Chapter 1: The Pea Tavern

Philomena

“They’ve been looking for four hundred fifty three years, six months, and five days,” the gnome whispered to herself. “They aren’t going to find you now.”

It was the mantra she’d been repeating for, well, almost five centuries. But it would only take one slip, one silly mistake, for a legionary— or something worse— to find her.

Pausing to catch her breath, Philomena leaned her back against a tree trunk and closed her eyes, listening to the forest around her. She pushed her mind out to the small green plants surrounding the tree, feeling what they felt— a tuft of grass rustling in the slight breeze, a bird fluttering in a bay laurel bush. No sign of humans trampling through the woods.

She blew out a slow breath, the tightness in her shoulders releasing a fraction. Her stomach took that moment to rumble and Philomena sucked in a sharp breath, her eyes darting around the empty woods, as if the hunger pains would call soldiers to her location. If only she could manifest a nice bowl of soup, she’d be happy. As it were, the gnome reached into her pack to pull out the last piece of buccellatum, before remembering she’d already chewed through the tough, dry biscuit to stave off boredom in the early hours of her day’s journey.

Sighing, she shouldered her bag and set off again, checking the sun’s trajectory to her left. She still had a couple hours until sunset but would soon need to start looking for somewhere to set up camp.

After what felt like only a few minutes trudging through underbrush, Philomena paused, raising her head and sniffing the air like a hound catching the scent of its prey. Rosemary, she thought. And it wasn’t only growing fresh in the wild— it was roasting, carried on the wind along with a faint hint of garlic and smoke.

Her heart hammering in her chest, Philomena slipped behind a tree again, listening for voices or some indication of who might be cooking nearby. Hearing nothing, she peered carefully around the trunk but found only more of the same dense forest. A robin chirping in the tree above caught her attention and Philomena’s eyes drifted up, tracking the orange breasted bird hopping along a branch. That was when she noticed a tendril of smoke rising from a stone chimney in the distance.

She knew better than to approach— it would be best to cast a wide path around whoever might be living there. But the aromas of a freshly cooked meal were too much to resist. She decided it wouldn’t hurt to at least take a peek at the house. In fact, it would be unwise not to see what types of dangers might be lurking around the cozy cottage that smelled more like baking bread and simmering stew the closer she got.

Carefully picking her way through the forest, Philomena approached the two story sand colored stone building. As she moved closer, she realized it was situated at the edge of a clearly traveled road. Great, she thought. The exact road I was trying to avoid. Crouching behind a bush along the quiet path, she surveyed the scene— the front of the building had a large opening taking up the majority of the lower floor facade and Philomena could just make out a stone counter inside. It was clearly some type of inn or restaurant but she couldn’t quite see the words on the sign hanging above the entryway. From where she was hiding, it didn’t look like anyone was inside, but someone could be in the corners of the shadowed interior.

As she watched, her stomach grumbled again. Movement came from the wool shawl draped across her body, along with a discontented chirruping. From the folds of her garment, a small green vine peered up at her, the tapered end of the tendril folded in a way that could only be described as a scolding look.

“Alright, alright,” Philomena whispered, with a shake of her head. “Sorry for waking you, Beans. I’ll get some food.”

Apparently satisfied with the promise, the small beanstalk curled back into her shawl, safely tucked away. Philomena took a deep breath, glanced left and then right, and seeing no one, scurried across the road to the inn.

When she approached, the sign hanging above the building’s entryway creaked as it swung in the breeze. Philomena glanced up and read, Pea Tavern. Sending a silent prayer to any god who might listen that no one inside would recognize her, the gnome stepped through the arch and into the tavern.

Inside, the scent of cooking food assaulted her hungry senses. A long, L-shaped marble counter took up one side of the room and her mouth watered as she saw the round inserts carved into the countertop, knowing they would contain dried fruits, and stews, and—

“Welcome to the Pea Tavern,” a deep, melodic voice interrupted her thoughts.

Startled, Phileomena spun around to find a tall, slim man with glossy white blonde hair cascading down his chest. He was rising from one of the half dozen small square tables situated around the room.

“Do you need a room for the night, or just here for a meal?” the man asked, as he stepped around the table toward her, the ornate silver filigree clasp on his belt now visible at Phileomena’s eye level. It was a confusing contrast to the plain wool tunic hanging to his knees.

“A meal,” she confirmed quickly, her voice hitching slightly as the man looked at her. Clearing her throat she said in a more measured tone, “I’d like a bowl of soup, if you wouldn’t mind. Then I’ll be on my way. Thank you.”

