The inn continues to fill up around us, a cacophony of voices and laughter. It doesn’t escape my notice that several heads turn in our direction, gazes snagging on me and lingering. With relief, I realize that it’s not recognition I see in their eyes, nor the hatred or fear I’ve learned to expect as a result. Instead, the looks are oddly … appreciative.
I’m not so naive as to be unaware of my own appearance. I am my mother’s daughter, after all. It’s just that in my experience, the way I looked never had any bearing on howI was treated. With a reputation like mine, beauty proved of little consequence. In truth, I considered it wasted on me. But here, I’m not the Storm Weaver. These people don’t look at me and see a murderer, or a changeling, or a freak. They don’t see a future queen or a fugitive. They just see a girl. Someone to be admired, not reviled.
Yet while flattering, I admit I find even this favourable attention somewhat uncomfortable, and so, it appears, does Fox.
I watch as one boy nudges his friend and whispers something, then pales as he catches sight of Fox’s expression.
I sip my ale, not entirely sure whether this possessive display is all part of the act. Yet I soon find myself at risk of choking a second time, for when the innkeeper shuffles over to refill my cup, Fox leans back in his chair and announces, ‘We’d like a room, please.’
‘Two rooms,’ I correct, glaring at him.
The innkeeper smiles knowingly. ‘Lovers’ tiff?’
I blush.
‘Something like that,’ Fox says breezily.
‘What’re you doing?’ I hiss, kicking him under the table.
‘You really want to risk being separated?’ he whispers back, wincing. ‘Besides, my brother didn’t exactly offer me the keys to the treasury before I was hounded from the palace. I can barely afford this meal, let alone Cedar’s shoe.’
The innkeeper clicks her tongue. ‘Well, then, what’s it to be? One room or two?’
‘One.’
‘Two.’
The woman plants her hands on her hips, clearly amused.
I change tack, glancing admiringly round the inn. ‘You seem like you run a respectable establishment here.’
Fox raises an eyebrow.
The innkeeper puffs out her chest. ‘That I do, dear.’
‘Then I’m afraid we can’t possibly share a room,’ I declare triumphantly. ‘Because we aren’t married.’
‘Well, notyet,’ says Fox.
I stare at him, dumbstruck.
He smiles affectionately at me. ‘My bride-to-be is understandably concerned for her reputation, but I simply can’t allow her out of my sight. Especially not with these vultures circling. It would be only a matter of time before one of them carried her off.’
I couldstranglehim.
The innkeeper winks conspiratorially at us, then taps her nose and passes Fox a large bronze key. ‘One room it is.’
He barely has time to hand her a few coins before I’ve snatched the key and stormed off towards the staircase. I’ve barely made it halfway when I’m stopped in my tracks by a low whistle, followed by an unfamiliar voice. ‘Wait! You there.’
The speaker is one of the men in the opposite corner, those partially concealed by a barrel of ale.
My heart plummets into the soles of my boots. For crowded round the table, their silvery-grey armour reflecting the flickering candlelight, are four Ventalla soldiers.
31
Elva
Ever since meeting Caius Castellion in the statue garden, I have been left with nothing but questions – mainly about his sanity. The old man is surely senile. What other explanation could there be for his utter lack of surprise when my shadows burst forth? Or his frankly unbelievable assertion that he means me no harm?
