Sucks to Suck – Chapter 21
6 October 2025
When I walked into the Gilded Cauldron, the smell of forever stew and vegetables fried in boar lard struck me in a way that was, at once, overwhelming and welcoming. Fuck, I was hungry. Then again, the sun had set about an hour before, and I would usually have had dinner an hour before that. Hells, I had skipped at least two snack meals. The last thing I ate was a couple of dry sausage links at noon. And between then and now, I had infiltrated a bugbear camp, gotten chased, fallen off a cliff, nearly died, made an ass of myself in front of the hottest woman I had ever seen, and then got swindled from my big payday by the Guild. Forty Sovereigns became twenty-two, and fifteen went to my landlord. Having eight Sovereigns in my pocket was far from a tragedy, but it wasn’t the sort of reward I had in mind when I took the job. The whole ‘almost dying’ thing was starting to not seem worth it, to me.
Maybe it would be worth it, though, if Chrysadora was still waiting for me in there, somewhere inside the Gilded Cauldron. But I was almost sure she wouldn’t be. I had taken an hour to collect my payment from the Guild, run all the way to the south side to pay my landlady, and, since I was there, I took the chance to wash off the river water from my body and change into something that smelled less like an ogre’s loincloth after hauling rocks on a sunny day. It occurred to me that it was a little rude to leave Chrysadora waiting, but I reckoned I was just taking back the time I saved at the Guild by skipping the line.
However, the more likely truth was that I just needed a win. So, let’s hold back on the judgment.
“Tilly!” Sera greeted me, balancing a tray with four tankards of ale on one hand and using the other to tighten her apron behind her back. “You are back! And alive!”
The green-skinned undine had big eyes whose colours were always changing, depending on the mood. Always colours that reminded me of the sea near Wendyr. Bright azure when she was happy, deep green when she was calm and relaxed, and a dark, leaden grey when she was sad. But Sera was almost never sad, and when she saw me, her eyes were very bright blue indeed. That always brought me some joy. I wish I had a way to share my happiness with others on occasion.
“Try not to sound so surprised,” I teased her as I walked in and peered inside. The Cauldron was indeed full. And I saw no sign of Chrysadora. Fuck.
“Oh! This is me trying.” Sera laughed. “Did you manage the contract? Alone?”
“I did! Just came back from the Guild,” I said, trying to sound more enthused than I was, which was a little easier when engaging with Sera.
“Great! So, you must have quite the fat purse, eh? What will it be? Elven mead? Maybe some blood-wine?”
“Uh… Not as heavy, I’m afraid.” I sighed and shrugged. “But thanks to me, the Guildmaster might be expanding his cellar soon.”
“Oh.” Her eyes lost some brightness as her smile disappeared, but just for a second before she perked up again and blew a strand of kelp-coloured hair off her face. “Well, that happens! What matters is that you are here.”
“Aye. I’ll drink to that… Speaking of drinking…”
She sucked air between her teeth and then pursed her lips, putting them away to look at me, guilty and apologetic.
“Sorry, we are packed. Might have some place in the back, but…”
“Nah, no latrine corridor for me… Uh… This is stupid, and probably she’s not here, but… Did you see a woman…”
“A woman?” Sera interrupted me, excited.
“Excuse me? You mind?” I teased and chided, and she blushed in mild apology. “So, uh… A woman. Honey-coloured skin, yellow eyes, and…”
“Gold tattoos?”
“Yes!” I said, a bit too excited. “I mean, er… Is she around still? I’m kinda supposed to meet her, but… I can’t see her here.”
“Oh, she’s upstairs in a booth near the tap… Second to the right, can’t miss it.”
“Oh… She is?”
Sera gave me a strange look at that expression of disbelief, and I decided to just non-verbally give her a sheepish glance before scurrying away.
The interior of the Gilded Cauldron was a vast hall of round tables arranged without care for symmetry under the very high ceiling. Two levels of mezzanine looked down on us, and sitting over the massive iron chandelier was a life-sized cauldron done in what looked like brushed gold. It probably wasn’t, and to hear the owner say it, it really was not. But there were quite a few audacious patrons who tried the twelve-foot jump from the mezzanine to the chandelier in hopes of grabbing the Cauldron. Some grazed it, some didn’t even come close. But attempting it was the fastest way to get thrown out of the Gilded Cauldron with a broken leg or sprained ankle and be declared persona non grata. And I imagine that you, dear reader, might be wondering how, then, I am still welcomed here, as you surely assume I am the type of person to take that sort of stupid risk.
First of all, allow me to remark on my offence that you’d reduce me to such a stereotype of a dumb wall of muscles, some hot-headed redhead with more biceps than brains. I have never tried the Cauldron jump. Sober.
Second, I know the owner, and she gave me a rare pardon after I helped her rescue her pet bobcat, which had escaped, provided I never tried to do it again. Which I won’t. I was happy to reunite the owner with their pet and was admitted once more to my favourite watering hole. And yes, I did mishear her and thought she meant a cat named Robert, but that’s neither here nor there.
Crossing the hall, I climbed the back and forth of the wooden stairs to reach the second floor and looked towards the counter decorated with red velvet and brass, where the ale flowed from taps using a pressure system made by one of the Valenza’s most notorious dwarven engineers. Perfect pour and controllable amount of foam at every serving, and the beer was stored in a deep cellar next to a napping ice elemental, I was told, which was the reason why it always came out crispy cold. Whatever the truth was, ale here cost twice as much as the plain one downstairs, so I only came here to celebrate.
