Chapter 8

                                    

                                          
The sun had reached the top of the sky and was already on its way down by the time you came across the village. You counted approximately eleven times that Jaskier had asked Geralt to get on his horse — Roach — but to no avail. Now, the three of you were on foot with Geralt guiding Roach in front of you and through the village.

                          
To say you were more relaxed was a bit of an overstatement.
                          
Getting out of the city allowed your shoulders to lessen their tension, and you didn't even mind that your hood was a bit further back than usual. But whenever you went into these villages, you were alone. You could walk around with barely a worry, the people around you not sparing you a glance. But now, with a witcher and a flashy bard, all eyes were on you.
                          
By the time you made it to the small, smelly tavern, your ears were somewhat used to the whispers.
                          
Geralt walked right up to the counter, where an older man was wiping down the surface with what looked like an already dirty cloth. The tavern had a few people littered around it, but it was still quite early.
                          
"Got any rooms?" You peeked through the space between Geralt and Jaskier to peer at the man. He was frowning already — not a good sign.
                          
"Barely. And definitely not..." He passed his eyes over all of you. "Three."
                          
"No, we only need one."
                          
That changed the man's face. His eyebrows shot up, then quickly back down, a confused expression soon wafted away with a shrug.
                          
"Fine by me. How much coin you got?"
                          
This time, Jaskier answered. "How much do you need?"
                          
"You bunch look like trouble." He tilted his chin up. "So...double."
                          
"Double—"
                          
"We'll take it." You shoved your way to the front, grabbing a bit of Jaskier's arm in a pinch. He winced, turning to you with a hurt expression, but reached into his coin pouch nonetheless.
                          
After he paid the tavern owner, he went to put his coin purse away, but you tightened your grip. "Actually, we were going to get some food as well."
                          
"We were?"
                          
You ignored him and spoke through a synthetic smile. "Been traveling for quite a while. Food could do us some good."
                          
Despite his bitter tone, the man seemed to lower his guard at your change in tactics. "Could do us all some good, I reckon."
                          
"What've you got?" Geralt asked.
                          
"Again, not much. But if you're paying, we've got enough."
                          
You all turned to Jaskier, who still held his relatively hefty coin pouch. He looked back at you, and at the sight of your quirked eyebrow, he groaned.
                          
"Fine, fine." Again, he slammed the coin on the table, muttering as he put it away. "We'll have that brought to our room, thank you."
                          
You flinched just as the man let out a cold laugh. "To your room." He crossed his arms over his chest, his face back to a scowl. "What am I, your servant? Does this look like those fancy places you pay to shine your bloody shoes as you step into a warm bath?"
                          
You stepped forward again, this time in front of Jaskier. The man's scowl turned to you, barely lessening his glare.
                          
"Sir, excuse my...partner. He isn't right in the head after our trip here. Probably the lack of food—" You leaned forward and placed a hand to the side of your mouth to block Jaskier's view, "Which lead to a lack of manners." When the man let out a dry laugh, you stepped back. "We'll be fine at a table."