Ian moved closer, but he remained in the thick of the crowd moving toward the innkeeper’s counter.
Robin half stood, lifting her chair along with her. She stepped around the table and set the chair back down, now sitting very close to the man.
The courier leaned over the table, bringing his head closer to her, his satchel now almost directly behind his twisted back.
Ian stepped forward, thankful for the opening Robin had created but cursing himself as well because she had moved closer to this all-too-eager stranger.
Ian dropped down, sitting back on his heels to keep his body small as he unclasped the satchel.
Robin lifted the man’s cup from the table, offering him a drink. “I never waste good ale,” she said.
Ian froze as the man turned his head slightly to accept the cup. He hoped the man would not see him out of the corner of his eye.
But Robin quickly drew his attention back to herself. “I never waste a good time, either,” she said.
The man lifted the cup to his lips and threw the rest of the ale back in a single swig.
Ian used the movement to slip his hand inside the satchel. He grabbed a piece of folded parchment.
“Neither do I,” the man said, slamming his cup back down on the table.
Ian hopped back, standing in a smooth motion and slipping into the crowd.
His heart pounded in his ears. He had not felt this strong a propensity toward violence since Onric and Aden had used underhanded tactics to beat him in a sword fight when they were still children.
“You can finish mine,” Robin said. Ian looked back to see Robin slide her own cup across the table.
Ale splashed from the still-full cup, drawing the man’s attention.
Robin stood and stepped away from the table before he could register what had happened.
“Hey!” The courier stood as well, yelling after her. But Robin was already slipping through the crowded room, moving among the people faster than even Ian could follow her.
Outside of the inn, she stood near the door, waiting until she caught sight of him before she sprinted into the busy street. Ian followed her, unable to move quite as quickly as she did. Ahead of him, she moved through the crowd like water but stayed within sight, glancing back every so often to make sure Ian was with her.
Several buildings away from the inn, she slipped out of the crowd and into a side alley.
When Ian joined her, she was grinning. Not a fake, sickly sweet smile like the one she had been giving the courier but a real, ecstatic grin. “That was perfect!” she said.
The pounding in Ian’s heart turned to relief, and he grinned back at her.
Chapter 30
Robin welcomed the sharp scent of pine resin that hit her nose with each inhale. She was seated in the small weapons shed, using a thin thread to connect a split feather to one end of an arrow’s shaft.
Ian sat on a short stool across the table from her, attempting the same craft but with less promising results.
“You can loosen your hold on the thread,” Robin suggested, watching the way his firm grip tugged tightly at the barely visible filament. “The feather needs space to breathe.”
“Feathers cannot breathe,” Ian said, unclenching his fingers.
“The thread needs to slide between the tines of the feather,” Robin said, “not strangle them to the shaft.”
Ian unwrapped the last few rounds of thread from his somewhat strangled feather and restarted.
“I’ve never fletched an arrow in my life,” Brother Fletcher said from his own stool between them. “It was what my father and grandfather did before me. They tried to teach me, but my fingers just tangled the thread. So I went off to become a monk.”
“Perhaps you should go back to your monastery then,” Robin muttered, well aware that the other two occupants of the shed could hear her.