The last time I was there, I was celebrating a year together with the girl who would eventually…
Er. Let’s not go there. Where was I? Oh, yes… As soon as my eyes danced away from the counter, I spotted Chrysadora’s shoulder, sticking out from the corner of a booth. The very same Sera told me she would be in. The golden tattoo and armlet left no doubt it was her, of course. But I felt like I could’ve told her arm apart from anyone else’s, even without those details. Not that I was having a crush on her or anything like that. Don’t be ridiculous, dear reader. One wouldn’t just get a crush on an extremely attractive and sophisticated woman just because she saved one’s life and then spent the better part of two hours gently teasing and poking ever so tenderly at one’s blind spots. Right? Yes, right.
“Chrysadora… Sorry, I’m late, I… Needed to get that river water off me…” I told her as I approached the booth.
But I had barely finished the sentence and had not yet sat down, when she shot up and walked towards me, to take my hand in hers and look at me up and down.
“Look at you. Your tunic… And these bracers… Is that…”
“Salamander leather, yes… It’s, uh… A little bit of an extravagance. It reacts to heat…”
She brushed her thumb over my ornate leather bracers, and the dark-brown colour became vivid red in the wake of her thumb, as if she had run a hot iron through it. I gasped in shock, but before I could ask her about it, she bit her lip. And the sight of those two golden fangs pressing on the dark plush lips made all my thoughts close the doors and shutters and bar them for the evening. I’m glad there was no way for me to see my face because I could feel my bright puppy eyes, and they annoyed me almost as much as my fluttering heart did.
“You look amazing. Please, seat… I ordered some mead…”
“The… Delay…” I tried to circle back to my apology, feeling it had gone unheard.
“Was more than worth it,” she assured me, pointing to the booth in front of her.
And then I giggled. Gods. I fucking giggled. Now, dear reader, you haven’t spent too much time with me, so you might not know this about me, but allow me to make one thing clear: I do not fucking giggle. Not usually. Not even eventually. I might chuckle, sensibly. But I’m more the kind to laugh loud and boastfully and even snort a little bit. Damn, time a raunchy joke just right and you might see ale spilling from my nostrils. But I don’t giggle.
Unless you happen to be a tall, toned, gorgeous, gilded, mysterious damsel, smooth as silk, and hot as live embers, then, apparently, I do.
“It’s just a tunic…” I said, blushing, gesturing to the sleeveless cream-colored tunic I had put on along with my best set of riding breeches, long polished black leather boots, and a belt with a brushed bronze buckle. I was going for what my best friend and trusted advisor, Cyan Melody—yes, she named herself that. How could you tell?—defined as ‘Broadsword Futch’.
“Is it? Then maybe it’s the arms under it that make it look so good,” Chrysadora teased, and I found that my cheeks might as well be made of salamander leather because they felt like they were turning red-hot like iron as well. I was surprised not to see a red glow reflected in Chrysadora’s eyes.
“Gods, you’re smooth,” I said before I could really stop the words from spilling from my mouth. At least I wasn’t drooling. Yet.
“You like that? Smooth women?” Chrysadora asked.
“W-Who… Said I like women…” I said, flustered and fumbling too much for the words to come out with the playful mysteriousness I had meant them. It sounded more like I was defending myself against an accusation.
Chrysadora raised an eyebrow towards me, and for the second time since I met her, we found ourselves bursting into laughter together. It was cute for me to pretend that I wasn’t broadcasting pretty loudly where my interests might lie when I tossed my red hair into a battle braid and pushed my shoulders out like that. The mead arrived, and Chrysadora pushed it to me as she placed an order for another.
“Here… You need this more than I do. I can wait for the next one.”
“I… Uh… I usually order ale here,” I said, hesitantly.
“Oh, really? You don’t like mead? Too… Sweet?” she risked reaching back for the glass.
“No, I like it, I just… Can’t always afford it…” I could feel my embarrassment like a skinny cat with untrimmed nails trying, and failing, to get comfortable on my lap.
“Oh… Matilda… Please, you are not paying for anything. The last thing I would do is have you pick up the tab for my indulgence…” Chrysadora said. “You are here as my guest. My treat. Whatever you want.”
“Uh… Even the boar-skin strips?”
“Even that,” she teased.
“Well… In that case.” I smiled, feeling a warmth in the pit of my stomach that both spread up to my face and down between my legs. “Don’t mind if I… Take advantage of your generosity.”
I took a sip of mead, and Chrysadora, looking at me like an alley cat looked at a piece of day-old fish when it fell from the fishmonger’s counter, said in a stage whisper:
“Please do, Matilda.”
Fuck. Alright. I had a crush on her. I’ll admit that. I swallowed the sweet mead; the honey went down smoothly, but I felt my cheeks burn anyway.
“J-Just Tilly…” I reminded her.
“Right. Just Tilly… In that case, you can call me Chrys.”
That sentence echoed inside my head. ‘You can call me Chrys.’ The way she let that S linger, her tongue touching the back of her teeth so softly. Not a hissing, just a slow dying whistle. She told me to call her Chrys. And if you are worried, reader, that the sudden influx of blood to certain parts of my body and my racing heart, paired with a lightness of my head, might have made me act stupid, you are absolutely correct. Because as soon as she said that, I put down the glass of mead and I…
Gods. I giggled.
I was truly lost.
