She exits through the greenhouse door without another word. I turn back to Elwyn. Her silver eyes cast down, but she says nothing before dissipating completely, fading into the air as if she was never here at all.
“We must tell the others!” Agnes beams.
My eyes blur. The longer I stand here, the more nauseous I become. I take a step forward and stumble slightly.
Agnes pays no mind, walking ahead of me rambling on about the rarity of a Spiritwalker.
“Perhaps it’s best if you rest?” Tallulah grabs my arm. Her energy relaxes mine and I lean into her side as we leave the greenhouse together.
Thirty-One
Roman
Raucous poker gamesand profanities racket the air of the pub but the woman from earlier, Jeannette, doesn’t seem to mind as she drifts from table to table. She carries on her business with a smile on her face, stopping every once in a while to speak with the man behind the bar. When she notices my gaze, her eyes brighten before heading in my direction.
“You again.” Her smile broadens, the warmth of the light making her fiery hair even more beautiful.
My words catch on my tongue. It’s not often someone smiles at me the way she does, as if I’m not a monster hidden in plain sight. But then again, it’s not often I’m around anyone outside of Valebridge. I tug my hood down, making sure most of my face is hidden.
Jeanette’s brows pinch for a moment but her face softens. “There’s a booth in the back—” She points to the corner where a wooden booth is mostly concealed with shadows. “Take it, I’ll bring you a drink.” She winks and squeezes my arm.
I flinch away from the touch, making her jump as well.
“I’m sorry,” I mumble, gripping my arm.
“Not a problem.” She smiles again, and my heart twitches at how genuine it seems.
Why are you here, Roman?
As if reading my thoughts, the guards shout and holler over another round of cards ending.
Oh, right. To gather my men and leave.
I spot one of my closer guards, Stefan, in the crowd. He looks weary as I gesture him over.
“Your Majesty.” Stefan dips his head briefly. “I’m surprised to see you here.” He glances around to the herds of guards and locals. “So many people for your taste.” He smiles, placing his hands behind his back.
Jeanette sets a drink before me and leaves, swiftly attending to another booth with empty tankards. I take a sip despite not having enjoyed it earlier. “I think it’s time we leave, Stefan.”
He cocks his head to the side, a dark brow raising. “Oh? Has Galen given the order?—”
“No.” I slam my tankard onto the table. “But I have, and it’d suit you well not to question me again.”
On goes the mask of the corrupt king.
My eyes bore into Stefan and it doesn’t take long until he’s glancing at his feet, his shoulders slumping forward. “Yes, Your Majesty. I’ll tell the others to prepare to leave by morning’s light.”
“Tonight,” I say. Stefan snaps his gaze to me, his brows pinched tightly together again. “We’ll leave tonight.”
Stefan doesn’t ask anymore questions before he heads to the largest table of guards, whispering into their ears. The men mumble and curse but slowly, they pay their tabs and ready themselves to leave. A few pocket their shillings and don their cloaks.
I take a final sip of the sour ale and leave a generous pile of coin for Jeannete before joining them outside. The men huddletogether, about two dozen of them, chattering and grumbling, waiting for direction.
“Gentleman,” I say.
Their voices begin to quiet, and for a brief moment, I doubt what I’m doing. Doubt what I’m about to say. Doubt that I am in fact the King of Teravie and these aremymen, not Galen’s.
I’ve never stood alone before them. Never given directions that were purely my own but then I remember the blue paint and the layers and layers of peeling wallpaper, of lies placed on top of it. Squaring my shoulders, I clear my throat.
