The innkeeper stepped toward me and raised her chin, a cunning smile lighting her face. “There are other services I may require as well.”
I firmed my jaw.
“Such as tending the bar.” She tapped her index finger at my chest. “Helping me turn down the rooms, and there’s a delivery due tomorrow of necessities that will need to be brought in and sorted.”
“These are not jobs for a routier—they are jobs for a—” I had been about to saycommoner, but cut myself off, finding different words. “For a lesser-trained man.”
She narrowed her eyes. “As I see it, you are in my debt.” The woman rocked back on her heels and turned to lean against the table again. “Now, I have no reason to believe you will send coin, as you say you will. So you will stay, work the tasks I give you, and maybe, if I am fortunate,”—she winked—“you will warm to me.”
I exhaled through my nose. “I will aid with your tasks until my next job takes me away from Elrune.” She was offering me what I required, yet the mischievous look in her eyes caused me to hesitate, as if the idea was not truly my own, but hers. The look she bore was that of one who was used to getting precisely what they wanted out of an arrangement.
“And what of the woman you were with?”
The innkeeper’s words held me. “What of her?”
“She is here in Elrune, is she not?” Maerel raised a brow.
Through the hazed memories of my time spent in my other form, I recalled the woman’s scent in the wagon. If it stopped here, it was likely she was still in town, whether she lived here or not. And, if she were only traveling through, she would be staying at the village’s inn. My heart set to racing.No. I cannot become distracted from my purpose.
Maerel cocked her head with feigned innocence, eyes sharp as if she were watching me put the pieces together. “So you’re welcome. For the clothes and for the room.” She left me and paced to the split doors. “You can start with plucking the rooster. You do know how to ready a cock, don’t you?”
I bit back a retort, and the corners of her lips quirked up.
“In all seriousness, I don’t want you to make a mess of it.”
“I know how to de-feather a bird,” I answered through my teeth.
“Good.” She unhinged the latch at the door, closing the bottom portion and leaving the top open. “Gut it too, if you know how.” Then she left.
Growling, I paced to the countertop and grabbed the limp bird. I took a long drink from the wine bottle and began plucking. The mildly violent manner of the task was therapeutic. I mumbled, cursing my situation. I was tense with the inability to do anything for Harlan but bide my time, wait out the huntsman, and hope that my message would get to my brother discreetly and without interception. And then what? What if Harlan chose not to believe me? Or if I was too late? Clenching my jaw to restrain the emotions tugging at me, I stopped my task and rubbed the back of my neck.
I took another drink from the bottle, and the lifeless black eyes of the rooster stared back at me.For now, at least, the mindless work and cheap wine would quell my dolor. Then, in working the bar, I would acquire information on a trustworthy huntsman.
One task at a time.
14
EVERA
The fire burned low.Kneeling beside it, I added another log and poked at the embers with an iron rod. Flecks of orange and yellow crackled and sparked against the charred stone. I held my hands out to the flames, warming them.The room was cool, but it would heat as the fire roused back to life. Drawing my cloak snugly around my neck, I stood, letting the warmth lick at my legs, bare beneath my knee-length shift.
From where I stood, I could peer out the window in the door in Leighis’s study. Not even the faintest light shone in. Dawn was still some time off. I left the hearth and crossed the room to the steps that led up to the platformed level of the study. The book of lore lay on the oversized wooden table, closed as I had left it the evening before. It was inconspicuous among the mess of scrolls and loose papers. I ran my hand over the old leather cover, opened it, and flipped through pages absentmindedly.
The parchment, tinted by age, curled at the edges. I trailed my fingers over an illustration, the scratchings indented from the artist's quill. It depicted an owl, its eyes round and flecked like the night sky. The details were beautiful, and it brought back to me thoughts of the carver from the festival and our brief conversation of lore and the spirit lines of the gods.
Most of the spirit lines were considered lost or gone from the earth. When Aureus and I were children, Leighis had told us stories of their origins. The legends captivated me, but they always seemed abstract, more fantasy than reality. The only known line to still exist was that of the red deer, held by the Cervius family in the west across the Beridian Sea.
I flipped a few more pages and stopped at a scene depicting two bucks, their antlers locked in battle. Animals, and yet men too. Names, dates, and details of their lineage followed in an elegant script.How many other lines still existed, thought to be gone but only hiding in plain sight?
With a glance at the staircase, I listened. It was quiet, and outside the window, the market square remained still and empty. I let out a breath and unwrapped the fabric straps at my wrist to reveal the tattoo beneath.
I studied it. The design was clean and defined. The art of tattooing was uncommonly practiced due to the risks of the trade. The use of mallets and needles to embed ink into the skin often led to infection and scarring, and never did the designs come out as crisp or bold as my own.
I turned my arm to examine the face of a creature woven into the band. The animal had sharp features, a pointed snout,and perked ears. I flipped through the book’s pages, mulling over which line the guard belonged to. Either a golden jackal or a fox, as they bore the closest resemblance to my mark.
I read quickly through both passages. Thejackals were said to have once lived as a pack, having more significant numbers than most lines. Though the foxes, too, were known to have at least four families in the line at one point. I rubbed the bridge of my nose; throbbing pressure promised a headache would follow.
Closing the book, I took my face in my hands, rubbing my eyes. They burned. I hadn’t slept more than an hour or two at a time since before we left for the festival. It had been what,three nights? But I was restless. Sleep eluded me, drowned by my thoughts, and when I had finally fallen into the depths of darkness, the reoccurring nightmare of my youth stirred me back to waking. At least I hadn’t cried out and woken the others.
