Chapter 5 : One-sided Conversations

*Sage*

"I don't think people can be saints without knowing it," Fynn growled, hand placed firmly at the small of my back. He had to lean his head down toward me to be heard over the crowd, and his nearness had my nerves on edge.

"Okay, well, I'm telling you right now that I have no idea what she was talking about. It seemed rude to tell her no though, and she gave me these for free," I snapped back, doing my best to ignore my speeding pulse. I lifted a leg to remind him of the boots.

"I just think that someone should have taught you to lie better. I've already pinned you for exactly who you are. You're a succubus sent by Evangeline to keep me from breaking the curse," Fynn said smugly.

I stopped dead in my tracks, almost tripping a vendor pushing a cart of dried meats. I turned to face Fynn, eyes narrowed and one corner of my upper lip curling involuntarily into a snarl.

"What, and I do mean this from the bottom of my heart, the fuck are you talking about?" I demanded.

The smug look on his face was still irritatingly pasted there. He crossed his arms over his chest, looking suddenly childish, and gave me a smirk.

"I figured it out last night. Play dumb all you like, but I know exactly what you are. I saw the way all the men we've passed have been staring at you. No one draws that kind of attention without having a supernatural edge. I can't explain the woman in the boot shop yet, but trust me, I'll figure that out too. I'm a hundred and twenty-seven years old. You can't fool me." He raised an eyebrow in challenge.

I pinched the bridge of my nose. One hundred and twenty-seven years old. I had barely celebrated my twenty-sixth birthday, and this man, who was a century older than I was, believed that I'd been sent to torment him in some way. By a woman I'd never heard of before. Brilliant.

That at least explained the kidnapping. I couldn't decide if I was more or less in danger with that information, but I couldn't be forced to dwell on that. Maybe if I convinced him I wasn't whoever he thought I was, he might let me go. Of course, I wasn't sure that I wanted to be left alone in this world where I had no bearings and no money, but I would figure that out when the time came.

I'd read plenty of true crime documentaries. The girls who survived often had the same plan. They tried to befriend their captor, they would convince them they were on the same side until they had an opportunity to flee or their captor let them go. I could try that.

"I don't know what she was talking about with the 'saint' stuff either, but I'd be happy to help you get to the bottom of that. It would be nice to know," I told him, hoping that would satisfy him.

"Yeah, sure," he retorted.

Okay, well, apparently he was going to be stubborn.

I started walking again, completely unsure of where I was going. I tried to continue on in the direction he was pushing me earlier, but I was also sort of hoping to find the cart that passed us earlier. I wanted to try some of that dried meat. Whatever it was, it had to be better than demon bear.

My stomach rumbled. I hadn't eaten anything besides the berries and cheese this morning, and it wasn't lasting me very long.

"I'm hungry," I admitted, casting my eyes over to Fynn.

Fynn was stealing looks at me as if he were afraid I might take flight to escape him. He kept pace with me easily, long legs stretching with each stride.

"We need to restock our rations and get some lunch. We'll head to the market. If you're going to keep riding with me, you need your own pack, so we'll get you one of those too," Fynn answered.

The man was as unpredictable as the weather. I couldn't decide if he hated me or not. I had no idea why, if he thought I was his enemy, he was so worried about making sure I was provided for.

"Thanks," I told him, not sure what else I was supposed to stay.

Fynn's hand snagged around my waist and he tugged me to a sudden right. I nearly gasped, shocked by the strength of his gasp and the speed of his instinct. He was pulling me out of the path of a spooked horse before I ever even saw the animal.

The lean brown horse splashed mud on the hem of my new dress as it charged through the street. Two young children went racing after it, panting and shouting.

"You have the reflexes of a crone," Fynn said.

"Thank you," I answered sarcastically.

He had the advantage of supernatural speed and senses, but I didn't think he'd be interested in hearing me explain my own mortality to him.

The market was the next street over, a bustling collection of stalls and carts where vendors hawked their wares. It smelled both mouthwatering and filthy, and the collection of sights and sounds was overstimulating. I saw animals in crates and pens, and fresh meat hanging from hooks on carts. There were women selling textiles and fruit and vegetables, and children selling little corn husk dolls and idols made from sticks and twine.

