Page 18 of The Song of Sunrise
I lean forward on my chair and alternate looking between Castor and Leaf, then begin.The Cave of Silenceis a partially complete story—not yet in Teller anthologies—where one of the highest ranking officials of the Watch’s Elder Council simply disappears—a seat that remains unfilled to this day. Marrow had been workshopping it when he arrived in Goldenpine years ago, obsessing on collecting the details of what happened for years.
Castor and Leaf hang on every word, and I have to admit, this feels amazing. My vocal cords hum with the familiar rhythm of the words I practiced so adamantly. Storytelling is something I’m good at. It centers me, provides me an escape from reality, and most importantly, allows me to be in control: of the room, of the mood, of the people around me.
Lean into your power, Akemi, Marrow would always encourage. By the Watchers’ well timed “oo’s” and “ahh’s”, I know I have done the story justice.
A few stories, uncontrollable laughter, and too many glasses of wine later, we finally call it a night. Though we had been sleeping practically fused to one another as we traveled, the singular bed nudged against the wall feels… small.
The three of us stand at the edge of the quilted mattress in silence, holding our respective towels around our bodies. I shift my weight from side to side as I blush, realizing exactly howalmostnakedwe have been this whole night.
“I’ll sleep by the fire,” Leaf offers at the same time Castor says, “Right here is fine for me,” pointing to the small rug on the floor space between the bed and the door.
“I’m the lucky winner it seems.” The bed squeaks as I tuck myself in. After sleeping on the hard earth, even this old, coiled mattress feels amazing, like I’m floating in my favorite river near Nic’s old hunting cabin back home.
Home.Home.
I reach for my pendant necklace, tracing the familiar edges and itching to mark the walls around me with a tally to denote the passing day—a habit of mine from childhood that I’ve never quite kicked.
Leaf grumbles something under his breath as he aggressively punches the pillow into an acceptable shape for his new makeshift bed by the fireplace.
“Night,” Castor grumbles, already curled on his side. No blanket or pillow in sight.
I prop myself on an elbow, turning toward Castor, clearly the worst off of us all. “I can share, if you’d like. There is enough room up here.”
His broad shoulders still. I’m grateful he is facing the other way so he cannot see the splotches heating my cheeks.
“Erm, goodnight,” I say quickly before he has the chance to answer and tug the quilt to my chin.
Perhaps it’s the proximity to the fire that causes Leaf to join me in the bed after a couple of minutes. He silently nudges me to the side and slips in.
And perhaps it’s the hard floor that eventually drives Castor to wordlessly climb into the bed on my other side.
Finally, I find sleep after an hour of silently watching the flickering firelight and drift off to the sounds of heavy breathing from the two Watchers snuggled beside me, who I am starting to enjoy being around.
Which makes my decision to leave them tomorrow harder than I was anticipating.
6
A Reminder
The grand room is much tamer the next morning during breakfast. With the morning sun not yet risen, the room has a whole different aura. No half-naked servers, glazed eyes, or flirting couples. Instead, everyone is moving on with their days without a trace of shame, dipping biscuits in their tea and nibbling on toasted bread.
The laundry service had come into our room earlier, providing us with our impressively clean garments. Castor was already doing a series of stretches and strengthening exercises when they entered, whereas Leaf and I stumbled awake, grumbling for bean brew like starving stray cats taking turns begging for a sip of milk.
Castor dragged us down to the lobby somewhere between our combined sixth or seventh complaint that we had not had bean brew yet.
“Better?” Castor’s eyebrows lift ever so slightly, a look that I have learned as teasing on his minimally expressive face.
“Much,” I say, taking another sip of the delicious bitter brown liquid.
Leaf hums in agreement.
The bean brew is heavenly as it slips down my throat, warming me slowly from the inside out. I hold my cup in both hands, appreciating the way the steam slowly curls upward until it disappears.
I could see myself here. Redrock, that is.
The people seem welcoming and nonjudgmental. Home to folks of all different types, sizes, and colors. No one would bat an eye at a young woman looking for work and lodging.
In a few weeks, once the northern roads are a little safer, I’ll find a way back to Goldenpine. In the meantime, I’ll find work here.
