What doIwant, then?
I’ve stopped sweeping to stare at an empty spot on the floor. I’m bone-tired. My shoulder aches more fiercely than ever, and I want nothing more than to sleep for a full day.
The last thing I hear before leaving is the sound of Dietan opening another bottle in the kitchen.
Royal drunk.
Chapter Seventeen
Aren
I find Dietan passed out in the tavern the next morning, just like the day before. Still sound asleep in the kitchen, right where I’d left him, except he’s sitting properly in the chair this time, his arms folded over his chest and his head tilted back, neck uncovered and exposed to the air. Way too trusting for a prince to present his exposed neck as an offering like that. Daring a steady blade to finish the job, if you ask me. He’s clearly too used to being surrounded by solicitous guards. Or maybe I’m just irritable.
I frown at him as I count all the empty bottles around him. What a mess. I scoop some water from the freshwater basin into a cup and toss it onto his face.Take that, your royal highness.
He sputters awake, gasping and coughing, as water drips from his blond locks onto his white shirt. “Whoa, what happened to the sweet wakeup from yesterday?” he whines, wiping the water from his face with his sleeve, looking satisfyingly put-out. “Is there breakfast?” he asks hopefully.
“You should leave now,” I tell him with all the warmth of a winter day. “Your royal entourage is waiting.”
It is, after all, the day he said they planned to depart.
He sets his mouth into a thin line as he empties his pockets, placing a thick stack of gold coins on the counter. “For the ale, my sweet maiden,” he says. “And to set your tavern to rights.”
I manage a smile that feels strained, even to me.I check the stack of coin, which is more than enough for repairs and then some. But is it enough to make up for bringing unnatural terror and destruction to my peaceful town?
In the clarity of daylight, I just want him out of here. The sooner this stupid cursed prince is out of my life, the better.
I walk over to the back door and unlock it, swinging it wide into the rainy morning as Dietan stiffly rises from the chair.
“Your exit, Your Worship,” I say.
He nods. “The pleasure is all mine.” He’s about to step outside but stops, his face turning ashen.
“What? What is it?” I ask warily. My bones feel a thousand years old. My nerves are beyond shot. I don’t think I can take any more surprises.What now?
Wordlessly, he points to the doorway.
On the ground outside is a man lying face down in a puddle.Great.Another drunk.
Except he’s not moving, at all.
Cold dread slithers down my spine as I stifle the urge to vomit. Oh, goddess.No.
Dietan rushes forward and turns the man over in the mud.
I gasp. He’s one of the royal guards; I remember he helped roll the ale barrels to the town hall. His face is still frozen in terror, his eyes bulging, mouth open in a soundless scream. But there’s no trace of blood on him, no sign of violence on his person. He just looks…like he had the breath stolen out of him.
Dietan presses his fingers against the man’s neck. He shakes his head and then looks up at me, stricken. “The Kilandrar,” he says.
My stomach churns with horror and guilt. It must have killed him after we chased it out of the Raven’s Beak. He was probably killed by the Kilandrar in this very spot while we were tending to our wounds, and we didn’t hear a thing.
We stare at the body.
Then, as if remembering his position in the world, Dietan leans over the man’s corpse and recites a hushed prayer. I recognize the Words of the Fallen, asking the spirits to help the man find his way home to the fields of gold. When Dietan’s done, his hands are shaking.
“Bless this man and his service to Albion,” Dietan whispers. “I thank him for the gift of his life. Blessed travels.”
“Blessed travels,” I echo.
