“I said
no
!” she said fiercely, burning with anger.
Everand raised a hand to his cheek, clearly shocked. “But Emmy,” he said, confusion and hurt sounding in his voice.
“What makes you think you can kiss me?” she asked, seething. “I’m with Gaspi.”
“But what about all this time we’ve been spending together?” he said.
“As friends,” she snapped.
“Oh come on,” he said sarcastically. “We’re much more than friends.”
“No we’re not,” Emea said pointedly. “I’ve never meant to give you that impression.”
“You’re not being serious?” he asked. She could see his face hardening with anger and hurt pride.
“Yes I am,” she said firmly.
Everand drew himself up straight. “I can see I’ve been wasting my time,” he said stiffly. Emmy could see the hurt in his eyes, a fractured look that was at odds with the stern mask of his face. “I thought we had something, but I can see I was wrong,” he said, his voice cracking on the last word. At that moment, Emmy realised just how badly she’d messed up, but before she could say anything else he stood up and strode out of the room, the door to the snug swinging back and forth noisily in his wake. Emmy fell back against the seat, consumed with guilt and self-doubt. She needed Lydia, and right away.
Pushing herself off the seat, she staggered under the influence of the wine and had to catch herself on the table. She left the snug and made her way out of the bar, colliding with several customers and banging her hip on a table, but she didn’t care. She just needed to get out of there and find Lydia. Once outside, she steadied herself and tried to walk in as straight a line as possible. Somehow she made it through the campus without attracting attention. She entered the tower and went straight to the transporter, muttering the command before anyone could speak to her. When she arrived in the Warren, she hurried to Lydia’s room, speeding up when she heard someone call her name from a bedroom, desperate to avoid attention. She turned the handle to her friend’s room, crying in relief when it opened.
Taurnil and Lydia were sitting on the bed, playing cards on a side table. They looked up as she entered, and she flew into Lydia’s arms, sobbing like a child. Silently, Taurnil left the room, leaving her in his girlfriend’s care.
…
Lydia held her while she sobbed, stroking her hair and trying to calm her down. Poor Emmy! It looked like things with Everand had finally blown up in her face. Eventually, she stopped crying and lay sniffling in her lap for a few minutes until her breathing deepened and she fell asleep.
Lydia gently laid her friend down on the bed and drew a blanket over her. Emmy smelt of wine and was clearly a bit the worse for wear, so she’d probably sleep for quite a while. She’d been looking forward to a long evening with Taurnil but she couldn’t let Emmy wake up on her own. Sighing, she pulled out some books, sat down at her desk, and began to study.
…
It must have been at least two hours later when Emmy stirred. Putting her books away, Lydia fetched a glass of water and gave it to her. Groaning, Emmy took the glass in a shaky hand and drank the water. She handed the empty glass back to Lydia and forced herself to sit up.
“Are you alright Em?” Lydia asked.
“I feel terrible,” Emmy groaned.
“That’s because you drank too much,” she said.
“I didn’t mean to,” Emmy said miserably.
“So what happened?” she asked. There was no point skirting round the issue. She needed to talk about it sooner or later, and now seemed like a good time.
“Everand kissed me,” Emea said, her tear stained face the picture of dismay. “He said we were more than friends and that I had feelings for him, but I don’t.”
“What did you do?” she asked. It was best to know all the details before saying anything.
“I slapped him in the face!” Emmy said, looking absolutely horrified. “I can’t believe I did that. I hit him really hard.”
Lydia struggled to repress a smirk. Everand deserved whatever he got. “And then?” she asked.
“I told him I didn’t have feelings for him,” Emea said more softly. “He wouldn’t believe me to start with but then he got so angry and hurt and said he’d been wasting his time. He just walked off. I think he was crying.” She looked up, her eyes as wide as they could go. “Oh Lydia I’m an awful person!” she said in a tremulous voice, and broke down into sobs again.
Lydia waited for her to stop crying and then coaxed her into sitting up. “Do you want me to just be nice to you, or do you want my opinion?” she asked.
Emea looked at her through bleary eyes. “Your opinion,” she said half-heartedly.
