Page 14 of The Witch’s Shifter (Season of the Witch #3)
Alden
“THANK YOU, SIR,” I TELL the driver, reaching into my damp coin purse to pull a few eldertokens out.
They clink as they fall into his palm. His horse snorts, probably impatient and ready to return to the warm barn, and the man tips his dripping hat to me.
I step out of the way, and the wagon continues on, leaving me standing at the southern entrance to Wysteria.
A guardhouse sits to my right, the firelight from inside sending a warm glow out into the misty evening.
After answering the guards’ questions regarding my intentions in the city, I lug my wet pack through the sprawling gates and into the rain-soaked streets.
The storm has mostly passed, but it left the air cold, and a chill breeze sends most people hurrying for the warmth of their homes and hearths.
Last time I was here, which was years ago now, I stayed at a little tavern called the Dancing Kettle, and I seek it out now, though the darkness makes it noticeably more difficult to make out the names on the signs hanging outside the places of business.
At long last, I find the tavern, and I’m pleased to see candlelight flickering in many of the windows.
The door swings smoothly on its hinges—someone must take pride in this place—and a wall of warm air hits me.
It smells of woodsmoke and stew with a hint of spiced ale.
In response, my stomach grumbles. The wagon ride to Wysteria typically doesn’t take quite so long, but the rain slowed us considerably, and now I’m half starved.
I shake off the last few drops of rain at the entrance, then make my way to the bar and take a seat.
My bag falls heavily at my feet, and my stomach grumbles again as a tavern maid sweeps by carrying a platter of steaming dishes and sloshing mugs.
I don’t know what they serve here, but I want it all.
The door into the kitchen swings open, and an older woman with long gray hair steps out. When she sees me, she offers me a gentle smile.
“Evening, traveler.” Her gaze quickly assesses my weary state. “You look like you could use a room.”
“That I could. And a plate of whatever that is, if you can,” I say, glancing over my shoulder at the two men digging into their food.
“Certainly. Would you like a bath prepared for after your meal?”
The thought of sinking into warm water up to my chin almost makes me sigh aloud. “Please.”
“We’ll get you taken care of,” she says, then vanishes back into the kitchen.
Already feeling better, I strip off my cloak and drape it over my bag, then stretch my arms overhead as the fire in the hearth crackles behind me.
Perhaps this trip won’t be so bad after all.