‘It’s just ale on offer, is it?’ Gwen interrupted, not particularly in the mood for more stories of monsters glimpsed at dusk and so forth. When the lad nodded, she hurried to assure him ale would be fine.
‘But you hate ale,’ protested Isobelle, once the boy had gone off to fetch them their drinks. Her brow furrowed, and her gaze took on that look that said she was going to simply change reality to suit her desires. Before Gwen could stop her, she’d risen and bustled off to speak to the lad.
Gwen sighed, leaning her chin on her hand and watching Isobelle’s animated conversation. Hilde leaned towards her with a little smile. ‘I love to see that look on your face,’ she whispered. ‘You do not hide your feelings for her.’
Gwen startled, tearing her eyes from Isobelle and eyeing Hilde somewhat sheepishly. ‘You just like imagining everyone in love. Have you heard from your beau lately?’ As soon as she said the words, she cursed herself. Hilde hadn’t heard back from the boy she’d given her heart to in years – it was cruel to bring it up.
But Hilde only smiled and shook her head. ‘Arnau is a busy man,’ she murmured.
‘Speaking of loving looks,’ said Jane, flicking her eyes towards a corner of the taproom. Gwen saw who she meant immediately – a man somewhat older than they were, but with a youthful build and warm eyes, was watching their table with interest. Jane glanced at Sylvie. ‘He’s looking at you, Syl. You are your own woman now, free to do as you wish.’
Sylvie glanced at the man, and then away just as quickly with a quick shake of her head. ‘What I wish, Jane,is to live out the rest of my days in peace. I have wealth enough and security enough that I need never put up with the … the demands of a husband ever again. Not all of us are interested in … doing asyouwish.’
Jane gave her a mock sulk. ‘Oh, come on, you don’t think someday some young, dashing lad – or lady – will catch your eye?’
Sylvie’s lips curved a little. ‘Not unless they have no interest in … in owning me, as my husband did. I’m thankful every day for that sudden illness that took him before our wedding night.’
No one said anything, but Gwen saw Jane look at Hilde, and Hilde look at Jane. They were all quite practised by this point at not saying anything about it.
No one had ever outright questioned the timing of Sir Ralph’s death. And they certainly never mentioned the hour Olivia had spent with the man just before he died, ostensibly to make arrangements for transporting Sylvie back to his estate.
Isobelle returned, dropping into the seat opposite Gwen, and then propping her chin in both hands. She was followed by the young bartender, with mugs of ale for everyone, except for one glass garnished – if that was the right word – with a bit of wilted greenery. That, he placed in front of Isobelle and then scurried off.
Isobelle gave a sigh, rolled her eyes, and then changed her garnished glass with Gwen’s ale.
Gwen eyed the glass, which was full of a murky, yellowish liquid. ‘Um,’ she said, blinking. ‘How did you …?’
Isobelle waved an airy hand. ‘It took our young bartender a bit to understand what a cocktail is, but I told him that Lord Bingleton would, no doubt, be delighted to add more variety to the drinks menu before his visitors begin arriving in earnest. This one, we’ve decided to call “the Lady Dragonslayer”.’ She beamed at Gwen, equal parts innocence and knowing delight.
Gwen’s gaze met Isobelle’s, and her protest died on her lips. ‘You got him to make me a cocktail.’ For a moment she forgot the presence of the other girls at the table, forgot even the patrons scattered around the taproom. Isobelle’s grin softened. Under the table, Gwen felt a touch on her ankle, the warm presence of Isobelle’s foot alongside hers.
Then Gwen sipped at her drink – and nearly spat it out again, choking, her tastebuds half numb. ‘Oh god, whatisthis?’
Isobelle burst out laughing, shaking her head. ‘Okay, maybe we’ll work on the recipe before we name it after you.’
They nursed their drinks for a time, chatting, accepting the bread and cheese they were offered ‘with the compliments of the chef ’. Hilde went up to check on Tabitha, who had remained in her room, too tired from the journey to join them. Jane had gone to flirt with the young man who’d been staring at Sylvie –a girl’s gotta eat,even if the meal was made for someone else, she’d said. Gwen and Isobelle were watching the townsfolk patronising the taproom, and theorising with Sylvie.
‘It all looks normal enough,’ Sylvie murmured. ‘Maybe Rosamund has some nervous condition that got the better of her.’
‘I don’t think so,’ Isobelle replied, tracing her finger through a few drips of spilled ale on the tabletop. ‘The bartender did something very similar when I asked him about the tower. Completely shut down, eyes going blank. Maybe … Gwen? Gwen, are you okay?’
Gwen barely heard her. Her attention was on the doorway, where a man had just entered. He’d walked in, straight towards a shadowy little table in the corner, and sat. And then, after taking one look around the taproom, he’d jumped up and was now sidling back towards the door.
‘Isobelle,’ she said tensely. ‘Look – isn’t that …?’
Isobelle gasped and lurched to her feet. ‘Sir Orson!’ she cried in a voice that hushed all conversation for the second time that afternoon.
The man by the door froze like a hunted animal – and then his shoulders slumped with resignation as he abandoned the idea of escape.
Hilde rose and gestured, and eventually he gave up his attempt to blend into the wall, and joined them.
Gwen stared. ItwasSir Orson, but dramatically changed. He still had the same golden hair, though it waslonger now, tied at the nape of his neck in a knot. His jaw was as square as ever, though the dimple in it was concealed by a thick dark-blond beard. And the blue eyes that had once been so confident, charming and full of ease, slid from the faces of the girls at the table.
She was unprepared for the tight clench of anger she felt at the sight of him. She could feel Isobelle’s manner change, too – after all, he’d betrayed Gwen’s identity in order to win Isobelle’s hand. He’d attempted to strip them both of any agency they had.
Now, he refused to meet Gwen’s eyes.
‘Everyone in Darkhaven has been looking for you!’ exclaimed Jane, oblivious to the sudden tension, or perhaps entirely aware of it and forging on regardless. ‘Have you been here all this time?’
