Page 20 of Maneater

His name was Caz.

That’s what I stopped myself from saying to Leya earlier. Even now, the memory of it carries the same sweetness it had the first time I heard it, and the same ache the last time I spoke it aloud.

“Hello?” a voice called from the front of the inn. “I’m looking for a room.”

“I’ll be right with you!” I called back, hands deep in a wash basin, scrubbing at a tin plate that had been sitting for days, crusted over with grime.

Somehow, after four months working under Griffin as a barmaid, I’d ended up managing the place myself. Cleaning, handling the rooms, overseeing the stables, keeping track of inventory, serving food and ale to patrons, the list grew longer by the week.

But, of course, my weekly coin didn’t reflect any of that.

Still, I didn’t complain.

The Greenwood Inn was the only place within miles that would hire me for the kind of work I needed .

There were other ways to make coin as a woman, but the ones who took those jobs rarely came back home.

The inn was small, just two private rooms and a shared sleeping space with straw mats scattered across the floor.

Even with Griffin gone most days, drunk or off visiting some gambling house, I could still manage the steady flow of guests.

Most were travelers or merchants, staying only a night or two.

I finished scrubbing the plate as best I could, dried my hands on my apron, then rounded the corner and used my hip to swing open the door between the kitchen and the bar.

Still drying my hands, I said, “We’ve got private rooms for five coppers a night, or a shared one for three. Both come with breakfast in the morning. Lunch and supper are an extra half-penny each. How long do you plan to stay?”

“I’ll take a private room,” the voice replied. “Not sure for how long. At least until the summer’s end.”

“Summer’s end?” I repeated, surprised, finally glancing up. “That’s nearly three months away…”

My words faded the moment my eyes landed on him.

He looked like a young lord, though I wouldn’t know how to tell one from the next.

Most who passed through these woods were skirtsfolk or merchants peddling goods only skirtsfolk could afford.

But this man, he wore a fine blue cloak, a tunic that clearly wasn’t from around here, and boots that gleamed like they were brand new.

“Three and a half months, to be exact,” he said with a grin. “How should I settle up?”

“Uh… I’m not really sure,” I admitted, caught off guard. “The innkeeper’s not around to handle a payment that large. I guess I’ll just collect from you nightly until then.”

“Great,” he said. “My mare’s tied up at the trough out back. Hope that’s alright. Bellona’s a gentle one, so she shouldn’t cause any trouble. ”

“Good to know.” I nodded. “Since you’ll be staying a while, what name should I put down for the account?”

“Cazimir.” He gave me a smile that made my stomach flutter. “But folk call me Caz.”

Cazimir had golden hair and green eyes to match. His jaw was strong, but his cheeks still held some life to them. His skin was fair, like he wasn’t used to being in the sun.

“Caz,” I repeated, making a mental note to tell Griffin when I saw him. “Got it.”

“And yours?”

“Odessa,” I said, clearing my throat as I smoothed out my apron. “I’ll show you to your room. Got all your things with you?”

“I do.” He nodded to the rucksack slung over his shoulder and raised a leather-bound book in his right hand. “Everything’s right here.”

“You sure packed light for a three-and-a-half-month stay,” I said, eyeing his things. Grabbing the ring of keys, I turned toward the hallway opposite the bar. “Follow me.”

We reached the end of the hall, where two rooms sat side by side.

Typically, merchants or well-off travelers could afford the private rooms, while the shared spaces saw the most traffic.

With spring just around the corner, occupancy had started to pick up, though the single rooms had remained empty since winter.

“It’s your lucky day. Both of these are available,” I said, gesturing to the doors. “The choice is yours.”

“I’ll take the one on the right,” he said. “Looks like a good enough room for me.”

I handed him an iron key from the ring. “You never mentioned whether you wanted lunch and supper during your stay. If you still do, supper will be served in a little over two chimes.”

“I wouldn’t miss it.” He gave me another smile before stepping inside, offering one last nod as the door shut behind him.

Supper was a hearty chicken stew with potatoes and carrots, served alongside a warm loaf of bread and a tankard of ale. I had just finished serving two guests when Caz emerged from his room and took a seat at the bar. He placed five coppers and a half-penny on the counter, sliding them toward me.

“Tonight’s payment,” he said, setting a few of his belongings on the counter. “And I’ll take a bowl of that stew. It smells fantastic.”

I slipped the coppers into my apron, planning to drop them into Griffin’s coin pouch at the end of my shift. “I’ll have it ready for you shortly. Do you have a preference for ale?” I grabbed a tankard and nodded toward the barrels behind me.

“Whatever you have is fine. Ale’s ale to me.”

I shrugged and poured the amber liquid, placing it in front of him.

He seemed distracted now, flipping through the pages of the leatherbound book he carried.

Beside it sat a journal, nearly identical in design, along with a quill and inkpot.

He murmured a quiet “thanks” without looking up, his focus never leaving the pages.

A few minutes later, I returned with a tray of stew and bread, setting it down beside him.

He was lost in his work, papers spread across the bar, with strange tools, compasses and maps, scattered between them.

His journal was filled with neat rows of figures and symbols.

I tried to make sense of the pages, but they looked like a tangle of marks and measurements.

“We don’t see many tools like that out here in the outskirts,” I said, drying a tankard I’d just cleaned. “What are those?”

Caz looked up, startled, as if noticing the food for the first time. He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry about that. I tend to get so wrapped up in my studies that I forget about everything else around me. It’s the blessing and the curse of being a scholar, I suppose.”

