“What in the Blazes?” I whisper. The hideous sound yanks me out of my emotive state faster than the three blind mice scurrying from the farmer’s wife.
“It snores louder than you do. All night.”
“And I slept through it?” Hard to believe when it sounds like several trolls are trapped inside the mattress.
“You’re a deep sleeper.”
I never used to be. Maybe it’s because I feel safe for the first time. That doesn’t mean my world got less dangerous; if anything, it got more dangerous. It’s just that I have several pairs of capable hands helping to defend me against everything from face-eating horses to soul-stealing queens. What is life without a little danger?
Nash scoops me in his arms and, in a feat of strength and dexterity, strides to the tub with swirling scented steam. Rose petals float on top of the glistening bubbles, and I sigh as Nash lowers me into the soothing water.
“Rose petals don’t seem like your thing,” I murmur. He grabs a sponge and dips it beneath the water before making sweeping motions over my back. I rest my head on my knees and groan as the knots and aches I’d been ignoring loosen.
“That was my doing,” Malachi says.
I blink my eyes open to find the twins staring at me with amusement. My gaze narrows on the platter in Hart’s hand. “Please tell me there’s sausage.”
“I worry about your obsession,” he grumbles.
“Answer the question, Hart.”
“Yes, there’s sausage, but not meat ones.”
I wrinkle my nose. “I guess any sausage is better than no sausage.”
Malachi snorts. “Not all sausages are made equal.”
“Never truer a word was uttered,” I agree with a grin.
Nash finishes pampering me like I’m a princess, starting with a divine hair wash followed by a full body scrub that I make him promise to repeat every morning once we have rescued my dragon, dismantled the Idols, and a bunch of other stuff that needs our attention.
After I’m dressed and have choked down several flavorless sausages—who knew I’d miss the Hallows—we head down to thestables. I eye the extra bags piled beside the horses. “What’s in there?”
“Camping gear,” Malachi says. He launches himself onto his horse and offers me a hand.
“I’m riding with you?” I never ride with him.
Nash’s hand curls around my waist as he leans down and brushes his lips against my ear. “We pulled sticks for it, and he won. Trust me, I’d rather your beautiful ass was grinding against me for many, many turns. But alas, you’ll have to put the youngest through his paces. Just do me a favor?”
He leans back with a playful twinkle in his eye that I love. “Name it.”
“Don’t go easy on him.”
I chuckle, and he grins back at me before lifting me onto the horse’s back. Hart hands Malachi a cloak and nods his head at the darkening sky. “The skies are going to open.”
Ugh, rain. Malachi snaps the cloak around his neck and sweeps it around my body. As the horses step forward, Bronn appears from the tavern and nods at our retreating party. “You’re welcome back anytime,” he calls out.
“Friendly fellow,” I note with a wave. “Weird bed situation, though.”
The road curves into a small clearing, and I lift my head from Malachi’s chest when something bright flashes between the trees.
Music. Or… something trying very hard to be music. A trumpet squeals as if it’s being strangled by an emotional capon.
I miss my capons.
Cymbals clash in a nonsensical rhythm to the background of what sounds like a cat being strangled.
Malachi slows the horse. Ahead, a procession stumbles across the path like a drunken parade. A pumpkin carriage rollspast, one wheel turning back into a pumpkin every few rotations before popping back into a wheel again with a wet squelch.
