At that moment, I longed for Nyana’s guidance. My understanding of women was limited beyond what brought them satisfaction in a physical way. I had no idea how to comfort one, let alone how to woo one.Is that something I want? Is it something Evera wants?
Releasing a breath, I stepped back from the door. No, she wanted me to leave. Or maybe she just needed time to her own thoughts. I could empathize with such a need. How many times in my life had I stood outside the castle walls and considered a life beyond all that weighed on me? Beyond Astraea’s lessons, Rion’s scrutiny, Kaius’s void of caring, the aching knowing that I didn’t belong. Only Harlan kept me there, and the hollowing need to make up for the travesties of my youth.
I let my forehead fall to the wooden door. When had I begun to let my monster’s desires influence my thoughts, my feelings? If what the old man said was true, the way I felt toward the woman—toward Evera—could be explained by magic. I hardly knew her, after all. Yet Iwantedto know her. To learn the way her mind worked, what mattered to her, her dreams. To hold her in my arms, to breathe in the scent of her, to take her to my bed.
The thickness in my throat was uncomfortable. Emotions I had no reason to feel, no right to feel, choked me. Though it tore at me to walk away, like every nerve in my body was pulling me back to her, I did.I let my steps carry me back to the inn and refocus.
When I pushed through the heavy oak doors, the hum of conversation and the popping of the great central fire greeted me. Taking the items I purchased to the back, I passed Maerel at the bar. Strands of hair pulled loosely back fell about her face in the front, making her appear a bit disheveled.
“It got busy,” I noted as I backed up to the split doors, pushing them open with my shoulder and stepping into the kitchen.
“It’s everyone traveling back from the capital,” she called back as I sat the basket on the table. “Did you get the things on the list?”
I grunted a sound of affirmation and joined her behind the bar, self-consciously checking my hood and scanning the room. No castle guards. Some local soldiers, but mostly travelers. No lords or their families. No one should recognize me, and seemingly there is still no word of the King’s death. No obvious sign of a huntsman, either.
Maerel came to stand before me and turned her chin up to meet my eyes. “Something is weighing on you.”The observation made me scoff. If only she knew all that weighed on me.
“I spoke with the woman,” I said, for it was plain enough talk, and I suspected it would placate the innkeeper’s curiosity.
Maerel made a faint, thoughtful sound and bent to collect two small glasses from beneath the counter.
I let out a breath and continued. “She is arranged to marry another, and I am—” I raised my left hand, examining the marks of the bond. “I am making things more complicated for her.” Voicing my musings lent me a lightness I hadn’t anticipated. It brought, too, thoughts of Nyana. A homesickness for her and for the familiar warmth and smells of her kitchen tugged at my heart.
Selecting a bottle of whiskey, Maerel poured the two cups half full. “Give her grace, Lark. An arranged marriage is very rarely something a woman wants. I suspect there is reasoning behind the match, and the weight of her situation is surely burdening her. Men often do not stop to think about what it feels like to be put in such a position.”
“You speak as if you know,” I said, leaning against the bar.
Without meeting my eyes, Maerel drew out another three glasses. “I was arranged to my first husband. When my father told me the importance of my match, my soul broke. I was sentaway from all I knew, and my husband … was a bad man. But had I not been sent to this town by my father to wed him, I would never have met my Tarik.” The corners of her mouth turned up subtly, and a light sorrow, a longing, laced her words.
“What happened to him? To your first husband?”
Maerel shook her head. “The same thing that took Tarik. Sickness. And that’s the cruelty of life. What presents itself asa blessing in one breath may shatter you in the next.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, meaning it.
Amid the hum of voices and singing of a bard, Maerel turned quiet, contemplative, seemingly lost in memories. She cleared her throat when she finished pouring, putting an end to the weighty conversation. She put the bottle beneath the counter. “Take these to the group in the back corner.”
Five soldiers sat around the table. They wore training garb with the emblem of House Tellius, the local family, embossed on their breastplates. Nodding, I took two glasses and made my way to the table.
Though there was no reason the soldiers would recognize me, an unexpected desire to be discovered itched at me. To disarm a man, feel the weight of his sword in my own grasp. To release my tension and frustrations in the rush of adrenaline that accompanied a fight. Even to be slain, if it would release me from the weight of all that burdened me. But for my brother, I would bear the weight. I had no choice.
Keeping my head down, I maneuvered around the crowded space about the central hearth and made my way to the back table. I set the glasses down, making a comment that I would return with the others in a moment, and I took the men’s orders. The Halfway Inn doubled as a tavern, and the menu was simple: whatever was cooking in the back. Today, the options were stew or roasted lamb.
Each of the men selected a dish, none meeting my eyes. The bard picked up a faster tune, drawing the soldiers’ attention. He was young, his hair tousled, and the shadow of a beard at his jaw. Strumming the strings of his lyre, he began to sing, and those gathered around raised their glasses. Encouraged, the bard braced a foot atop the edge of the hearth and upped the tempo. The lapping of the fire cast a dance of shadows across his face. Perhaps the bard would know of a huntsman. No one suspected a traveling musician, and people often spoke freely in their presence. There was value to this, value a cunning huntsman would recognize and take advantage of.
I brought the soldiers their remaining whiskeys, then their food. The bard continued to play as the afternoon wore on slowly, and as I made my rounds, taking orders and delivering drinks and meals, eyes remained trained on the young entertainer. When he finally retired from his place at the hearth and went to the bar, I followed and took my place behind the counter.
“What can I get for you?” I asked.
“Water,” the bard said, voice a bit raspy.
Nodding, I filled a large glass and slid it across the bar. “You play well. Did you perform at the festival?”
The bard swallowed and lowered his glass to the counter. “It was my intention to do so, but I overindulged at a pleasure house the night before.” He quirked a cunning smile. “I fancied the women who desired me for my talents when I played for them, yet when I woke, the coin I had reserved for the festival’s entrance fee was all but spent.”
“It would seem they placed a higher value on their own talents than yours, then.”
The bard laughed. “Yes, well, not without reason.”