“A scholar?” I repeated. “I’ve never met one of you before. ”

“Is that so? I’ve earned my blue cloak and been at the Academy for about four years now,” he said, a touch of pride in his voice. “I’ve still got a long way to go before I finish my apprenticeship, but I hope to become a Master of Study one day.”

“Oh,” I said, feeling a bit lost as embarrassment crept up on me. “What exactly is a Master of Study?”

He chuckled, as if I’d said something amusing.

But when my confusion lingered, his smile softened, and I saw it dawn on him.

This was a quiet, tucked-away town on the edge of the world.

Of course I hadn’t heard of the Academy or what a Master of Study even was.

His expression shifted, that bright, warm smile returning.

“Well, to become a Master of Study, you have to be accepted to the Academy first,” he explained.

“Most of us, myself included, spend years apprenticing under a Master Scholar, waiting for the chance to test for entry. The Academy only accepts thirty scholars each cycle, so it’s a competitive process.

But once you’re in, you choose a field to master. I chose cartography.”

The gods knew I hadn’t the faintest idea what that meant. “Car-to-gra-phy?” I repeated, carefully sounding it out. “That sounds like it’d be hard to learn.”

“Indeed,” he said, nodding eagerly. “Like anything worth learning, it’s challenging at first. But I’ve been studying it for years now, and I’ve found that knowledge follows with patience and dedication. My Master tasked me with traveling to the towns along the outskirts to map the geography here.”

“I see,” I said, tilting my head slightly. “So, you... make maps of places?”

“Yes, exactly,” he replied, pausing for a moment before his eyes lit up.

“My last assignment was along the coast near the Miralune Isles. The landscape I mapped there was unlike anything I’d ever encountered.

There were jagged cliffs, hidden coves, and shifting shorelines.

” He flipped through the pages of his leather-bound book, then held it out to me.

His finger traced a line across a detailed map, each curve and contour carefully drawn.

“See here? This part shows a series of uncharted inlets. The tides shift so much that the shape of the coast changes with the seasons. I had to mark the safest routes through them so future travelers could avoid the worst of the currents.”

His voice began to drift as he noticed the confusion on my face.

“I’m sorry,” he said quickly, realizing how overwhelmed I must’ve looked. “I get carried away sometimes. I’ll shut up now.”

“No, it’s okay,” I stammered, feeling heat rise in my cheeks. “It’s all very interesting. It’s just that… I can’t really understand it. I don’t know how to read.”

Caz’s expression softened as he set the book aside, his smile still warm. I wasn’t sure why it felt so humiliating to admit, but the weight of it clung to me. If he noticed my discomfort, he didn’t show it. Instead, he calmly gathered his papers and pulled the tray of stew closer.

“Something tells me you made this,” he said, picking up the spoon. He looked at me and added, “I’ve got a feeling it’s the best stew in town.”

A flush crept up my neck again, though for a different reason. “Hardly,” I replied. “Fresh vegetables are rare these days, and don’t even ask about poultry.”

He raised a brow, clearly unbothered, and waved off my protest. Then he took a bite. His face stayed unreadable as he chewed, and after a long gulp, his eyes met mine.

“Best stew I’ve ever had.”

“You’re a better liar than most.”

“How’d you know?” He smirked. “Still, it’s decent. My mum always said it’s important to appreciate the cook. Cooking takes effort, and if you hadn’t made this, I’d be heading to bed hungry tonight.”

“Your mother sounds like smart folk.”

“She wouldn’t be too pleased with how I’ve been using her advice,” he admitted with a laugh. “But I learned that a well-timed compliment earned me an extra portion at the Academy mess hall. Who knows, maybe it’ll work on you too.”

“Well, good luck with that,” I chuckled.

I left him to his stew and walked over to help a father and son from the next town get settled.

Supper was winding down, and the bar would close soon for the night.

I still had plenty to do, cleaning up, checking the stables, and running the inventory.

It wasn’t a bad life, truth be told, especially when Griffin was scarce.

I’d grown fond of the old man, but his absence gave me the freedom to run the inn on my own, and that suited me just fine.

Once the other guests had retreated to their rooms and I’d gathered their trays, I returned to the bar.

Caz had finished his meal and was slowly nursing his ale.

His book was in his hands again, and his papers and tools had spread across the counter once more.

He scribbled quickly in his journal, his quill moving almost too fast to follow.

“I hate to interrupt, but I’m afraid I have to close up now.”

Caz looked up, quill still in hand, as he seemed to realize he was the last one left. He glanced toward the window, where the night sky had already started to settle in, and checked his pocket watch. “Didn’t realize how late it had gotten,” he said. “I’ll pack up and finish this in my room.”

He stacked his papers, gathered his tools, and moved toward the hallway. Just before disappearing from view, he turned with a smile. “Goodnight, Odessa. It was a pleasure meeting you.”

I found Griffin passed out in his room upstairs, snoring so loudly I half-expected the ceiling to cave in.

His beard was a tangled mess, and his hair looked like a bird’s nest. I smirked at the sight and gently draped a blanket over him.

As I slid the coppers from the inn into the coin pouch at his waist, he stirred slightly.

“Hey, Griff, here’s the coin from today. Oh, and there’s this new guest, Cazimir. He’ll be staying until summer’s end. Should be good for business. Says he’s a scholar, been all over. Anyway, get some rest. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Griffin grunted and snored, rolling onto his side with his back to me.

I gave his shoulder a soft pat and quietly slipped out.

Just before I shut the door, I heard him mumble, “Be shure ta take th’ leftover bread wit’ya, Odes’uh…

” He belched, scratched his bottom, and sank back into his thunderous snoring.

That night, I walked home with a bundle of warm bread tucked under my arm, a smile on my face, and this strange fluttering in my chest.