Flitsea is exactly as I expected it to be. The smell of fish hit me miles before we even reached the town on the beach, as well as the salted air to match. Through the dark, looming summer clouds, birds squawk and search the trail for any fish left behind on transport. There was a few, but the people driving the wagons shooed those birds away—cussing underneath their breath about those sickly, white disease-carriers.

Thunder rumbles out towards the ocean as Renit and I make our way into the town. I notice one thing. Everything, from the buildings, to the cobble streets, to the clouds and the entire atmosphere—everything is grey. There is no color variation in flowers, no one has gone so far as to beautify this place.

The tall stone buildings close in on us as we ride down one of the bustling streets full of people moving this way and that—carrying baskets of fish in their arms or resting on their heads. They scatter like ants through the streets, walking from one side of the other to sell their goods. Someone loads baskets of cleaned fish into the back of a wagon, arguing with the driver about price of transport.

This is not the finery of the capital. The witches here wear tattered clothes and wide-brimmed hats to keep themselves protected form the sun when they're on the water. But there is none of that sun today and most of the citizens look relieved to be underneath the safe cover of the clouds.

I spot fish hanging from rope, larger than myself while others are merely bulky enough to fit in my palm. Those fish have already been gutted but, on the street, many are still in that process. The fisherman work quick with a knife, spilling the blood and guts of those fish onto the stone for the birds to eat into later. A black cat drags away one set of guts from the pile and disappears into an alley way.

Renit doesn't appear phased by the condition of this town. In fact, he seems to not care about it at all. These people are living their own way while the rest of the kingdom is so far out that transport of goods could take weeks at a time. This fishing town is on their own reserve.

The closest thing to Flitsea is the wall of mountains to the east, ending in a river out towards the ocean. Otherwise, Ducoria is weeks away and their only other form of civilization from here to there is Ashtomb Prison, nestled in the empty grasslands to the west.

We turn down one of the streets and head towards the docks; our inn room is located opposite of them. Already, the noise of the fishermen docking and removing their supplies and loading barrels onto the ships is a constant rumble in my ears. They're trying to do what they can before the storm hits. Every minute they spend away from the ocean is another they're losing money.

Fisherman work swiftly on the docks, walking up and down gangplanks with buckets and barrels and baskets. Each one is scruffy and dirty, like they've been on the water for weeks at a time and are just barely making their way back home.

A child runs down the street, directly into her father's arms. He's another one of those scruffy fishermen. The man hoists her into his arms, spinning and laughing as his daughter holds tight. That answers the question as to how long they're gone at a time. Days, weeks, months...how ever long they're stocked on food and water.

"I'll take the horses to the stables. You go check us in," Renit orders. He hands me a pouch of coins, heavy in my palm, and I take a quick glance around. Someone could have seen that and they'll know I have the money they might need.

Our inn is merely another stone building that blends in with the others. On two floors, the green shutters are the color of mold and water-stained from the storm that passed through a few days ago, followed by another that will hit tonight. The owner of the inn attempted to plant flower boxes in front of the building but they're wilting, the leaves are brown, and the petals have been ripped away by birds and squirrels.

At least they tried. Renit takes our horses, leaving me there in front of the empty-looking building. Abandoned—at least it appears.

I push open the front door with a shove of my shoulder after it didn't budge the first time. The rusted handle leaves an orange residue behind on my palm and I wipe it on my pants before taking another step into the dimly lit lobby with only a small counter to my right, a sofa and a staircase to my left. Otherwise, the space is reserved for the kitchen and a dining area. This might as well be a tavern with upstairs rooms.

I can smell the watered-down ale from here, even if the keg is all the way in the corner. Mixed in with the salted air and leftover stew that appears to hold more carrots than beef, the smells in this inn are not pleasant. And neither is the old broad standing behind the counter, raising her grey brows at me in question.

She's missing her front teeth and there's nothing to say for her back teeth as they disappear behind her shriveled lips and nasty frown. Instead of displaying my disgust upon seeing her, I smile and approach the counter. "We need a room for two, please," I say by way of greeting. These people don't seem to care about formalities.

"Where did you come from, pretty girl? The capital?" She arches a brow, snickering at me. Then she has the audacity to look me up and down and stop on the golden band around my finger with Renit's initials. That would fetch a hefty price around here.

I blink at her. There's no one else here except for a drunken man in the corner sipping from a copper cup. Rusted around the rim—as everything else is. The salted air tends to do that. "As a matter of fact, I did. Now I need one room, two beds." I place a silver coin on the counter, much too expensive for what Renit would have given, and she frowns at it.

