The song is some kind of classic tale about a Bonded hero that saves the whole city of Linsfall during a surprise Siphon incursion, putting his life and his wolf’s life on the line for them and valiantly defeating the threat single-handedly. It must be a traditional tune around here, something learned at theirmother’s knee, as everyone in the inn seems to know the chorus, singing lustily along every time it comes around, some clapping in time with the beat.
Our food arrives shortly after he starts singing, so I’m quickly distracted by the feast of mutton pie, potatoes, and a few boiled leeks, all with a brown sauce I sop up with the brown bread they brought us. It’s basic fare, but I’ve never tasted better.
Stark eats just as wolfishly as I do, starving after the day of travel. We’re both silent as we clean our plates.
“Meet you upstairs, room ten,” he says shortly once he’s done, standing and draining the rest of his ale before making his way across the room. He stops to say something into Alisa’s ear as she leaves, and I see her nod and smile.
If he thinks he’s bringing some woman to bed while we share a room, even if she is an impressively successful businesswoman…
I’m jolted from my disgust when Stark swerves away from the stairs and strides over to the stage to have a few words with the musician, who has just wrapped up his epic ballad to cheers and applause and many toasts to the Alpha of old, the hero of the song.
I can’t make out what Stark and the bard are saying, but it looks like Stark is… reprimanding the man? I’m almost sure the musician is apologizing for something as Stark stiffly walks away again, toward the staircase that leads to the rooms upstairs. The bard is younger than I thought at first glance, his bearded face anxious as he watches Stark leave.
“Huh,” I say softly, wondering what that was about.
Someone slides into the booth across from me, into the seat Stark just vacated. I look up in surprise to see that it’s Alisa, the owner of the inn.
“Food to your liking?” she asks, and I nod.
“Exceptional,” I admit. “Although I’m not sure I’m the best judge, I think I would have loved anything halfway decent you set in front of me, as long as it was warm and plentiful.”
Alisa laughs so hard she snorts, and I grudgingly realize that I like this woman. “Guess you liked the music a bit more than Alpha Stark then, if you’re sticking around for another song?”
I glance back over toward the musician, bemused. “Does Stark know that man? Or…?”
“Oh, no, I don’t think so,” Alisa stands and grabs Stark’s empty plate and mug. “Another ale?” I shake my head. “No, he just hates it when they do that.”
I’m lost. “When they… sing?”
Alisa squints at me, then laughs again. “Strategos Alpha, you must not have been listening closely. That song he sang? That was about Alpha Stark, when he saved half the city from being murdered, oh, five or six years back. Legend has it he killed a good hundred Siphons on his own. Our streets ran red with the blood he spilled for weeks after.”
She saunters off and I stare after her, then survey the room again. All these people, their toasts and cheers, their singing and clapping…
That was forStark?
The whole world has gone mad.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Istand in the inn room’s doorway, staring at the single bed while snow swirls outside the window. Inside, Stark has done what he can to make room for us to maneuver, but I understand the innkeeper’s apologies now—this room is tiny.
There’s barely space to stand without knocking your knees against the bed.
“I’ll take the floor,” Stark says gruffly, gazing at me from his perch on the side of the bed where he’s organizing his pack.
I don’t argue. I’m exhausted, cold, and sore—all I want to do is get out of these wet clothes, catch a few hours of sleep, and get back on the road.
Ideally with as much space in between me and the grumpy hero of Linsfall as possible.
I set my own pack down on the floor—or try to. The foot of the bed is so close to the wall and door that there isn’t even enough space for my bag, so I just wedge it in as best I can before opening the flaps to rummage through.
Stark’s taken the one small table in the room for his own use; a little piece of furniture to the left side of the bed, squeezed tight between the bedframe and the wall.
At least the place is clean, I think as I pull out a fresh, dry shirt to sleep in.
If only it wasn’t so damn small. The heat coming off Stark’s body practically radiates behind me. There’s no space to get away from him. I can smell him, too: musk, amber, wood and a hint of masculine sweat.
I hesitate, starting to remove my clothes, knowing that Stark could turn at any time and see me, can probably see my reflection in the dark of the window either way. But what else will I do, change in the hall? Maneuvering until my back is toward him, I quickly shuck off my leathers, and then my wet clothes, pulling on the dry tunic. I stare fixedly at the corner of the room the entire time, where a small lantern is bolted to the wall, the flame inside flickering.
