Yarrow stopped in front of the door of the Jumping Frog Inn. He usually felt comforted when he came back to the inn, he enjoyed seeing the familiar wooden door and hearing the voices of the people eating and celebrating inside. Especially now that he had grown accustomed to it, it felt like the closest thing to a home he ever had.
But it was different this time. He felt his knees give in, and he weakly stumbled onto one of the chairs that had been placed outside for the patrons. He picked his head in his hands and took a deep, even though shaky, breath. How was he going to tell Rosemary what happened? How was she going to react? How could he face her and tell her that he had lost the pendant she had gifted him? He was going to get it back. He had to, one way or another. His head was spinning, and he wondered if it was due to the stream of thoughts pouring into his head or the blood loss. He reached into his pocket and took out the piece of paper the stranger gave him. He glanced at the address written on it with a blank expression, his finger idly scratching at the dried blood stain in the corner. At least he got a job opportunity out of this. He clenched his hand around the paper and proceeded to jam it back into his pocket. He felt cold to the point of shivering, but his forehead and palms were hot and damp with sweat. He knew he looked pathetic, and he couldn’t help but notice that some of the people passing by were subtly glancing at him. He didn’t want Rosemary to see him like this, he didn’t want to go inside and have to look her in the eyes and tell her what happened. He felt like running away. But he was better than that.
Yarrow collected his efforts and got up from the chair, then stepped unsteadily into the inn.
He nervously glanced around looking for Rosemary, but couldn’t spot her. She must have still been out foraging, he thought. He barely had the time to take a breath of relief, when his attention was caught by a familiar hand waving at him from the opposite side of the tavern. Marte was sitting in the back of the room, his sword propped up against the table, and gesturing to come sit with him. Great, the old mercenary’s condescending tone was the last thing he needed at that moment. He made his way to the table, trying his best not to limp or stumble. He even gave him a little smile and a friendly nod, to show he was fine.
“What’s wrong, kid?” It clearly didn’t work. Marte was looking at him with an amused expression, almost like he was some sort of curious, exotic animal.
“I got robbed” he answered as he wrapped himself tightly in his cloak, hoping the man wouldn’t notice the ripped shirt and the blood stains under it.
“Robbed? Did they take much?”
“Just my bag: Thankfully I don’t keep my coin pouch in it.” But considering that Rosemary’s pendant was in the bag, he would have rather lost the pouch.
“Hm. Looks like they really gave you a scare, didn’t they?”
“They didn’t.”
“Then why are you so pale, kid? You’re practically shaking.”
Shit, was it that obvious? He knew he had lost a lot of blood, but he thought he had been hiding it fairly well. Was he really going to tell him about the stabbing? It was embarrassing, but probably not as much as being scared to the point of shaking and being unable to walk straight even hours later.
“So?...” The man raised an eyebrow, a smirk forming on the corner of his lips.
“I was stabbed.”
The mercenary’s smile immediately dropped as he stood up in a hurry, his eyes rapidly skimming Yarrow’s body looking for the wound.
Was he worried? Yarrow was so surprised that he almost forgot to let him know the wound was already taken care of. “Don't worry. A healer was passing by and he attended to it already.”
The man paused, and then sat back down with a smile. The curious and amused look creeped back on his face. “A healer? What kind?”
“An ikav sorcerer. He had black feathers on his hat, so probably a member of the Crows” He was quite proud of himself for noticing that detail, but Marte seemed unimpressed with his intuition skills.
“A mercenary!” Marte smiled widely “I hope you don’t expect to get out of this whole ordeal without offering a proper compensation, then. We are not the kind of people to help out of the goodness of our hearts, you know.”
“I am well aware.” Part of him would have liked to tell Marte that, maybe, not all mercenaries were as greedy as him, but he didn’t want to poke the bear too much.
“Come on, let’s see it.”
“See what?”
“Your wound, kid. Let me see if that guy patched you up properly.”
After a brief moment of hesitation, Yarrow pulled back his cloak and raised his shirt, uncovering the now closed wound. As he saw the scar spanning across his left side, he realized that he hadn’t taken a good look at it yet either. It was longer than a span and had rough, rugged edges. Seeing it sent shivers down his spine and made his stomach churn.
“Gods, kid. This shit is attempted murder” Yarrow could feel Marte’s gaze shifting from the scar to his eyes. “Are you sure it was the bag they wanted?”
“What do you mean?”