"We're full. Look somewhere else." She steps away from the counter, completely abandoning the silver coin I left behind.

I fish a gold one from my pocket and slam it against the wooden surface of the counter. A cup rattles and the ale that had been inside sloshes over the rim. She turns slowly, examining that gold coin, and scowls.

"Look at that, something opened up. One room, one bed. Sorry, we're out of pairs." She hands me over a key and the door behind me opens, the bell chiming overhead.

Renit appears at my side and looks down at those two coins. Between the pinch of his fingers, he takes the gold coin back and stuffs it in his pocket. "We don't overpay for things that will underserve," he growls.

The inn woman backs off, taking her silver coin with a glare, and disappears into the kitchen. So far, we're not making friends.

Renit hands me over my belongings, merely a satchel full of clothes and a spare pair of boots. The rest of what we own, the two bows and quivers of arrows, are what he carries all the way up the stairs to our room.

That door takes some strength to open as well but I stumble into the room after a well-placed slam of my shoulder into the wood. The stone hallway had been empty except for a basket meant to gather dirty clothes from the guests. I don't feel comfortable offering that woman my clothes after what we did but I definitely need to wash the pair I dunked in the lake.

I shuffle over to the bed and collapse onto the hard, squeaky mattress. The duvet scratches my cheek. "Your father couldn't have given us a better inn to stay at?" I mumble into the surface.

"The people from Flitsea have likely never seen a member of the royal family. Therefore, it's best we remain undetected. Choosing a shitty inn is just part of that." Clothes rustle and hit the floor. I don't want to look back as the faucet in the bathing room squeaks and Renit disappears, shutting the door behind him.

I roll over, staring at the wooden ceiling that is cracked in more places than one. There's nothing special about this place, shitty is an understatement. The curtains around the window are tattered, the same color as the shutters except these appear to be slightly cleaner, at least. One of the glass panes is cracked and dead flies and spiderwebs clog the sill.

I grimace at the layer of dust on the desk, the empty journal holding a few pages, and a used candle that is well too old beyond its life. Except for the bed, the desk, and the bedside table, there is no furniture in here. Nearly every floorboard creaks when I step on it and the musty smell of the ocean still finds its way through the closed door and window.

The muffled experience of Flitsea echoes through the stone. I look down to the bustling streets, the blood-stained stone, and the rain beginning to patter against the buildings. But that doesn't stop them, they keep working. The same goes for those at the docks, unloading and loading their ships.

One just left and the crew is making the final adjustments to clear the bustling harbor and the shallow water. Lightning cracks in the distance, followed by a rumble of thunder, and I breathe in the scent of rain. Renit's scent, the one I used to have a love hate relationship with. In Arego, it was my favorite scent. Once I met him, all that went away.

Now I'm back to the former.

I take the liberty of ordering us a couple fish platters, all the while arguing with that inn woman about price. Everything isn't available until I pay an extra copper coin. Once we're done arguing, I trudge back up the stairs with a new sense of accomplishment. I managed to snag us free drinks of watered-down ale and one slice of what appears to be apple pie.

It won't compare to what Mills makes in the castle kitchens but at least we'll have something extra to quell our hunger. I kick the door shut with my boot and spot Renit tugging a clean shirt over his head. His hair is wet and unkempt, sticking out in all directions but that seems to be the least of his problems as his eyes widen at the sight of food.

"I hope we still have some coins left over for our next meal," he mocks as he takes his plate and plops down on the edge of the bed. His fork is out and digging into the fish before he can waste another breath.

"Not only that but I managed to wager a slice of apple pie and ale to go with the meals." I place that ale and pie on the bedside table and Renit raises his eyebrows.

"I didn't know you had it in you, spitfire." He speaks around a mouthful of fish that I realize is much better than it appears.

I've always loved fish, it was one of my favorite things to eat when the community kitchens managed to catch enough for one batch of refugees. The fish there didn't compare to what I'm eating now, a buttery, spiced wonder. I can barely keep myself from inhaling every bite after eating nothing appetizing in a week.

I try to avoid feeling bad about haggling with that woman. I'll slip a silver coin into the pocket of one of my tunics when I place it outside the door to be cleaned.

Renit shares the apple pie with me, though he hogs most of the flaked crust for himself when that's all I really want. On a full stomach with ale to buzz my senses, Renit chooses the least opportune time to decide its time to go look for the crystal. And just when I was getting ready to sleep.

He forces me up, nearly dragging me out of bed and into the stormy town beyond.