Violet Amethyst's Arc

Chapter 6 of 9

The fire was warm now, but the cottage would mean nothing if the prince never learned where to find it. Violet stood at the crystal door and felt her stomach drop. Night was coming. The prince came to the inn every night, alone, in the far corner. If he sat there and no one came, he would think she had given up on him. She had no way to reach him. She couldn't walk into that crowded room herself—too many eyes, too many people who feared the cursed man. She needed someone who belonged there. "April," she said. "I can't go to the inn. If people see me chasing him again, they'll talk. But you could pass a note." April hugged her book tighter. "Me? Walk up to him? Violet, my hands shake ordering soup." But she was already reaching for her pencil. That was April—terrified and helping anyway. They wrote it fast. Directions to the cottage, past the frost-white trees. A time. Violet folded the paper small. At the inn, warm light spilled from the timber windows. April froze on the step. Violet squeezed her arm. "You can do this." Inside, the bartender leaned over the bar—a tall man with black-framed glasses and a stud earring, wiping a glass with slow, easy hands. He caught April's panic at once. "Lost, sweetheart?" he asked. His voice was warm but watchful. April's mouth opened and shut. Violet stepped up. "My friend needs to give something to the man in the corner. The one in the black cloak." The bartender set down the glass. His smile faded to something serious. "Nobody goes near that corner. Folks say he's bad luck." He studied Violet's face. "But you already know that, don't you." "I know he's just a man," Violet said. "And he's waiting for word from me." The bartender looked at her a long moment. Then he tucked his rag in his belt. "I serve his table every night. He never says a word." He held out his hand. "Give it here. I'll bring it with his drink. Safer than either of you walking over there." Violet placed the note in his palm. "Thank you." "Don't thank me yet." He crossed the room. In the far corner sat the hooded figure, still as stone. The bartender set down a cup and slid the folded paper beside it. He said something low. Then he stepped back. Violet watched from the doorway, heart pounding. The prince's gloved hand moved. He lifted the note. He read it. For one breath he went completely still. Then he looked up—straight across the room, straight at her. He gave the smallest nod. He had the message. He knew where to come. Violet grabbed April's hand and pulled her out into the cold, laughing with relief. Tonight the cottage door would open, and this time it would open for him.