I noticed that the door across from us remains open and Stanley paces in front of it, trying to appear as if it’s totally normal for a person to act that way. He’s in riding clothes instead of his uniform, but I don’t think anyone would mistakehim for a normal man passing through. Aside from his large build, there’s something so serious about him.
When we’re finished with the facilities, I wave to him. He acts like he’s surprised I noticed him, which makes me chuckle. “Goodnight,” I say both to him and to anyone else who is listening to us. I’m certain Caiden is and I’m quite surprised he’s not watching us the way Stanley is.
The room is warm, the blankets cozy. Anya is nestled into the bed next to mine. “I’m going to miss this when we have to return to sleeping on the ground.”
“You know I didn’t realize how quickly I’d become accustomed to luxury,” she admits.
“I know. I feel guilty quite often at how easy it is to take those things for granted now,” I tell her.
“Do you think that makes us as bad as them?” she asks.
“No. Because we’d share it, all of it. And you know what? We will. After this is done, we’ll make it better.”
“Welcome back, Taylan, I missed you,” she says through a stifled yawn.
I smile, then pull the blankets up around my neck. “Goodnight.”
It’s not long before Anya’s breathing is slow and steady. I’m glad she’s getting some sleep. Assuming she’s actually asleep this time. I stare up at the ceiling but the room is so dark, I can’t make out any details. I forgot just how dark it could be at night. In the castle and the winter estate, I always had a fire burning. I even keep a lamp on in the tent. Anxiety twists inside me and I shove it away. Am I seriously afraid of the dark? I’ve never had that problem before.
I turn on my side and pull my legs toward my chest. I’m being ridiculous. It’s just a dark room at an inn. Everything is fine. I’m in a comfortable bed, with a full stomach. I’m lucky, even if I’m still confused and unsure about the coming weeks.
My eyes grow heavy and I feel the tension easing and just as sleep claims me, something slams against our door. I bolt up and I hear Anya’s feet hit the ground.
The door explodes, sending wood flying. I scream, then scramble from my bed, reaching for the blades I set under the bed. My fingers close in on them and I grab hold of them but I don’t know where to aim. It’s completely dark. There’s movement, grunting, someone slams against a wall.
Then I hear Anya scream.
Forty-Nine
Sabina
There’s shouting and torchlight glows from somewhere in the hall, making it so I can finally see that there’s several men in our room. Anya is cornered by two, and near the door, Caiden is rising from the ground, a bloody knife in his hand and a dead man at his feet.
I charge toward Anya, then launch myself onto of one of her attackers. He staggers back, nearly falling, but I hold tight. The other man near Anya screams, then the sound turns to a gurgling and I hear a thump.
The man I’m holding twists and swings at me, cursing at me in Iskvalandian. I spit insults back at him as I reach for the knife strapped to his chest.
Over his shoulder, I catch a glimpse of Anya right before she stabs him. The man’s arms go slack and I lower my legs and release him, managing to jump away just as he collapses to the ground.
Anya stands over the fallen body, panting and covered in blood. The mostly healed scratches across her face are bleeding again and her right eye is already swollen shut.
“Stay here,” Caiden demands.
I reach for Anya and pull her toward me. She steps over the body, then leans on me as she works to catch her breath. We both stare toward the jagged remains of the door as if expecting to see someone else burst through.
There’s commotion in the hall and I lean down to pick up one of the knives dropped by an attacker. Anya still has her knife in her hand.
I give her free hand a quick squeeze, then walk toward the entry. When I peer through the man-sized hole in the door, the only thing I see is the remains of the fight. “There’s a few more dead out there. None of them look like ours.”
She limps toward me and my brow furrows. “You’re really hurt.”
“I’m fine. It’s nothing,” she says.
“This can’t keep happening,” I tell her. “This is my fault.”
“You didn’t attack me,” she points out.
Footsteps pound and we both tense, weapons at the ready. When Caiden comes into view, my shoulders ease. Stanley walks behind him, both men covered in blood that, from the look of their easy strides, isn’t theirs.