Lydia chose to ignore Emmy’s obvious reluctance and went ahead anyway. “You’re not an awful person. You just refuse to see what’s going on in front of your eyes because you want to see the best in people. You did exactly the same thing with Ferast last year.”
“He was so hurt,” Emmy said. “It was awful.”
“I know it was awful but Everand tried to steal another boy’s girlfriend. He deserves whatever he gets.”
“But…”
“No buts,” Lydia said firmly. “Competing for a girl’s attention is one thing, but he waited until Gaspi was out of the picture and wormed his way into your affections. It’s sneaky and it’s arrogant. I bet he never thought for a moment that you wouldn’t feel the same way.”
“He did find it hard to believe,” Emea mumbled. “But he was really hurt, Lydia. I could tell.”
“Well you’ll just have to accept responsibility for that,” Lydia said gently. “You
have
been a bit ignorant. Did you honestly not see this coming, because I saw it coming from a mile away, and so did Taurnil?”
“Then why didn’t you tell me?” Emea asked with a touch of anger.
“Would you have listened?” Lydia asked.
Emea hung her head. “No I suppose not. I’ve been really stupid.”
Lydia put her arms around her and gave her a hug. “A little bit stupid maybe.” She pulled back from the hug and looked Emmy in the eye. “Have you thought about what you’re going to tell Gaspi?”
“I don’t think Gaspi will mind,” Emmy said quickly. Lydia screwed her face up. Emmy’s feelings of guilt seemed to stem more from how much she’d upset Everand than from what she’d done to Gaspi.
“Come on Lydia,” Emmy said with a resigned sigh. “You may as well say whatever’s on your mind.”
“Do you promise to listen?” Lydia asked.
“Yes,” Emmy said, though Lydia thought she could detect a lingering hint of rebellion.
“Remember last year, when Gaspi saw you in the canteen with Everand?”
“Yes,” Emea said, pulling a face like a grumpy child.
“Remember how upset he was?”
“Lydia, I know what you’re getting at, but this is different,” Emmy said stubbornly. “Gaspi and I have grown since then, and I didn’t deliberately do anything to make Everand kiss me. He’ll understand.”
Lydia sighed in exasperation. “You promised to listen!” she said sternly, and Emmy fell silent. “Look, Gaspi can be jealous like anyone else. He’s a great person but sometimes he can be insecure; you know that. If he comes back to find out you’ve been spending a lot of time with a boy who used to bully him and who everybody knows is infatuated with you, and isn’t jealous, then you may as well call it a day and split up, because he
should
be jealous! And if that isn’t enough, when he finds out you ended up drunk in the snug, being kissed by Everand, he’s going to be mortified.”
“It wasn’t like that!” Emmy protested.
“Are you telling me you aren’t even a little attracted to Everand?” Lydia asked.
Emmy flushed bright pink. “I never wanted anything to happen,” she insisted feebly.
“But it did Emmy, and you could have stopped it at any point if you’d had the common sense to realise what was going on. Forget about Everand’s feelings. It’s Gaspi that matters. Think about it from his perspective. While he was away you spent a lot of time with a boy who you know likes you. Now you’ve got yourself in a right mess and you’ve been a rubbish girlfriend. If you try and tell him about it and expect him not to be upset, I’m pretty sure you won’t like what happens.”
Emmy looked angry and embarrassed. “Don’t hold back Lydia!” she said sarcastically. “Tell me what you really think!”
“Are you listening to me?” Lydia asked sternly.
“Of course I am!” she said indignantly, but Lydia knew better. She wanted to grab her by the shoulders, but it seemed like Emmy had made her mind up on this, and after abandoning her for most of the three months Gaspi had been away, she didn’t want to cause another rift in their friendship.
“Okay Emmy,” she said. “Just remember what I’ve said when Gaspi gets back.”
“I will,” Emmy promised.
Before he got within five miles of the Haunted Citadel, Ferast knew that he’d hit another dead end. There were just too many villages, and they seemed to be increasing in both size and number. If the Haunted Citadel was truly a place to be feared, then it wouldn’t be surrounded by thriving settlements. Filled with numbing disappointment, he kept on riding for the last few miles, his eyes fixed to the citadel’s growing silhouette on the horizon. Evening was fast approaching, and he’d have to bed down for the night soon, but not before he’d seen the citadel for himself.
