I didn’t move from my pouting perch on the stairs.
“I didn’t want to interrupt your meal,” I said, idly sipping my now cold, watery bowl of soup.
She hit the soup out of my hands, the bowl landing in the mud with a thud. I sprang to my feet, fists raised. She knocked them out of the way and then threw me over her back.
“You are a brat,” she said, heading straight back to Wymble’s. I cursed and yelled through the streets, but she wouldhear none of it. She strode easily through the now broken doors of the tavern—doors she’d presumably torn through in order to come find me.
“What do you think you are doing?” I tried to wiggle free of her grasp, but I might as well have been fighting against a stone pillar.
She then took me up a narrow flight of wooden stairs, every single patron in the tavern watching our ascent. She kicked open a door with her boot and then threw me down onto the mattress. The door slammed shut behind her, and just as I began to bolt from the bed to run out the door again, she held up a single finger.
“Sit,” she commanded.
“You do not get to tell me what to—”
“Sit,” she repeated, ire lacing her tone.
I chewed on the side of my cheek; begrudgingly, I sat, folding my arms tightly across my chest.
A fire roared in the hearth to my right, and Hesper made her way over to the blaze. I contemplated throwing her into it.
“Let me tell you something, princess.” She leaned against the hearth, wiping a bead of sweat from her brow. “You don’t ever leave my sight like that again. Do you understand me?” Her body was casual; her words were a demand. The usual jovial gleam in her eyes was blotted out, no hint of playfulness to be seen. She was well and truly mad.
“Am I supposed to just sit next to you while you have your way with your tavern wench then? We have things to be focusing on!”
“If you want to be there, you can.” She tapped her fingers on the hearth, her eyes blazing.
“Need I remind you that we have a time limit? That the Prince is still alive? And there you are, wasting our time!”
“I wasn’t trying to fuck her,” she said evenly. “I was trying to get us a good room for the night. I’m sorry my ways of getting what I need have you soundone.” Her voice was stern and unyielding. “If you want it, Clara, why don’t you just come and get it?”
“Never,” I said, my breathing ragged. “This isn’t about you. This is about the quest.”
“Sure it is.”
“Where are you sleeping?” I asked, surveying the room, attempting to veer us away from the topic at hand. There was only a fireplace, a small floor mattress, and a sliver of open floor in the corner.
Hesper let out a rueful laugh. “I’m sleeping on the bed, princess. You can sleep wherever you want. Whether it’s the floor or the bed, I don’t care.”
“Fine.” I threw my wet cloak on the floor and readied myself for bed. Thanks to my outburst, my clothes were dripping water. How I would comfortably sleep tonight was beyond me. But there was no way Hesper Altanfall and I would be sharing a bed, and there was no way in Margast’s hell that I was sleeping next to her naked.
But Hesper didn’t mind at all, apparently. She took off every bit of her leather and draped it over the mantelpiece. Not a scrap of clothing was on her when she crawled into bed. I tried not to look.
I really tried not to look.
Sleeping with the enemy? Try sleepingbythe enemy.
—opening line attempt 78
After sleeping on the cold, hard floor, I woke up feeling like death reincarnate. My clothes were plastered to my body and smelled like stagnant water. Hesper awoke before me, strapping on her leathers, and making a racket while doing so.
I looked up at the ceiling, daydreaming about what my mornings used to look like. Sunrises, hot tea, a bit of writing. Today’s entry would be something along the lines of:
Sleeping with the enemy? Try sleeping by the enemy.
I’d quickly cross that out, I was sure. It needed more flair.
Sleeping with the enemy? Try sleeping by the enemy.
