When the two women drifted into the inn, they were greeted by silence. Careful not to impair it, their footsteps toned with the grace of a leaf nudged by winter’s sigh. The bard stood in a corner, and upon Kiara’s arrival, moved. His footsteps matched the rhythm of a leaf pushing through autumn’s golds and yellows, making a blemish on a visage of tranquillity.

  “I need to talk to you,” He asked with pleading eyes. “I was glad to see you.” He stared at her with a soft gaze, noting how much older she got since their parting.

  “Why did you sing that song?” She spoke in a whisper, her voice softer than the howling wind.

  “You wouldn’t talk to me and I wanted you to know that I still burn for you. I long to wake up and find you peacefully sleeping by my side, calming my mornings.” He took a step and wiped her teardrop.

  “I yearn for the stillness you bring to my rumbling heart, sneaking up to my room in the evenings.” His fingers moved over her dark hair.

  “You inhabit my mind during waking and at night. My eyes find you in every flower that blooms. I hear you in the wind that sings and see you in stars that blink.” His lips drew near, inching closer and closer until they gently brushed against the tips of hers. She pushed him away and her eyes shone with tears.

  Soon they were wiped away by burning anger that desired to injure the traitor.

  “You are nothing to me, Caspian.” She spat, her voice full of venom.

  Her words and his heart locked into a thorny embrace. Even after all that time, an act done out of love and selfishness still lingered between them.

  “I want you to disappear, otherwise,” a dagger kissed the side of his neck, startling him out of his tearful grieving.

  “I will take away your light, for your betrayal, and for singing that song in my presence. You have no chance for forgiveness. You will never get it. So unless you wish to die a miserable death, leave and never show your wicked face to me ever again.”

  Kiara walked past him and her companion, clearly feeling awkward by that little encounter, gave an awkward smile. He did not want to let Kiara go, so went after her and grabbed her hand.

  “I was a rake, but never a villain. If I have to do it again, I will because I was right. I saved you that day because I would rather let the world burn in flames than lose you.”

  Kiara’s free hand curled into a fist and drove into Caspian’s stomach, hard enough to make him go down, gentle enough to prevent any fatal injuries. She often maintained control over her strength to prevent any severe damage – her strength matched that of stone, confusing even the most talented of warriors. Some even accused her of dabbling with dark magic but those with wise eyes and an open mind saw no folly, but a hidden truth that slowly faded at the cusp of myths and legends.

  She held him by his collar and gently let him down to preserve the silence.

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  Caspian dealt with pain in silent tolerance. Her words stung like a shower of arrows, leaving wounds that run deeper than the punch to the stomach. She did not look back before going to her room.

  In the stillness, he lay there, resigned to his fate of leaving her once again. He cast his eyes downward and, with a travel sack resting on his shoulder, stepped into the inky darkness. He tried to extinguish any hope of eventual reconciliation by deciding to leave her be, but a part of him held him in a state of stillness.

  “Try harder.” It whispered. “You would be forgiven and cherished by her. You just need to try harder.”

  It clung to him like a sweetheart and gently led him back to the inn. He needed to settle his dues with the innkeeper, and luckily, that was a convenient cover for his stay.

  He sincerely hoped that no dagger would find its way to his chest. The rational part of him frowned at him with disapproval. It reprimanded him for trusting his impulses, rather than intellect and reasoning.

  Caspian was anything but rational. If he was, he would have been the duke of briverton and not an immoral bard that earned ire from jealous husbands and vigilant fathers.

  He slowly slipped into the inn and gave silent gratitudes to the innkeeper, who slept like a log.

  The morning came to the silent dragon inn as it did for the rest of the world. Its gold threads weaved through the windows, casting a warm glow in a room where two women faced each other.

  One had a book and a quill, the other only a tale to tell.

  “I don’t know where to start.” She murmured softly.

  “You can take your time. Just think of the earliest memory that is meaningful to you,” Penelope replied, her voice cool as the winter wind.

  After pondering for a moment, Kiara’s face changed, as if something had struck her. However, she shook her head in frustration and kept on thinking. It took a while for the serenity to return to her eyes.

  “My earliest memory was when I was around six years old, or so I believe,” she began. “It’s peculiar because most of my memories before that age are quite blurry. I know my biological father was present in those memories, but beyond that, there isn’t much else. I don’t think there was any significant secret behind it; they are simply unimportant memories that have faded over the time.” Kiara paused, letting Penelope write it down.

  “Before I begin there, I should introduce myself.” Kiara stated.

  “My name is Kiara, revered and reviled across the five continents of the world. Some tales people tell about me are true, while others are just twisted lies. But they all make for a damn good story.” Kiara started with a wry smile.

  “I walked the streets of Nadiputra and took down its most wicked villain. I have delved deep into ancient magic and paid a price few would for sweet, sweet revenge.” Her lips curled downward as she continued.

  “I once served as an assassin for an empress until I became known as the kinslayer. This is a story of my glory and my shame told by own voice and no one else’s”

  The biographer captured the words on her paper and looked at Kiara, and asked her to continue.

  “Why am I beginning this as if I’m weaving a grand heroic tale? After all, this is just a biography, and there is no audience to entertain. It feels deceitful.” She said, her words laced with a tinge of guilt.

  “Just throw those pages away. I want to start it with something else.” The biographer shook her head.

  “You don’t see yourself in a grand light, but the reason for this biography is for you to understand yourself. I will keep those pages and will burn them myself, if you disagree with me at the end of the tale.”

  “You are right. I should tell this as it is, How I see myself rather than H]how I see myself now. That should let me understand the mystery that is me.”

  Kiara took a deep breath to let serenity and nostalgia wash over. The memories surged inside her, letting the folded tapestry in chasms of her mind to unfurl.