Invisible Wings

“Oh great,” the young man said sarcastically about the people coming into the inn, “customers.” 
A woman, part elf part human looked over at the older man, younger man and young woman, all human, coming in. The younger man who wore armor under his cloak slammed the door shut against the late winter chill; they moved to a table near the hearth and sat with their backs to the wall. “Shouldn’t you be happy?” She asked her new friend, still smiling from laughs they had just shared. “There aren’t many travelers anymore, now that the evil is spreading . . .” She trailed off as her smile vanished. The spreading evil had dealt her, even at the young age of seventeen, more than one personal blow. 
“Well yea,” he said, reluctantly getting up from behind the counter where her ale sat, “but I would rather they come when I’m not running the Inn and tavern, I hate this stuff!” 
She laughed at the young man, he was about a year younger than she was, he was sixteen-ish she figured, and she had enjoyed his company the last three days while she stayed in a room upstairs. His family owned the Inn and this boy, Trevor, was always trying to get out of work. “Here!” she snatched his towel from over the counter, “I’ll show you how it’s done!” 
As she stood and turned away he protested, “But Lady Sylvia,” he leaned forward just enough to grab her shoulder, “you have no sword or dagger, what if they mean you harm.” 
Sylvia nearly laughed at the too thin brown haired boy, “Visitors to a tiny inn, what was I a danger too!” He still seemed unsure, “Come now Trevor, turn on that brain of yours,” she joked, “it’s an old man, a young woman and a young soldier within a couple years of me!” 
He didn’t let go, she smiled and tipped her head to the side, it was so cute how he was trying to protect her, “If you’re so concerned then come with me, maybe you’ll learn something!” She laughed lightly, then beautiful blond, long haired Sylvia pulled away and walked gracefully and purposely toward the table. She glanced back as she reached it to see Trevor hurry to just catch up. “Good evening lords, lady, what can I get for you?” Just as Trevor called her a lady the titles were only respectful, not necessarily true. 
The old man met her eyes and for a moment her heart froze, he was no ordinary traveler, he was a man of great magic and power, she could feel it. She quickly diverted her sky blue eyes to look just beyond his ear, she knew if any man could find secrets to endanger her in locking her eyes he could. His expression and how she felt the magic stir in him told her she was too slow, he saw something; hopefully not enough to recognize . . . 
“Myself,” said his old, gravely, but strong voice, “and my companions would like whatever you have cooking now, some ale, and lodging for the night.” 
“We presently have a large roast on the kitchen fire, fresh buns, mashed potatoes, sauce gravy, and some dried fruit from the high plain. Does this please you sir?” she was careful not to lock his eyes. 
“Yes.” 
“How many rooms do you require?” 
“Two will be fine, with individual beds.” 
“Do you have animals we can lodge for you sir?” He nodded and nearly locked her gaze, she quickly looked away. “They will be seen to immediately my lord. Anything else you require?” She was silently praying they’d just dismiss her. 
“Lady, how’d you get that scar?” Her eyes darted to the younger man, the soldier, he had very dark brown hair and even darker eyes that were surprisingly warm despite their dark appearance. He motioned to her right arm and the ugly, marbled, red and white scar on the inside of it. It was the reason Trevor hadn’t just given her his dagger for protection but came along. Her arm was generally limp and her hand unskilled, she had learned to write with her left hand because of that scar. She tried to hide her nervousness as she looked down at it. 
“Oh this?” she faked a casual smile, “An accident, that’s all.” She said it quickly, too quickly; she nearly cringed at her stupid mistake but stopped herself. But the soldier’s brows still rose in suspicion – it was the other man who put her on the edge to mess up like that! Hadn’t she lied flawlessly about this scar a so many times by now? 
“May I ask the type of accident?” he asked again, his dark brown, almost back eyes holding her like a vice. It wasn’t magic that held her but fear she was trying hard not to make known. 
“I, uh . . .” She pulled her eyes away and looked back at her almost-lame arm, she couldn’t think looking into those dark eyes. So she concentrated on her arm a moment, the sword wound up the inside of her right arm, from just above her wrist up past her elbow, didn’t allow her a firm grip with that hand. It was so ugly, so noticeable, and so crippling. “It was cut my lord.” She said after too long of a pause. Her eyes widened in her stupid answer, yet another mistake! Suddenly afraid she whirled and dashed for the kitchen, fleeing them, not waiting for dismissal or any more questions. Trevor gave her a strange and confused look as she pushed past him, she didn’t care – she had to get out of there! She collapsed in a corner of the kitchen and huddled so she couldn’t be seen. “Please don’t come after me, please, please do not come after me!” she whispered. A few seconds later she heard footsteps, panic hit her. 
“Why did you do that . . . Lady Sylvia?” She was relieved at Trevor’s voice and sighed as she stood on weak, flimsy legs. “Were you hiding – are you crying? What’s the matter?” 
Sylvia was quick to wipe away two tears she hadn’t realized she’d shed. “I must go Trevor . . . I must leave now.” Sylvia burst out, jumping at the sound of the fear in her own voice. 
“No Sylvia, if they’re a problem I’ll tell them to leave, it’s that simple.” 
“He’s a mage Trevor!” she burst out, “You cannot order a mage to leave!” her voice went so high it cut itself off, “No,” she took hold of her emotions and shook her head, “it isn’t them anyways,” she lied, “I just realized I must go.” Trevor looked stunned, like she’d just slammed him with a frying pan for no reason whatsoever. Then she took a startled breath remembering something important, “Trevor, I need you to go to my room, there’s a little box on the dresser, a gold box, I need you to bring it to me.” 
“Wh-why are you leaving?” 
“Trevor listen to me,” she tried again, conscious time was going fast along with all chance of her escape, “in my room upstairs . . . there’s a small box.” She caught his attention again and motioned with her pointer and thumb, a cube small enough to comfortably fit in one hand. “It’s a gold box with designs on it; I need you to hurry and get it for me. I’ll go saddle the horse.”.....