I force a smile through my sudden nervousness. I need to get him off his guard and discover what he’s hiding. And I have just the means to do it. “I won’t say no to shelter and a meal. Come on. This innkeeper can’t dislike you more than I do.”
Bael growls under his breath as he brushes past me. “You don’t hate me.”
“No?” I follow him.
“You don’t trust me.”
Maybe there’s some truth in that. “Don’t take it personally. I don’t trust anyone.”
Especially not right now.
Chapter 11
Zyla
The stylized rose was a sign of Blessed Amara, and could often be found on artefacts that had been touched by Her hand. Despite Her loss, power can still be found in a rare handful of those artefacts.”
—CAROVYN HAMAD, SCRIBE OFA HISTORY OF THE GODS
Of all the things I expected, it wasn’t this.
The path we’re taking spills into a clearing where an enormous bare oak looms in the center. This is a meeting of pathways, a convergence of the maze. Dozens of lanterns hang from the oak, which grows around the stone walls of the Labyrinth as if slowly consuming it. Light spills from little porthole windows within the trunk and outlines a round door.
“This is one of the Hunt Inns. The Griffin’s Nest,” says Bael, his brutish hand resting on the small of my back as he gestures me forward. “It’s safe harbor for the night, for none will dare lift a weapon within its walls.”
The door blasts open, bringing with it a wave of heat, laughter and the delicious aroma of roast venison.Malus’s mercy. Common sense dictates to proceed cautiously, but my stomach growls and has no intentions of being made to wait. The rations we’ve been making do with are sustaining, but that’s the best that could be said for them.
“I don’t have any coin to trade.”
“I do.” Bael steers me toward the bar, his cloak pulled down over his face.
“Feeling shy all of a sudden?”
He glances at me from beneath the hood. “Do you want to start a bar brawl?”
It makes me realize I’ve never seen him in company, except for Rhykus’ manor, and they were all trying to kill him. Bael makes his way toward the bar, the crowd parting before him like a school of fish fleeing from the shark in their midst. They can’t see his face, but he’s exuding menace again, almost like a personal perfume.
Eau de villain.
“Hail, friends!” says a small female with goat-like legs and horns that protrude from her curls. “May I interest you in a meal? Or are you after room and board?”
“Room and board, thanks Teanna,” growls Bael, just as I reach the bar.
I stare at the innkeeper, with its eagle-like head, folded wings, and the small wire rimmed spectacles on its beak. It stares back, polishing the glass in its lion-like paws as if taking stock of me and then it stiffens, its flat hazel gaze shifting toward Bael.
“Pharyces,” Bael murmurs.
“Get out,” squawks the griffin, claws extending through the pads of its paws.
“Now, now,” Bael says, hands splayed wide. “No trouble. Not tonight. I just want a warm room, a hot meal, and a bath.”
“The last time you were here,” Pharyces hisses, leaning on the bar, “you nearly burned my inn down.”
Oh, really?I stare at Bael pointedly, because he’s been unsparing in his commentary about my pyro tendencies.
He ignores me, offering a white-toothed smile. “A misunderstanding between myself and Rhykus. And I swear that any inn-burning desire will not come from me tonight. I promise on my mother’s pyre.”
He very pointedly does not look at me.
