A Winter Redemption

Excerpt

“I haven’t seen you around before,” a smooth voice said.

Jarne blinked at the stranger who’d sat down at the table across from him. Jarne surveyed the inn. Many seats remained unoccupied at the wooden tables cluttered around the room.

So why had this stranger chosen to impose himself on Jarne?

It seemed forward, completely unnecessary, and entirely annoying.

Jarne studied the man. The only light in the room came from the fireplace and several candles. The stranger’s white hair reflected the orange-and-red glow. Silver eyes fixed on Jarne. He didn’t appear human. Perhaps a mountain nymph?

Jarne knew that mountain nymphs—or oreads, as they were called—lived in the Norend Mountains. He’d met nymphs, or half-nymphs, before. He even worked with a half-dryad. And although he’d seen oreads in Bordertown, the city from which he’d come, he didn’t think he’d ever spoken to one.

The maybe-oread wore a light winter coat, frayed and covered in patches of bright red, yellow, and green that contrasted dramatically with the plain grey fabric. Furthermore, random buttons, pockets, and frilly lace embellished the coat. An absurd item of clothing!

The coat hung open, revealing a bare grey torso, slender but toned. A nice chest. Jarne’s eyes snapped up. He should not be ogling.

“What’s your name?” The stranger placed his arms on the table and leaned forward.

Jarne inhaled. He smelled of the smoke of the hearth and the trees of the mountain forest. Pine? Wormwood? Fir? And something earthy too. And metallic. He sniffed, trying to put his finger on it. Altogether a very pleasant smell. Invigorating and entirely captivating. He felt the urge to fill his lungs with that tantalising aroma.

With a sudden realisation, Jarne noticed he’d leaned closer to smell the nymph. That definitely was too forward. He sat back, hoping the stranger hadn’t noticed. He cleared his throat. “My name is Jarne.”

“I’m Ketho. A pleasure to meet you.” Then Ketho continued to stare at him, eyes tracing his features.

Unnerved by Ketho’s appraisal, Jarne turned his attention to his food, hoping that would make Ketho go away. Or at least stop him from speaking to Jarne any more. He spooned the rather unpleasant-smelling stew into his mouth. His nose scrunched. It didn’t taste much better than it smelled. He dipped the stale bread into the brown liquid and took a bite.

As he ate, he tried to ignore the nymph opposite him, but Ketho seemed entirely undeterred by Jarne’s attempt to dismiss him, instead watching Jarne as he ate.

Jarne raised his gaze. He glared. “Is there something I can help you with?” he said brusquely, not attempting to hide his annoyance. And why should he attempt politeness when this man clearly had no desire to uphold basic manners?

But the stranger didn’t take offence. Instead, he smiled as if that were an invitation and began to speak. “I was wondering what brought you from Bordertown to these mountains.”

“How do you know I’m from Bordertown?” Jarne narrowed his eyes.

“I can tell.” He gestured at the few others in the room.

Jarne frowned. He hated standing out. He had no interest in being the centre of attention. His goal in how he presented himself was to dress in a manner that blended in with others and not be noticed. So although his clothes were well tailored and made of good-quality fabric, he preferred plain greys and blacks. After all, he was a perfume alchemist. Not some lord or lady.

His work should be noticed. Not him.

But as he surveyed the few in the inn, he could see what the stranger meant. Those from the mountains clearly dressed in more rural clothing, with faded fabrics and tears that had been roughly sewn back together. Whilst those from Bordertown, or perhaps Castle Evermore, wore finer clothing.

“So what are you doing here?” Ketho asked.

Jarne bit back a sigh. He didn’t enjoy small talk. A waste of time. And he definitely didn’t wish to speak to this bothersome nymph.

“I’m visiting someone,” Jarne said and took another bite of the stale bread, hoping Ketho would finally allow him to eat in peace. He should have requested a bowl be brought to his room. Or he could have carried the food to his room himself. Or he could have starved.

It all seemed preferable to this inane chit-chat.

“Let me guess,” Ketho said, drumming his fingers on the table.

Jarne sighed loudly. Apparently, Ketho was determined to converse with him. He shoved more of the soup in his mouth and chewed on some tough bit of unidentifiable meat. Jarne had left the city to get a little peace and perspective. But apparently mountain manners involved accosting strangers and asking them invasive questions and not leaving him alone!

“You’re visiting a parent? A friend? A cousin? A lover?” Ketho waggled his eyebrows. “An ex-lover? Someone who has wronged you and your kin, and you are here to exact terrible revenge?”

“What? What nonsense are you babbling about?” Jarne snapped.

Ketho didn’t respond, just stared at Jarne, waiting for a response.

“Well, what are you doing here?” Jarne deflected. Perhaps if he could turn the conversation on Ketho, he’d stop asking Jarne questions. Jarne took a deep gulp of his wine, which unlike the food, was passable.

“I’m wandering. Drifting. Looking for something to do. Or someone…” The corner of his lip quirked up.

Was that interest? Was that why Ketho had approached him?

He glanced at the other patrons. He supposed out of those here, he was a decent choice of bed partner. His gaze turned back to Ketho, who watched him with amusement.

And perhaps something more.