Fynn stopped at a stall where a man was selling small leather satchels. "Give me that one," he commanded, pointing to a brown pack that was the same color as my boots.

The vendor was a handsome if rugged, young man. He reached for the bag and handed it to Fynn. "Ten rone," he informed.

Fynn fished through his coin purse and pulled out ten coins, placing them into the other man's outstretched palms.

I was still figuring out the money system here, and whatever a rone was, but Fynn seemed unbothered by the constant spending of money. Whoever he was and wherever he was from, he didn't seem to worry over money. I wondered if he had some degree of wealth. I guessed if you had over a hundred years to amass money, you just might have some cash stored away.

"Thank you," I told him, slipping my arms through the straps on the bag so that it rested comfortably on my back.

"You'll help lighten my load a little, I guess." Fynn shrugged.

He was determined not to be friends. That was fine. I would just have to turn on the charm.

"Where are you from?" I asked, making conversation.

"As if you don't already know," Fynn dismissed.

That was getting old. I had yet to decide if he was just dodging my questions intentionally, or if he genuinely believed I already knew all of this, but it was getting on my nerves.

"I'm from Knoxville," I told him honestly. He probably had never heard of it, but if I were going to ask questions, I should be willing to provide answers.

"Okay," he said flippantly. I couldn't tell if he was familiar with it or not.

He stopped at a stall and purchased several chunks of hard cheese, handing over coins and then stuffing most of them into his own pack. He put one chunk into my pack.

"Do you have any siblings?" I pressed, following along after him as he looked over a selection of dried meats.

"How does that information benefit you?" he asked in return, instead of answering the question.

"It's a conversation. Usually, one person talks, then the other one answers. A lot of times, people ask each other questions to get to know each other better. I didn't realize that wasn't something people did here," I snapped back.

"Sure, sure, you're just making pleasant conversation. There's no way you're trying to disarm me to find out some information you can take back to your master," he retorted.

"You seem sort of paranoid," I informed him. Maybe that wasn't the right thing to say to make friends, but someone needed to point it out to him.

"Being tormented by a witch for almost a hundred years will do that to you," he answered, buying some crusty bread.

He began stuffing food into my pack, and I stood in silence, letting him. It seemed a little ironic that he was so suspicious of me when he was the one who kidnapped me, but I guess I had no idea what he had been through recently. Or over the last century.

Fynn purchased us some sort of meat and vegetable meal that was wrapped in flatbread. I was almost embarrassed at how quickly I scarfed it down. It was mouth-watering and the meat was clearly marinated and slow-cooked in broth until it was tender and falling apart. The vegetables were tender and flavorful, and in the soft, cool rainfall, the meal warmed me from the inside out.

We made our way back to where the horse, whom he had called Alastor, was standing with his eyes half closed at the hitching post.

"How long have you had that horse?" I asked as he lifted me onto the back of it.

"Long enough," he answered lazily. I was convinced he had practically tuned me out at this point, but I was going to keep trying.

We took a side street out of town, heading back to the cover of the woods. I couldn't decide if I was glad to be out of the ever-watching eyes of the townspeople, or if I was dreading traipsing back out into the wilderness with Fynn.

"Where are we going?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?" Fynn grumped.

"Do you have any friends?" I pressed, hoping to find some subject he'd be interested in talking about.

"Do you ever shut up?" he snapped. "Just keep your mouth shut for ten minutes, please."

Oh. My jaw snapped shut and I frowned. He couldn't see me, but I was glaring at the back of his skull. I imagined I had laser vision and I could bore holes in the back of his head. That was rude. He kidnapped me, dragged me around a world I didn't recognize, and didn't even have the decency to hold a conversation? He had the nerve to ask if I ever shut up? I could show him shutting up.

A few minutes later, he seemed to have regretted his little outburst.

"Where is Knoxville?" he asked softly as the trees started to get larger and the forest got thicker. It was just the two of us on the road now, all manner of other people long since left behind.

I didn't bother answering, he didn't deserve a response. If he was going to keep his secrets, I would keep my own. Even if they were inconsequential secrets.

I didn't speak to him for the rest of the night, not through setting up camp, not through eating dinner and wishing I was having another of whatever meal we'd had in the village, and certainly not through getting ready for bed and climbing in the bedroll.

Maybe I'd never speak to him again.