The last of his hope faded with the waning light as he approache
d the outer wall of the citadel. The wall itself had collapsed into ruin long ago, and a prosperous town had sprung up in its shadow. The settlement sprawled comfortably across the citadel’s ancient boundary, claiming the lower part of the ruins for its own. A large painted sign stood by the side of the road, and Ferast could just about make out the lettering in the gloaming: WELCOME TO HEADLE. Underneath it, someone had carved the words: GATEWAY TO THE HAUNTED CITADEL.
Ferast slid down off his horse and walked up to the sign. He placed his fingers on its coarse, wooden
surface and stood there, breathing slowly and evenly as he came face to face with his failure. Disappointment threatened to bring him to his knees, but he forced himself to step away from the sign and remount his horse. He kicked its sides and rode onwards into Headle, looking for a place to stay for the night. There was nothing to be done except get some sleep and hope that the morning would bring fresh clarity. Some stubborn part of him refused to believe that he wouldn’t find Shirukai Sestin, but right then he was so deflated that he couldn’t even rouse a glimmer of his usual resolve.
A large inn loomed out of the darkness on his left
, advertising itself as the Coach and Horses. Ferast rode into the stables and dismounted. He handed the reins to the stableboy without a word and walked around to the front door. He pushed it open and stepped into a spacious, well-appointed common room, free from the usual sights and smells of a tavern. The floor was constructed of polished beams instead of hard packed dirt covered in sawdust, and the long, mahogany bar glowed warmly in the light of many lamps.
“
Good evening sir! What’s your pleasure?” the innkeep asked roundly as soon as Ferast had stepped into the room. Ferast grimaced at the overly cheery greeting, glancing resentfully at the speaker. He was a stout fellow with tight, shiny skin and pink cheeks. His apron was scrupulously clean and he was practically bouncing on his heels, eager to serve.
“Wine,
stew, and a room for the night,” Ferast mumbled, trying to avoid eye contact. The last thing he needed was an enthusiastic idiot fawning over him all night!
“Right you are,” the in
nkeep responded, “It’ll take a while to get your room ready, but if you settle in, the musicians will be playing soon.”
Ferast glanced at a stage set up at the back
of the room, and saw a number of stringed instruments resting on chairs, ready for whatever merriment had been planned. He’d had enough. Without saying a word, he turned on his heel and stalked back past the innkeep, who was at that moment holding out a goblet of wine for him to take. He bashed his way out of the door and found the frightened stableboy, who thankfully hadn’t even begun to unsaddle his horse. He remounted and rode off down the street, looking for a place more suited to his mood.
He found one after another couple of hundred yards – a low slung, grimy looking place with a sunken roof. He glanced at the sign hanging outside the door – The
Dripping Tap. The stable was tiny and there was no evidence of a stableboy, so he tied up his horse and entered the tavern. The place stank, but in that moment, he’d rather deal with human squalor than human cheer, and anything was better than the shiny, noisy effervescence of The Coach and Horses. Striding up to the bar, he secured a room for the night from the innkeep - a surly man in a dirt-smeared apron who was blessedly indifferent to his customers. Ferast paid for a cup of wine, along with whatever they were calling dinner, and slunk to the darkest corner of the room to wait for his food.
Glancing around in distaste, Ferast curled his lip at the sight of the drunken, dirty patrons.
He couldn’t wait to finish his dinner so he could go to his room, close his eyes, and bid farewell to a thoroughly miserable day. He almost didn’t dare dwell on the implications of his failed journey. He’d searched all three of the destinations he’d identified as likely locations for Sestin’s hideaway, and come up with nothing. This one was the worst of all. The other two had at least been forbidding - the kind of places the renegade mage might have chosen for his lair - but this place was just a sham. The rumours about the Haunted Citadel may once have been true, but if some force or creature had earned it that fearsome reputation, it was long gone. In its absence, the townsfolk of Headle thrived on the trade of travellers eager to see the fabled city. They probably led tours through the ruins!