Page 24 of Reign

“Did you say there were sirens in the Headlands?” I asked.

Arthur nodded. “Most folk will never see one, but if you work out at sea, it’s only a matter of time before you sail past an enchantress.”

Bash cleared his throat, drawing my attention. I edged closer, eager for his next words, as a mischievous smirk curled his lips. “When the wild winds blow, the siren starts to sing,” he whispered. “Her voice travels across the water and upon a wyvern’s wing. The seaman and his sailors follow her angelic song. Sailing across the silver seas, their voyage carries on. Until, ahoy!” Standing, Bash propped one foot on the teetering table and raised a hand to shield his brow. “They spot a siren laid bare upon a rock. She drowns them all, then curses their souls, that boat shall never dock.”

I tittered while Fletcher clapped half-heartedly.

Arthur nudged me with his elbow. “Don’t laugh, you’ll only encourage him,” he teased.

“Have you ever seen a siren?” I asked as Bash collapsed back into his chair.

They all nodded.

“Imagine the most beautiful woman you’ve ever laid eyes upon,” Bash said.

For a moment, I thought of Avice—but I blocked the idea of her out, as though the memory of her was on one side of a window and I’d drawn the curtains closed. She was out of sight, but I knew she was still there.

“Sirens are more beautiful than that,” Bash continued, leaning back into the armchair. Propping his scuffed boots on the table, he closed his eyes, as if recalling an encounter with a sea creature.

“Bash claims his first kiss was with one,” Fletcher remarked in a tone that told me he didn’t believe him.

Bash chuckled, cracking one eye open. “It’s true! My only complaint was she tasted like seaweed—and I wasn’t sure what to do with the tail. Do you stroke it?” He looked across the table and I shrugged. “Beats me. I’m not well versed in etiquette.”

The innkeeper appeared beside us, her yellow kirtle swishing as she placed a candlestick in the middle of our table.

“Or manners,” she said tartly, smacking Bash’s boots off the table.

She adjusted her wimple, tugging at the cloth that dug into her sagging neck. The headpiece framed her wise face; her old skin looked like every wrinkle could tell a fable. But as she spoke, I was reminded that age didn’t always equal wisdom.

“Lodgings for the four of yous’ll be half a penny… No, wait… A shilling and a—no, I was right, half a penny each it be. Supper’s nettle stew, breakfast be thistle soup.” She gestured toward the giant ceramic pots bubbling on the hearth. “I want no hassles—no hassles at all,” she warned us, thrusting out her sooty palm.

After a tense silence, as we waited for someone to pay, Bash finally gave in. He tutted, digging into the pocket of his brown jerkin and pulling out a handful of coins. With a reluctant sigh, he plucked out four tiny silver pieces and slammed them onto the table.

“Ta,” the innkeeper mumbled, crouching down beside the hearth.

She served us four bowls of bright green stew and a basket stuffed with hunks of bread. I grabbed a piece, eyeing its suspiciously white color and wondering if there was more chalk than flour in the mix.

“Enjoy,” she said miserably.

As I reached for my soup, my sleeve snagged on something. Expecting to see the fabric caught on a splinter, I glanced down—only to find the creature from the stables clinging to my cuff. I shook my arm, trying to fling it off.

“Hungry,” it moaned.

Arthur inhaled—sharp. “What is that?” he asked, sliding to the far end of the bench.

The innkeeper sighed. “Yous’er meant to stay hid till the customers are tucked up in their bedsteads,” she scolded, smacking the creature across the back of the head.

It wobbled like a spinning top, clutching its pointy ears.

“Sorry, ma’am,” the creature croaked. “I thought I smelled something suspicious in the air,” it said, inhaling deep. “Something magical. I believed it was safe to show myself.”

“We should go,” Arthur muttered across the bench to me.

“Stay,” the innkeeper pleaded, scooping up the pennies and stuffing them into the pouch dangling from a chain at her hips. Her mouth twisted into a tight knot as she raised the back of her hand toward the creature, ready to whack again. “Come’er,” she growled.

Cowering, the creature reached for a broomstick resting against the fireplace.

“Sorry, ma’am,” it apologized again, frantically sweeping the straw-covered planks.