“Sir! I… sorry, I wasn’t—”
“Wake Horace. Quickly, boy. Tell him Duran has arrived with news of his family in the south.”
Still bleary-eyed, the boy raced off, past the bar through an arched doorway that revealed the staircase up to the Inn’s rooms, darting into a dark area behind them. A quiet knock was followed by the murmur of voices, then shuffling feet. I thought the boy would come back, but he must have disappeared into a different room, because when the footsteps emerged from the dark doorway, it was a balding man with glasses, suspenders holding up his trousers, and a round tummy on an otherwise unremarkable body.
“Welcome, Sir,” he said warmly, calling across the room, though his sleepy eyes cleared the moment he saw Donavyn, flicked to me, then back to his face with one brow hoisted. “I anticipate your news, can I prepare you a drink to wet your throat after travel?”
“Water is fine,” Donavyn said, his eyes just as intent on the man in return. “I apologize for the late arrival, we were held up in the storms to the south.”
The man waved a hand as if the inconvenience of being pulled from his bed in the middle of the night was nothing, and limped behind the bar to pour from a pitcher into an ale glass for Donavyn. Then he raised brows at me. “Would your companion also like a drink?”
“Yes, please.”
When he reached us with the glasses on a tray, he gestured for us to accompany him into a smaller room to the right, littlemore than an alcove with two or three tables wedged into the corners. Obviously a place for men to dice. He sat the tray on the table furthest from the door, and around the corner where it wouldn’t be seen by anyone entering. Donavyn and I slid into the seats, and to my surprise, the man sat next to Donavyn, leaning close.
There were no formal bows or salutes. I’d become accustomed to seeing Donavyn honored in that way. It felt odd to simply speak.
“What news?” he whispered. “And are you in need of the room?”
Donavyn nodded. “The news is all peace, for now,” he said with a pointed look. “But the family remains on guard. Yes, we’ll need a room. We’ll keep it for many weeks—paid in advance, of course. Though you’ll see little of us. We have much to achieve.”
Horace nodded as if it were only expected. “I’ll tell the maids it has rats. They’ll stay out of it.”
“Very good.”
“My wife has joined me for this travel, to broaden her horizons,” Donavyn said, his face strangely intent. “You should trust her as you trust me.”
Horace’s bushy brows shot up and he looked me over once, then nodded to Donavyn. “As you say. Of course. We welcome you, Lady Duran.”
I nodded once as Donavyn continued. “I’ll be traveling a great deal and my wife cannot always accompany me. If she’s here without me, she’s to be provided my room and any resources she might need—I will pay handsomely for anyone who assists her in the event shestruggles.And if she brings you news from me, you hear her as if the words were from my own mouth.”
“Of course. Understood.”
“Very good. Now, we are weary. The room, if you don’t mind?”
He rose and hurried into the main room, around the bar, grabbing the lantern to lead us towards the darkened archway and a tall flight of narrow stairs.
Our room was on the third floor—an attic room. Which would afford us more space, Horace explained, but with a slanted ceiling that Donavyn would have to take care not to knock his head upon.
I stifled a smile at the mental image, and nodded. Then he passed Donavyn the key, nodded once to me, and bid us both goodnight. Moments later we were alone.
I turned a circle. The walls, and the ceiling—which did indeed slant from high above the door, down below waist height on the opposing wall—had been painted a pale, dusty blue. The two gable windows were large enough for a man to hunch and crawl out of, onto the roof outside. Dark wood floors and door frames had been polished, and stood out in stark contrast against that blue. There was a cluster of cobwebs in the upper corner over another narrow door at the end of the room, a double bed with an iron bedframe, a chest of drawers, and an oval mirror at Donavyn’s shoulder-height on the wall.
I took it all in, both impressed that everything seemed mostly clean, and wondering how private it truly was if the Innkeeper knew we were here.
“Our footsteps will sound on the ceiling of the rooms below ours, so keep that in mind. If you need others to not know you’re here, take your boots off and slide your feet,” Donavyn muttered. Though he clomped across the floor, then sat on the bed. The springs squeaked under his weight.
His eyes rose to mine and he gave me a brief, suggestive smile as he bounced on them for a moment, but then he wasback on his feet and moving across the room—his steps no longer making any sound.
I didn’t know how he did that, but I tried to follow suit, coming up behind him where he stood at one of the windows and looked out on the dark street outside.
“We need to go,” Donavyn murmured, his arm sliding around my waist at the back. “You need to change.”
I nodded. The bag I’d brought from camp held a set of leathers—thank God. We’d needed to arrive with me appearing common, in case anyone questioned locals with a description. But we would leave—apparently from the window, if I read Donavyn’s darting eyes and measuring gaze correctly—and I would return to being a woman who rode dragons. I remembered Donavyn’s words when we’d made the plan.
“A traveling farmgirl with her soldier husband, taking a room at an inn is nothing to remark on. And a fighting woman leaving the city is a trouble avoided. But the reverse? The reverse is something that might stick in the mind of an ordinary man. You must always measureeveryappearance through the filter of who might be watching, and what they will think they see.”
I changed quickly, making as little noise as possible, leaving the blouse and skirts hanging in the wardrobe in case I needed to return and disguise. When I was dressed in my leathers, Donavyn beckoned me over, squatted next to the window, and clasped his hands.
