I should have made her ride with Flynn. The miles until we reached the village promised to be torture. “Hold on,” I gritted out. Then I spurred Caspian to a canter. The faster the shield and her scent and her soft body were out of my saddle, the better.
Chapter
Twenty-Six
HAVEN
As the sky turned indigo and stars pierced the darkness, we reached a village—a cluster of small houses, a few shops, and a ramshackle inn. Light spilled from the inn’s windows onto the dirt lane where we dismounted.
Flynn disappeared inside, and a moment later, a stable boy appeared.
The boy collected the horses’ reins and led them to the rear of the inn.
Grayson rested his hand on the small of my back, and for a brief second, his touch felt solicitous. Then he shoved me toward the door.
I stumbled forward, not bothering to scowl at him. After an hour in the saddle with his arms wrapped around me, I needed the reminder that he was an asshole.
Flynn pushed open the door, and we stepped inside. The warmth hit me first—a welcome relief from the chilly night air—followed by the scent of hearty stew and woodsmoke from the crackling hearth.
The innkeeper, a portly man with red cheeks and a bulbous nose, scowled at Flynn as if his worst fears had come true. “You’ll be wanting dinner?” His voice rasped as if he’d spent his whole life smoking cheroots. Then his gaze landed on me, and his expression brightened.
“And rooms. We’ll need rooms for the night.” Grayson’s demand was met with a calculating smile.
Innkeepers were supposed to be pleasant. This one had a dark aura. Not that I could see auras. But I didn’t need that ability to tell me he was … wrong.
The men who hunkered on stools at the long wooden bar turned and took our measure; their gazes lingered on me for far too long. I resisted the urge to hide behind Grayson’s bulk. Instead, I met their creeping stares with my chin lifted.
The innkeeper jerked his head toward a table near the hearth. “I have stew. Shield, the kitchen is through that door.” He pointed to a closed door on the opposite side of the room.
The men would eat stew while I got stale bread or, gods forbid, oatmeal in the kitchen? My upper lip curled into a sneer.
“She eats with us.” Pierce grabbed my arm and dragged me to the table.
The innkeeper’s eyes widened as if Pierce had surprised him. “As you wish, sir.” Then he scowled and turned on his heel, heading for the kitchen.
“This is an exception, Shield. When we reach Angelfire, you’ll eat with the other shields.” Grayson just couldn’t stop himself from being a complete dick.
After fighting with them, fighting for them, shielding them from wraiths and the wyvern’s poison, putting up with Flynn’s wandering hands and Grayson’s near-constant disapproval, I was to be given a special treat—the honor of sitting at a table with them. I couldn’t stop the sneer that twisted my lips.
“What Grayson meant to say is that we’re glad you’re with us.” Teal was mistaken. Grayson had said exactly what he meant.
Within minutes, the innkeeper delivered the pitcher of ale, five bowls of stew, and a loaf of crusty bread.
Without a word, Pierce switched our bowls, taking my meager portion and replacing it with a bowl filled to the brim.
“You don’t need to do that,” I told him, even as my mouth watered.
“You’re too thin.”
“You’ll be hungry.”
“I’ll live. Eat your stew, Haven.”
I dipped my spoon into my bowl. The stew was thick with roasted meat, vegetables and spices, and I moaned my approval. When I looked up from my bowl, I found four sets of eyes fixed on me.
I swallowed. Hard. And pretended that my cheeks hadn’t flushed at their collective attention.
After a few awkward seconds, we resumed eating. No one spoke; all of us were too focused on our food to bother with words. Also, while we’d shared meals on the road, they were hurried bites of hardtack. They weren’t like this, not all of us gathered around a table. I didn’t know what to say. Not to them.
