern caught me before I could fall, crushing me against his chest. His heart hammered beneath my ear and hot tears soaked into my hair.

  “My son,” he sobbed. “I thought I’d lost you.” He rocked back and forth on the bed. My nausea worsened with each movement.

  “Fern. Please,” I gasped. “I don’t feel so good.”

  He stopped shaking me at once and pulled me closer. His cheek pressed my hair flat against my head.

  “Did you have a vision?”

  I shook my head as best I could beneath the weight of his head.

  “Vine.” Fern lifted his head.

  “What?”

  “How much did you give him?” I felt Fern's hand move from my shoulder to the side of my head. He pressed my ear closer to his chest.

  Vine shrugged. “Five steins, I guess. He downed them like they were nothing.”

  "Vine. You're a real piece of work, you know that? The poor boy's never had a drink before. Let alone five."

  "But Fern! The lad held his own. There's something special about him. Seriously!"

  "Fern," I whispered. "It's all my fault, Fern. I did it. I'm a bad person." I gripped the fabric of his shirt tighter.

  "No, lad. You couldn’t have known this would happen," Fern said immediately, smoothing my hair. "Now Vine, on the other hand, this is his fault."

  I broke into tears. My entire body trembled. I didn't want to tell Fern, but the words escaped my lips before my mind registered what I was saying.

  "It's my fault,” I wailed. “Vine didn't kill two people, Fern."

  The room fell very quiet.

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