Page 55 of Starside

The blond immortal opens the door wider. “Come in.” Her face scrunches. “Leave those outside.”

We step into a bustling room. It’s a tavern, filled to the brim with immortal knights, still in their full armor. They’re massive, towering figures, like statues. Fear sinks through me.

The room goes quiet.

“They’re guests,” the blond immortal says, her voice firm, and the chatter gradually starts up again.

Still, I feel eyes on us. Some curious. Others disgusted.

“I’m Xara. Welcome to my inn.”

“Thank you,” I say warily, watching as she bolts three different locks at the door.

“Weapons at the front,” she commands, motioning toward a patch of swords at the entrance, all dug into the floorboards.

Zane doesn’t look happy about it, but we each dig our weapons through the wood. It feels wrong walking away from my sword … but we need a place to sleep. This is her inn. She makes the rules. I only hope it’ll be there in the morning.

Xara puts her hands together. “Hungry? Thirsty? Tired?”

“All three,” Kira says.

Xara’s mouth turns up knowingly. “You mortals are always all three.” She leads us through the crowd toward the bar. Even massive immortal warriors stumble aside to let Xara pass.

She motions for a few of them to make some room, and we are presented with three seats at the counter. “It’s been a century or so. You’ll have to remind me. Do mortals drink ale?”

Kira barks out a laugh. “Most drink far too much of it.”

Now behind the bar, Xara eyes some of the warriors in the tavern. “Immortals have that problem too.” She presents each of us with a tall, foaming glass.

The color of the ale is different than it is on Stormside. It’s less yellow and more sparkling gold.

I take a tentative sip and sigh, in spite of myself. It’s cold, and bubbly, and refreshing. I look up, only to see Xara smiling at me.

“It never gets old,” she says.

“What doesn’t?”

“Watching mortals try something for the first time.” She lifts a shoulder. “We’ve been alive for centuries. Nothing is ever new anymore.” She looks at us. “But for you … everything is new. Your lives are so short. There’s not enough time to try everything.” She says it almost reverently. She puts her hands on the bar. They’re small but callused in the same places mine are. “I’ll be back with some food.”

A few moments later, we’re presented with three bowls of soup that taste decidedly better than the ones the scholars gave us. It has vegetables not too different from the ones I’ve seen sold in the nicer markets, and meat that has been seasoned. I’m too damned hungry to question the fact that Xara doesn’t ask for payment. We finish our bowls, and Xara brings us a second helping. Then a third. Zane and I keep looking around for any approaching danger, but Kira chats happily, telling Xara our names and all about Brambleside. The immortal listens intently, interrupting only to ask questions.

When we finish eating, we must look exhausted, because she hands us each a key and leads us up to our rooms. Mine is right off of the narrow stairs. In the hall, I finally try to hand her my coin, and she curls my hand back into a fist.

“The Masks have tormented our area for too long. The faces they’ve collected … are not just from travelers.” Her eyes glisten. Do immortals cry?

I should shut my mouth, take this favor, and go into my room. But nothing is ever given freely. I duck to peer down the stairs, expecting to see my sword gone. It’s not. It’s standing upright, just where I left it.

My eyes sweep over the slender hall, searching for some sign of danger. My pulse races, awaiting the trap. The betrayal. But there’s no one there.

Xara just stares at me, brow raised.

Finally, I just spit it out. “Why are you being so kind to us?”

She frowns. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

I motion to myself. “We’re mortals. You’re … not.”

“Ah.” She smiles knowingly. “Not all immortals are Masks waiting in the trees, Aris. Just as not all mortals are looking to loot my inn, the way some tried two Questrals ago.” Her eyes flash with a whisper of irritation. It’s gone in a moment. She looks me over. “I don’t know you. I don’t trust you. But I trust metal. A sword like yours is drawn not just to the strength of one’s abilities … but to the strength of one’s soul.” She tilts her head. “Now, that strength might be good … or evil.” She shrugs. “But this world has enough rot in it. I choose to see the good first, and the bad only when I have to.” She nods toward the door behind me. “Enjoy your stay. I’m downstairs, if you need anything.”