The man glanced out the doorway, no doubt seeing the darkening sky. He raised an eyebrow but only nodded silently as he walked past her and behind the counter. He brushed by so closely, his scent swirled around her in the disturbed air— he smelled of a type of spruce that Philomena couldn’t quite place. It carried something ancient and cold. She inhaled deeply, but it was gone, replaced with the intoxicating aroma of garlic and rosemary.

She watched as he prepared a plate for her, scooping food from the large pottery dolia embedded in the counter. Behind him, tall pointed jars leaned against the wall.

The man followed her gaze and said, “Have a seat and I’ll bring you a cup of wine, too.”

Philomena opened her mouth, but he spoke again before she could protest.

“It’ll be on the house,” he said, fixing his bright green eyes on hers. “If you let me share your table while you tell me news from town.”

She stared at him for a moment, gauging his interest— not certain whether he recognized her and wanted the reward for turning her in to the authorities, or genuinely wanted to hear an update from a passing traveler. There was nothing she could do about it regardless, so Philomena simply turned around and settled into a table in the corner, hidden by a half wall where she wouldn’t be visible from the road.

When the server had his back turned, pouring wine from the jars behind the counter, Philomena pulled back the shawl across her chest and peered down at Beanstalk tucked within.

“The human is coming back. Stay quiet, okay?” she whispered, mostly to reassure herself. Even centuries before, when she was surrounded by friends, the little vine was particular about whom he revealed himself to. He was loyal to Philomena, almost to a fault, and that suited her just fine.

Letting the fabric fall back across her chest, she looked up to see the man making his way to her table, balancing plates of food and two wine goblets in his arms. She watched quietly as he set the dishes down in front of her before he sank into the chair opposite.

Philomena nodded her thanks and inhaled deeply, surveying the meal. There was a bowl of steaming pultes pisanae and a small plate of bread, olives, and dried fruits. A goblet of warm spiced wine sat beside the dishes and the server pulled the second goblet toward himself.

Raising his cup as if to toast, he said, “Go on, eat.”

Her jaw set. As if she needed permission from him to eat the meal she was paying for. But of course her stomach chose that moment to grumble again, and she swore she saw the faintest smirk lift the corner of the man’s lips. Huffing out a breath, Philomena ignored him, picking up the spoon in the bowl of pea soup and bringing it to her lips.

She closed her eyes as the warm stew hit her tastebuds, barely keeping from moaning in pleasure. The peas almost melted on her tongue as bursts of garlic and onion hit her taste buds. The flavors immediately reminded her of home— but, well. She stopped those thoughts before they had a chance to take hold. Philomena didn’t have a home anymore.

Opening her eyes, she saw the man watching her, his head tilted as if she were a riddle he couldn’t quite solve.

“What?” She said it with more venom than she’d intended, but the gnome didn’t like the way this human was looking at her.

“Nothing,” he said slowly, still staring at her in confusion. “How’s the soup?”

“Fine.”

“Alright then,” the man said with a laugh. “Tell me. How is Rome fairing?”

Philomena didn’t answer right away. She knew anyone traveling along this road would be coming from Rome, but the truth was that she hadn’t been there. Big cities were too risky— she shouldn’t even have come to this small roadside tavern. Her mind searched for any scraps of news she could share with the man, when she remembered the conversation she’d overheard a few weeks before.

“Titus’ games are starting soon,” she said. It might have been common knowledge by then, but she didn’t have anything else. The men she’d heard hunting in the forest on the outskirts of the city had been excited for the celebrations the emperor had planned for the inauguration of the colosseum.

“Ah, yes. The games,” the man parroted. “And why are you leaving before they begin?”

“Well,” she started, trying to think of a plausible explanation before settling on the truth. “I’m looking for something.”

He surprised her by laughing. It was a rumbling sound that Philomena felt wash over her like a warm bath.

“Aren’t you a cryptic little thing?” he said, his eyes twinkling.

She bristled at the word little but before she could say anything, he continued.

“Keep your secrets, love.” He grinned. “You continue searching for whatever it is, but I think I just found what I’ve been looking for.” The man fixed her with a stare before his eyes dropped to her mouth.

Philomena huffed out a laugh, her shoulders dropping in relief. The man wouldn’t be bantering if he recognized her as a wanted criminal, right?

“Do you flirt with all your customers?”

“Only with the grumpy ones.”

“I’m not tipping you extra for a little flattery, you know,” she shot back, finding herself leaning toward this man and his inexplicably glossy blonde hair.

She’d expected him to laugh, but instead he rested his forearms on the table, and with a glint in his eyes said, “No, but I think you’ll want to tip me for—”

Philomena didn’t find out what would be worth paying a few extra coins, because the man cut off abruptly and ducked below the table seconds before a loud voice sounded from the doorway.

“Innkeeper! We’re here for the missing heir!”