I drop my voice and turn back. “You should go before you’re—” But the scraver is already gone.
By the time I’ve disarmed and returned to my quarters, it’s late, and the hall guards tell me that Malin retired over an hour ago. When I tap lightly on his door, he answers. He looks like he might have been asleep, because he’s shirtless, in drawstring trousers, and his hair is a little mussed up. A line of bruises crawls up the side of his chest, and a scrape along his jaw turns into yet another bruise where it meets his cheek. He also has three long stripes across his bicep that have been stitched up with field sutures.
I wince. “Silver hell. Was it worth it?”
“Every second of it. The pain is a good distraction.” I’m not sure what that means, but Malin steps back and holds open the door. “Come in.”
“I don’t want to disturb you—”
“You’re not.”
He seems a little rough-edged, and I wonder what Verin said to go along with their violent sparring. I enter the room and the door falls closed. The fire has fallen low, and only one candle is lit.
“I truly won’t keep you.” I hesitate, because admitting this feels like a failure, but Malin got me here, and he deserves the truth. “The king has relieved me of my duties. I thought you should know.”
“I do know,” he says. “The king has relieved me of mine.”
That shocks me still. “Malin,” I breathe.
“It’s known that I arrived with you. We traveled alone for almost a week. He doesn’t want more gossip or uncertainty among the ranks, especially as these scraver attacks continue.”
His voice is even, but now I understand the undercurrent of agitation. He spent a week risking his life to get here, hoping for the chance to prove his worth in front of the king.
And now he’s been relieved of his duties.
Because of me.
I take a long breath and run a hand back through my hair. “Forgive me. I should have—”
“Stop. You can make it up to me by asking the guards to have a tavern’s worth of liquor sent up here.”
I smile, a little sadly. “You don’t know all the words fordrinking?”
“Oh, I do. I just didn’t want them to know I was angry.”
At least this is a task I can accomplish without failure. I ask the hall guards to send for enough spirits to drown a horse twice, and they exchange a glance, but they obey. Before long, servants have brought a wide selection of wines and liquors and ales, along with a platter of bread with slabs of cheese and an arrangement of sliced fruit and sugared nuts.
Malin’s eyes go wide. “Yes,” he says. “You definitely did that better than I would.”
“I should leave you to your . . . ?ah,rest,” I say to him.
“What? No. Stay. Drink with me.”
“I generally don’t drink very much.” A lot of that is Grey’s influence, because he doesn’t either. I’ve never wanted to disappoint him.
Malin pulls a cork free from a small brown bottle. “Want to start?”
I hesitate, but defiance curls in my chest, hot and welcome. I choose a small copper flask. “You go, I go.”
“Exactly.” He drinks right from the bottle, then coughs in surprise and winces. “Whoa.I forgot that the palace won’t have cheap liquor.”
I laugh and take a sip from the flask, swallowing fire.
This is probably a bad idea.
Right now, that makes it a great one. I take another, longer sip, and then I drop into one of Malin’s chairs and press the cool metal of the flask to my forehead.
I’m not sending you back to Ironrose, Tycho.
