“I do.” He looks right back at me, his hands on his horse’s bridle. “Prince Rhen gave me written orders. Until I am given a new assignment by King Grey himself, I am to report directly to you.”
Oh. A small part of me is startled, because that’s truly unexpected. I’m also a bit honored.
Honestly, though, I’m still too irritated to appreciate it fully. “Fine,” I say. “At ease, then.”
Malin hesitates, and his expression turns wry. “Yes, my lord.”
Well, that’s not really better. I sigh. “Tychois fine.”
Malin smiles as if he’s amused by this, but he nods. I glance at the sky. Dark clouds stretch on for miles, moving in from the south, which means we might need to wait this out for hours, if not overnight. “We’ll get an early dinner. If the weather breaks, we’ll see if we can cover more ground before dark.”
He shakes out his saddle blanket and hangs it over a post. “If the rain doesn’t let up, we could ride through and change out the gear at the army outpost south of Wildthorne Valley.”
I shake my head. “We’ll wait it out.”
He glances over and inhales like he’s going to argue, but he must see in my face that on this point, I’m firm. He shuts his mouth and gives me a brisk nod again.
It’s a solid suggestion, and one I’d expect from a soldier, but the army outposts are generally situated outside bigger towns. That means a lot of people, a lot of merchants, and . . . ?a lot of back-alley dealings. Scravers aren’t the only thing I worry about when I ride courier. I don’t follow the same paths or stay in the same inns every time, and I have safe houses in remote areas. I could make better time by swapping for a fresh horse each day, but I’ve heard of former couriers who were given poisoned mounts who fell ill later, leaving their rider vulnerable. So now it’s me and Mercy, and we’re careful about where we stop.
Then again, no one would take me for the King’s Courier dressed like this. I wouldn’t even be seen as a member of the nobility.
That’s proven as soon as we walk into the tavern, because the barkeep gives us a narrow glance, then grunts. “Coins first. Soldiers or not, no one’s pouring free ale.”
Malin scoffs. “Don’t worry, old man. We’ll pay.” Then he looks at me and drops his voice, but not very much. A teasing light sparks in his eye. “You’ve got money, right? If not, I think we can take him.”
The barkeep grunts again.
In spite of everything, that makes me smile. “I can pay.” I pull some coppers from my pouch and toss them on the counter. “Dinner for us both.” My clothes are damp, so I add, “We’ll sit by the fire.”
The tavern isn’t crowded, and no one pays passing soldiers much attention. Once we’re seated, Malin pushes damp hair back from his forehead, then swipes his hands on his knees. His sharp features are keen as he takes in the room. He can’t be much older than I am. Twenty-two or twenty-three at most. I consider how he teased the barkeep, or his wry look when he saidmy lord. It reminds me of how hetricked Sephran into using the wrong words to say farewell to Jax. I can’t decide if he’s lighthearted or if he’s just going to be a pain in the ass.
Then again, he’s got two stripes on his shoulder, and he wouldn’t have earned those if he weren’t dependable.
The barkeep delivers two steins of ale to our table, and when I thank him, I realize that minutes have passed and neither of us has said a word. Malin must notice this at the same time, because he gives me a sidelong glance, then unbuckles a pouch on his belt and withdraws a small deck of cards wound up in a strip of leather. He doesn’t even ask if I want to play; he just shuffles and starts dealing.
Maybe I’m the one being a pain in the ass. I ruefully pick up my hand. “I’m used to making this ride alone,” I say. “And I didn’t expect to be sent back so quickly. I’m sorry I make a poor conversation partner.”
He shrugs, then smiles, then fishes a coin out of his pocket and flips it onto the table, a clear invitation to bet. “I can take your money whether you talk or not.”
Definitely lighthearted. Maybe this journey won’t betooterrible. I fish a handful of coins out of my pouch. “As you say.”
He’s good at cards, which isn’t a surprise. Most soldiers are. He’s quick and cunning with his plays, and he does collect a few of my coins before I have the opportunity to win a few back. We relax into the rhythm of the game as the barkeep brings platters of food and the rain beats against the tavern windows.
Eventually the game or the ale or his easy manner steals most of my irritation, because I say, “You didn’t mind being sent away from your regiment so soon?”
“Mind? No.” He hesitates, surveying his cards, then tosses a coin on the table. “Everyone else was jealous. I thought Kutter was going to fight me for the chance.”
“Really?”
“King Grey spends little time in Emberfall,” he says. “And you report directly to him. A chance to serve under the king, even for a short while, isn’t one to be missed.”
Fascinating—though maybe it shouldn’t be. I’ve always had access to Grey, and even as a soldier, I trained with him directly. The entire Syhl Shallow army has—for years. I never considered that soldiers here might see that differently.
With that awareness, I fixate on the first part of what he said, about how Grey doesn’t spend much time here. Weeks ago, Jacob and I stopped at an inn when we were traveling, and I overheard some farmers grousing about the king and his magic, complaining that Grey spent too much time in Syhl Shallow. I didn’t pay it much mind, but it’s different to hear it from a soldier, and to hear it like this.
I’m so used to worrying about the Truthbringers actively plotting against the throne, but if I’ve learned anything in the last few years, it’s that discontent and uncertainty shouldn’t be left to simmer either.
“If you want to earn another stripe on your shoulder,” I say, “I wouldn’t tell the king to eat horseshit.”
