Alone in the guest room, Bryn sank onto the small bed. She took a few deep breaths now that she had a moment alone with her thoughts.
It was still hard—nearly impossible—to accept the fact that Trei was dead. He’d given up so much for her, a nobleman to the core. Especially whenshehad been the target, not him.
And now Rangar rotted in a dungeon, and Valenden was practically a fugitive.
She hugged her arms, feeling like she’d brought a curse on all three Barendur brothers.
Valenden returned carrying the heavy pitcher, which he poured into a ceramic basin. Steam rose off it, and Bryn sat up straighter, interested. “A hot bath?” It was more than she could have dreamed of.
Valenden grinned. “The inn’s well water was freezing, but the innkeeper heated it up for us. Said something about cold showers not being good for romance.”
He tossed a towel to her that the innkeeper must have given him.
“Well, turn around, at least,” she said, catching the towel. “Our newlywed charade stops behind closed doors.”
“If you want me to give you the spark hexmark, I’m going to have to see you naked.”
“Only my back,” she countered. “And that’s different.”
He looked like he wanted to make a clever retort, but then thought better of it and turned his back as she’d asked.
Keeping an eye on him, Bryn started to peel off her clothes. She hesitated to remove her chemise and be completely naked in the same room as Valenden. But the truth was, she hadn’t washed the chemise in days, and the grueling walk had left it soiled and sweaty. So off it came, too, as she shyly glanced at Valenden’s back.
He was a cad, that was for certain, but he was also her friend.
Saints help her—she had actually come totrusthim.
Chapter
Seventeen
ON THE ROAD . . . plans for the Wollin . . . coffee and scones . . . rumors of royalty . . . squirrels
In the inn’s guest room, Bryn began to splash water over her body, reveling in the warm, scented-soap water. Scouring her skin with the towel, she threw quick looks at Valenden’s back.
“What do you know of the Hytooth family in the Wollin?” she asked.
Valenden’s shoulder rose and fell. “We spent a summer in the Wollin once as boys. I think I was around twelve. Father wanted us to learn to swim and sail, and the seawater there is far warmer than it is in the Baersladen. The king and queen were elderly even then. Now they must be ancient. They have no children of their own but ample nieces and nephews, all with those bright red Hytooth curls.” He ran a hand through his hair thoughtfully, then chuckled. “I kissed atleastthree of them.”
“You were twelve!” Bryn exclaimed as she ran the damp towel under her arms.
Still with his back to her, Valenden sighed contentedly. “And?”
She looked at the ceiling and let out a breath. “And you believe the Hytooths will help us?”
“Assuming the queen is still sharp-witted,” he answered. “Her mind’s been fading for years. Her husband, the king, is apparently in good health but was never that clever to begin with. It’s always been Queen Amelia making the decisions under his name.”
Bryn considered this as she finished her makeshift bath. The Wollin rulers were their only chance to find allies. The forest kingdoms of Vil-Kevi and Vil-Rossengard were friendly but kept to themselves. Captain Carr currently controlled the Mirien. Baron Marmose had influence in Ruma, and he certainly wouldn’t side with her unless it was to become king himself. She knew little of Zaradona, but they had always been excellent trading partners with her parents, so their loyalties to a new regime were unlikely.
She finished the bath, hung her chemise to dry, and pulled on her dress but hesitated before buttoning the front. “Is now a good time for the hexmark?”
He glanced back over his shoulder. “Lay face-down on the bed.”
Her heart thumped as she did as he asked. She wasn’t sure if she felt more of a thrill or apprehension—after all, only mages were supposed to carve hexmarks. But Valenden’s movements looked well practiced as he sterilized his knife blade over the lantern flame and then splayed his fingers on her back.
“Here.” He dug his index finger into a spot beneath her left ribcage. “This is where the spark hexmark goes. You already have a freckle there. See, it’s fate.”
She tried to roll her eyes, but it didn’t work well with her face pressed to the blanket.
