I take the seat opposite and begin to pick at a bit of dried wax, avoiding his gaze. I wonder what the people of Wellwall would do if they knew the boy who killed their queen was sitting in their midst.
‘What was she like?’ I ask. ‘Queen Aspen.’
‘Gentle,’ he tells me. ‘Powerful. Unfailingly kind, even to me. Though I always suspected she was a little scared of me, too.’
I huff a laugh. ‘The whole palace was scared of you.’
Fox drops his voice to a whisper. ‘And you, Storm Weaver?’ The grin spreads across his face as slowly as the blush spreads across mine. ‘Were you scared of me?’
Yes.
‘No,’ I lie.
At that moment the innkeeper – a sturdy, ruddy-cheeked woman in a gravy-splattered apron – plonks a flagon of floral-smelling ale on the table between us. ‘Pleasant evening, my dears. What brings you to Wellwall?’
Fox bestows upon her his most dazzling smile. ‘Just passing through.’
The innkeeper beams back at him and pours us both a cup of ale before winking at me. ‘He’s easy on the eyes, isn’t he?’
Feeling myself turn from pink to crimson, I reach for my cup and take a large gulp as an excuse not to answer her.
‘You know, I’ve been told I look like the Earth Cleaver,’ Fox says mildly.
I choke on the ale and begin to cough.
The innkeeper pats me on the back. ‘Really? Well, he’s a devil, no doubt, but I’ve heard he’s a handsome one.’
Fox jerks his chin at me. ‘She certainly thinks so.’
If looks could kill, he’d be six feet under.
That’s when the three of us become aware of a disgruntled growling sound. It appears Scout is beginning to lose her patience.
Clearing his throat, Fox pushes his satchel further under the table with his foot and rubs his stomach theatrically. ‘I seem to have worked up an appetite.’
The innkeeper bustles off to fetch us some food.
I glower darkly at him, but the severity is somewhat discredited by an uncontrollable bout of hiccups.
‘What?’ Fox says innocently.
‘You –’hiccup– ‘are –’hiccup– ‘unbelievable.’
Though I find myself mellowing considerably when the innkeeper returns with plates heaped with roasted rabbit, salted rye bread, potatoes swimming in butter and sprinkled with rosemary, carrots, cabbage and green beans, and, for dessert, two helpings of gooseberry pie and cream. I close my eyes while I eat, savouring every mouthful.
‘Sure you’re not missing my root stew?’ Fox asks.
‘Quite sure.’ I crack open an eye and watch him slip the rabbit off his plate and into his satchel for Scout. ‘Aren’t you keeping some for yourself?’
‘I don’t eat meat,’ he tells me.
‘Ever?’
He shakes his head.
‘Why not?’
‘I don’t believe in killing animals.’