“I was expecting a small stabbing wound. The type of stuff you would see from an alley robbery, you know. This looks more like the work of a professionist, an assassin, maybe. It definitely wasn’t made with a pocket knife.” Marte crossed his arms and leaned back against the wall “Stepped on someone’s feet already, kid?”
Yarrow frowned and covered himself back up. It couldn’t be the cult, could it? Sure, they let him know that their territory was off-limits for his business without beating around the bush. But he would have gotten another warning before they moved onto more “definitive” measures, right? But if it really was the cult, Marte deserved to know about it. He could be roped into this mess as well, after all.
“I’ve had some.. disagreements with the cult, about my potion selling business”
“With the cult? You mean Lady Sorte and her people?”
Yarrow nodded.
“Hm. Not the type of people you want to be against. But I’m sure you’re aware of that, now”
Although he didn’t appreciate Marte’s scolding tone, he couldn’t exactly say he was wrong. At least now he had a lead on where the amber pendant was. Although it might have been easier to get it back from a simple thief, knowing one of Sorte’s man took it made locating it much simpler. Maybe he wouldn’t have to tell Rosemary that he had lost it at all.
The old mercenary took a long sip from his wine. “With a wound that big that guy is going to expect a good chunk of change. You were incredibly lucky a healer found you, you could have bled to death from something like that”
“I have all the intentions to repay him, don’t worry.”
“Good. I can lend you some coin if you don’t have enough, but you’ll have to pay me back with interest. I don’t make exceptions.”
“Thank you for the offer, but he didn’t seem interested in gold. He said an alchemist could prove to be useful to him.”
“Oh! He wants to be paid with work… that’s fair” Marte took a moment to think, then poured himself more wine. “You better go and get some rest now, kid. I’ll make sure to bring you something hot from the kitchen later. You shouldn’t push yourself too hard after blood loss like that.”
Yarrow nodded “Thank you. Have a good night, Marte”
“You too, Yarrow”
“Nightshade” he corrected him.
Marte scoffed, “you too, Nightshade.”
By the time he arrived in their room Yarrow was out of breath. Going up the small flight of stairs felt like climbing a mountain, and as soon as he stepped into the room he let himself fall on the soft bed of the inn. He rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling. The old wood was tinted red by the soft evening light, and looked calming. That day didn’t feel real. Everything happened so quickly, and his memories were foggy and blurred together. He slowly dragged his fingertips across the fresh scar on his side, checking if everything had not been just a dream. He carefully traced its edges, until his fingers scraped a clotted bloodstain. He should get clean before Rosemary’s arrival. Yarrow took a deep breath, then he dragged himself to the large wooden bucket in the corner and kneeled next to it. As he leaned over to check if the water was clean, he was taken aback by his own reflection. There was something odd about it, but he couldn’t quite place his finger on it. His reflection looked right, but at the same time it felt oddly wrong. He dipped his finger into the water, and watched as the ripple distorted his features. He should get over himself and get on with getting ready. He took off his clothes and picked up the sponge that was resting against the tub, and then slowly started washing away the bloodstains from his skin.
He had just put on fresh clothes and slided under the bedsheets when he heard someone coming up the stairs. He quickly went over what he was going to tell her in his head. He had tried coming up with the best words to use as he was cleaning himself.
When the door opened, Rosemary rushed into the room. She quickly dropped the bag of fresh herbs she had collected on the floor and walked to him. Yarrow could tell something was wrong.
“Marte already told me everything.” she said as she sat beside him on the bed.
Yarrow frowned. He watched his hands as they clenched around the bedsheets. The old man really needed to learn when to keep his mouth shut.
Rosemary carefully placed her hands onto his, and stroked them gently with her thumbs.
“Yarrow?…”
He didn't reply, nor look up to her.
“Everything is alright… we’re gonna be okay.” She sounded like she was trying to convince herself just as much as she was trying to convince him.
“I’m sorry, Mary…” his voice was weak and shaky, like he had a lump in his throat.
She leaned forward and kissed his forehead, without taking her hands away from his. She smelled like the thyme and oregano branches she had harvested that day. “You don't have to apologize..” she whispered to his ear before sitting back up.
They spent some minutes in silence, both lost in their own thoughts. Then she took off her beret and carefully fixed the rosemary branch she had pinned to it. “Yarrow…?”
He harbored the courage to look up and finally turned to face her. She looked troubled, and her eyebrows were bended into a small frown.
“Are you sure we are cut out for this?”
He didn't answer.
